I taught myself conversational Vietnamese one afternoon because I was bored. True story. I was working at a book store in North Bend and it was a pretty dead day. There was a a small Vietnamese phrase book that covered things like ordering food, asking where the bathroom was, etc. It had the Vietnamese words, then how to pronounce them, and the English translation. It took me about a half hour to completely master it. I also know a smattering of French, my German is rusty (but warms up with ample practice), and I should really get around to learning Spanish. That's the first thing you should know about me.
I've dabbled in quantum and astrophysics. When I was in high school, I deduced that actual time travel would never occur on Earth because of the constant gravitational pull slowing down the process. Using Newton's Three Laws of Motion, I figured out that one would have to be in deep space, void of any possible gravitational interruptions for it to be truly possible. But, humans will never achieve it and live, due the fact that it would require the force, speed, and subsequent heat of that of a nuclear explosion. Later on, in my early twenties, I discovered the book On The Shoulders of Giants by Stephen Hawking and it became my instant favorite book. It still is up there on my list. I highly recommend you check it out. It's a fascinating read. That's the second thing you should know about me.
I saw my dad die when I was 23. It still is the most traumatic and life changing event that has happened. He had an asthma attack and died before the paramedics even reached the house. It had only taken them 15 minutes to get there, but it was already too late. I learned that night just how quickly and suddenly life ends. And most of the time, without warning. I've battled crippling depression and insomnia ever since. That's the third thing you should know about me.
I took care of my grandparents (his parents) during my mid-twenties. I was working full time, made a stab at college, and lived and took care of them all at the same time. Grandma had full on dementia and Grandpa was a diabetic who took terrible care of himself. Towards the end of her life, he was the only one that she even recognized and she passed away in a care center five years after my dad died. Grandpa's heath took a understandable turn for the worst and he wound up getting thyroid cancer. He passed away five years after she did and I was in Texas at the time. One of my biggest regrets was that I was not there with him at the end. That's the fourth thing you should know about me.
I up and moved to Texas at the beginning of 2012. I had been pretty much unemployed all of 2011 and it wasn't looking like the economy in Washington was going to improve in the foreseeable future; so I just moved. Packed up and left. My sister lives down there, so I stayed with her for a bit. Within three months, I was working at a bank and building myself a nice little career. Adjusting, as best as I could, considering how different the two places are. But it wasn't long after I moved down there that I started feeling the pangs of home sickness. It gradually grew stronger and stronger until I was absolutely miserable being down there. Despite how improved my life had become, I missed home. And when my grandfather passed away and I was half a continent away, that was the final straw for me. So, at the end of 2013, I moved back. I do miss Texas and Washington isn't the home it used to be, but I wouldn't trade either experience for the world. That's the fifth thing you should know about me.
I'm a salesman by vocation. I've been doing it since immediately out of high school and I continue to do it to this day. I've sold everything from Cutco knives to financial services. From books to Proactiv. It works well with my jack-of-all-trades mentality. Also, as most salespeople are, I'm a very impatient person. More correctly, I'm patient when I need to be, but even that wanes if gone on too long. I'm also admittedly charismatic and have no problem talking to strangers. However, if you ever see me at a party, I'm always watching people first. Observing. Analyzing their every move and word. That's the sixth thing you should know about me.
I may be a salesman by vocation, but I was born a storyteller. In elementary school, I had a couple teachers tell me how impressed they were with my writing skills. In junior high, I wrote a story that got an award with the local Kuwanis. In high school, I was on the newspaper for two years. I've had three blogs (four, if you count the one on LinkedIn), a Twitter account with a few celebrity followers, and a couple dozen (at least) poems. But the real goal is to be a novelist. That's always been my dream. That's the seventh thing you should know about me.
There's other facts, like that I'm left-handed, travel as frequently as possible, enjoy history immensely, love old movies (some of the best movies ever made were in black and white), love classical music, love books, etc. But, those things and more are things that I would much rather you learn as you get to know me. All this post was was a small window into my world.
Wednesday, September 2, 2015
Flash Fiction Experiment #1
So of the best writers out there all have the same advice when it comes to writing: Just do it. Hemingway took it a step further and said "There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed." Which leads me to this very moment: an experiment. They say that a 1,000 monkeys could bang out the works of Shakespeare, given enough time. This experiment is going to be a bit shorter than that. Just me, a whole lot of insomnia induced sleep exhaustion, some random music (I think I'll go with some chillstep to give it a cool vibe), and zero clue as to what I'm about to write. So, without further ado, here goes:
Bret Sanders sat at the bar, watching the room. Couples were laughing, one guy was trying way too hard to impressed the clearly uninterested blind date he had found on the Internet the previous night, and there was a girl in the corner reading the latest John Grisham novel and sipping on a dirty martini. Do people still drink those? he pondered as he continued to trace the room with a growing bit of uneasiness in his gut.
His contact was late. His contact was never late and tonight he was precisely five minutes and thirty-seven seconds late. The second hand on his Rolex ever kept ticking forward, despite its owner's growing annoyance and apprehension. He normally did these jobs sober, but if his contact was going to continue to delay him, he may have to buckle and at least order a beer. After all, the bartender was already cocking an eyebrow at him for sipping on his ice water. No need to draw any attention to himself if he didn't have to. Nothing good could ever come from being remembered.
A shrill, tinny pseudo-orchestra erupted next to him and the woman sitting next to him quickly snapped up her phone, making that annoying tone cease. The bartender shot her a look and he took the brief opportunity to examine the beers on tap. Coor's. Budweiser. Sam Adams. All standard fare. His eyes found Guinness and he gestured to the bartender for a pint. The man grunted and filled his order. That's okay. I"m not here to make friends. The sooner she gets here, the sooner I can get out of this sorry excuse for a watering hole.
His burner cell buzzed once again his hip. He flipped it open and the text message contained one word: Made. Suddenly the temperature in the room dropped twenty degrees and his eyes scoured each face and body movement. No red flags. He turned to the bartender and shot him a look. He returned it with utmost surprise, and, before he could respond further, a bullet took a subsonic path from one temple through the other. The woman with the rancid ringtone screamed as he dropped to the floor. She almost immediately joined him, with a matching mortal wound where her right eye should have been. He glanced over and saw Book Girl was not where she was sitting. Even amiss the now chaos of people fleeing for their lives, he could see she was not among them.
Knowing if he remained there a second longer, he would also wind up a chalk outline, he rolled out from his position and under the nearest table. Glass shattered above him from a high powered projectile. He reached behind his back and dislodged the 9mm that he had taped to his back earlier that night. The shooter, whoever it was, had to be in the room, somewhere. And since the guy took out two innocents almost immediately, he must be close. Before he had a chance to peek out and assess the situation, there was more gunfire, but this time to is right.
Shots were now being exchanged above his head. If he didn't act now, he would only have himself to blame for his own demise. He kicked out the chair in front of him and it struck a running target. Whoever it was collapsed after taking two rounds from two different shooters. He aimed his Glock at the now revealed shooter at the far end of bar. His first shot hit the bar and the second hit his target in the gut. He fired off a third and fourth, which struck his target in the chest, emitting a stray of red.
A hand above him knocked the table out from above him and he saw Book Girl pointing an identical Glock at him. "Don't shoot! You've been made!"
"Who are you?!" He shouted at her, still pointing his pistol at her chest.
"I'm the one who just saved your ass. Go take a look at who you just shot. That was your contact. You've been made, and if you don't get out now, you'll have the same fate as your bartender friend."
Wednesday, August 12, 2015
The Scare
My butt hurts. The reason my butt hurts is because I got a shot there this evening. A shot of antibiotics. And, to be honest, I was quite relieved to get the prognosis of an infection that accompanied said shot. Let me back up and explain:
For the past few weeks, I have been experiencing a...discomfort, if you will, in a very specific location on my body. My groin. Actually, a very specific location on my groin. And this discomfort stayed in that very, very localized area of my body. It started first as a mild, albeit confusing, sensation that occurred once every three or four days at a time. The intensity on the pain scale was between a three and a four. Noticeable, for certain, but entirely infrequent and mild enough to ignore. That, unfortunately, didn't last long.
Soon it escalated to every day. And then multiple times a a day. To then a near constant. Same exact location this entire time; and varying degrees in intensity (never greater than a five on the pain scale). And then last Friday happened.
I was spending the evening with some friends. My stomach was in knots and I was nauseous to the point of fighting throwing up. And that sensation was at a constant six on the pain scale. Basically, it felt like someone (and, pardon the graphic description) was constantly squeezing my left testicle. Then, late evening/early morning hit, just as I was about to get some sleep, I had an attack: the best I can describe is that of the description of a woman having contractions. It lasted for less than five minutes and it spiked to about an eight or nine on the pain scale. I was writhing in pain. The last time I had an episode like that what when I was dealing with my right kidney (which I'll get to in a minute). Fast forward to Saturday night and I had an equally intense attack after another full day of that squeezing sensation. Which is why I made the decision Sunday morning to go to the hospital as soon as possible. Which was today.
Now, before you think of me as the boy who cried wolf, I want you to take three things into consideration: the very specific and unchanging location of this. the gradual to sudden severity of what was happening, and, most importantly, that this is not the first scare that I've had. Back in early to mid 2008, I had a lump on my right kidney. A lump so large that it protruded out of my skin. The symptom were almost identical, including the severity of the attacks. I also attempted to get tested back then; but I didn't have adequate insurance, so I had to go to the ER to get it checked out. To which the nurse who "treated" me (felt it, put pressure on it causing an attack so intense I nearly blacked out from the pain) and then told me I was dehydrated and need to start drinking more water. To this day, I was never fully was tested for cancer and I still have to be careful with my kidneys. Which is precisely why, after the second attack in the span of 24 hours occurred, I made it a point to not repeat history and to legitimately get checked out this time around.
While the prognosis, thank God, was minor (especially compared to what I have been suspecting it was in the days leading up to me seeking medical attention), it did serve as a proper wake up call. Once again, I was faced with the reminder of my own mortality. And, really, not just the fact that my life will end, but the painfully real fact that I have no idea how and when it will end. As I laid on that gurney this afternoon, being taken to receive an ultrasound, it finally sunk in that all the plans I have made are for not if I don't act upon them. The only way I will ever become a published novelist is to sit down and write. The only way I will ever have a family of my own is if I take the risk of dating. The only way I will be able to become financially comfortable is by landing an actual decent job and start investing and saving. And, most importantly, the only way I can live a happy and healthy life is if I finally start taking care of my health and welfare. The full sum of a life is that of actions and consequences. A constant stream of events that span your first and last breath.
The fact of the matter, the one that I was once again brutally reminded of, is that I'm going to die. It could be tomorrow or when I turn 80. Regardless of when it does happen, it, without a doubt, will. Yet, instead of viewing this finality in the lens of hopeless despair, I am choosing now to take full reins of the remaining time allotted to me and to make full use of it. I know what it's like to live with regrets and "what if's". I know, full well, what it's like to go to bed after a wasted day. The hours I spend on Facebook could be hours spent hiking in the woods or helping the poor. Learning a new language or further mastering the one that is native to me. Instead of sitting on the couch, I should be traveling the world. And the last thing I want as I draw my last breath is to be filled with regret from all the chances I was too afraid to take.
For the past few weeks, I have been experiencing a...discomfort, if you will, in a very specific location on my body. My groin. Actually, a very specific location on my groin. And this discomfort stayed in that very, very localized area of my body. It started first as a mild, albeit confusing, sensation that occurred once every three or four days at a time. The intensity on the pain scale was between a three and a four. Noticeable, for certain, but entirely infrequent and mild enough to ignore. That, unfortunately, didn't last long.
Soon it escalated to every day. And then multiple times a a day. To then a near constant. Same exact location this entire time; and varying degrees in intensity (never greater than a five on the pain scale). And then last Friday happened.
I was spending the evening with some friends. My stomach was in knots and I was nauseous to the point of fighting throwing up. And that sensation was at a constant six on the pain scale. Basically, it felt like someone (and, pardon the graphic description) was constantly squeezing my left testicle. Then, late evening/early morning hit, just as I was about to get some sleep, I had an attack: the best I can describe is that of the description of a woman having contractions. It lasted for less than five minutes and it spiked to about an eight or nine on the pain scale. I was writhing in pain. The last time I had an episode like that what when I was dealing with my right kidney (which I'll get to in a minute). Fast forward to Saturday night and I had an equally intense attack after another full day of that squeezing sensation. Which is why I made the decision Sunday morning to go to the hospital as soon as possible. Which was today.
Now, before you think of me as the boy who cried wolf, I want you to take three things into consideration: the very specific and unchanging location of this. the gradual to sudden severity of what was happening, and, most importantly, that this is not the first scare that I've had. Back in early to mid 2008, I had a lump on my right kidney. A lump so large that it protruded out of my skin. The symptom were almost identical, including the severity of the attacks. I also attempted to get tested back then; but I didn't have adequate insurance, so I had to go to the ER to get it checked out. To which the nurse who "treated" me (felt it, put pressure on it causing an attack so intense I nearly blacked out from the pain) and then told me I was dehydrated and need to start drinking more water. To this day, I was never fully was tested for cancer and I still have to be careful with my kidneys. Which is precisely why, after the second attack in the span of 24 hours occurred, I made it a point to not repeat history and to legitimately get checked out this time around.
While the prognosis, thank God, was minor (especially compared to what I have been suspecting it was in the days leading up to me seeking medical attention), it did serve as a proper wake up call. Once again, I was faced with the reminder of my own mortality. And, really, not just the fact that my life will end, but the painfully real fact that I have no idea how and when it will end. As I laid on that gurney this afternoon, being taken to receive an ultrasound, it finally sunk in that all the plans I have made are for not if I don't act upon them. The only way I will ever become a published novelist is to sit down and write. The only way I will ever have a family of my own is if I take the risk of dating. The only way I will be able to become financially comfortable is by landing an actual decent job and start investing and saving. And, most importantly, the only way I can live a happy and healthy life is if I finally start taking care of my health and welfare. The full sum of a life is that of actions and consequences. A constant stream of events that span your first and last breath.
The fact of the matter, the one that I was once again brutally reminded of, is that I'm going to die. It could be tomorrow or when I turn 80. Regardless of when it does happen, it, without a doubt, will. Yet, instead of viewing this finality in the lens of hopeless despair, I am choosing now to take full reins of the remaining time allotted to me and to make full use of it. I know what it's like to live with regrets and "what if's". I know, full well, what it's like to go to bed after a wasted day. The hours I spend on Facebook could be hours spent hiking in the woods or helping the poor. Learning a new language or further mastering the one that is native to me. Instead of sitting on the couch, I should be traveling the world. And the last thing I want as I draw my last breath is to be filled with regret from all the chances I was too afraid to take.
Wednesday, August 5, 2015
The Time Machine Inside My Head
One of the benefits of being a writer, especially a blogger, is that we're allowed the luxury of introspection. It's entirely expected that we go around contemplating the going-ons of the world we live in. We ruminate equally on the lives of others and of ourselves. Which brings me to tonight's post: the time machine inside my head.
This evening I was in need of a walk to clear my head and to get a slight change in scenery. I didn't want to travel far, so I picked Safeway as my destination. I rarely go there (for no reason, really), so worked perfectly as a mild escape from the day-to-day pattern of life that I have. I took my time going there, ducking into another local market to wander and glanced in a local coffee shop that was barren of customers, but still open, nonetheless. The important factor to keep in mind is that the path I chose and took was down Main Street. I'll get to its importance in a minute.
Anyway, I reached Safeway, strolled around for about ten minutes, and then left. The whole point of this trip was, not to buy anything, but as I mentioned several times, to slip away. While I was in Safeway, I noticed that a local brewery had already released a pumpkin beer, which, now that I think about it, was the trigger to my contemplative journey back. It seems odd at first glance, but it's a subconscious signal of the changing of the seasons; which will eventually lead to the ending of another year. The unrepressible march of time continues forward.
As I began my stroll back, and this is where the importance of Main Street comes into play, I happened to start to approach the new high school. The old high school, the one I went to, was finally demolished this month. Out with the old and in with the new. Very little else has changed (structurally, anyway) on Main Street, but, as a whole, the demise of the old school is just another severed tie that once held my past to my present. The drive-in movie theater closed a few years back. The drive-in restaurant that used to hold a classic car show every Friday was closed down last year. A clothing store that used to sell letterman jackets and school rings finally went out of business this year. An old drug store that was around for 50 years is now a thrift shop that helps the local humane society. Even my 15 year high school reunion, which took place a couple weeks back, only had five people, counting myself. To sum it up, I was meant to move back here just so I could finally close the chapter of my hometown and move away forever.
It's bittersweet, this change. I'm no longer saddened or angered by the drastic spike in crime and meth that has swallowed up a town I used to call home. No, now all I am is just disappointed in the course of events that led to it. I do not grieve as I accept the very real future of me walking away and turning my back to it. It's just a let down that it had to happen this way. That we, as a species, are not allowed to have nice things, because we will only bring them to a ruin. We tarnish what we touch, as if a reverse King Midas. And even now, it what could be claimed as the pinnacle of technological advancement, still cannot get past our petty differences and self inflicted invisible barriers to become one race of people working towards one goal. It is truly this that I lament the most.
The other piece of the puzzle that brought me to this point was something I came across earlier this summer online. It's a picture on Imgur entitled "Only 90's kids will...oh...": http://imgur.com/gallery/uPims It sums up everything that my generation struggles with the most-rapid change. Some quotes from it include: "because so much technological advancement happened in a rapid time frame when we were growing up that we can clearly remember having technologies that are now obsolete..." "Just to add onto that, our childhood wasn't even that technology based. We grew up knowing of chalk, skateboards, jump rope, street hockey, playgrounds, butterfly collecting, etc. Slowly technology took over our lives and now there are hardly kids playing outside in the summer." and finally "Not to mention, ours was the last generation that grew up with all those bright promises of "hard work, go to college, and you'll have a successful life," only to find those hopes abruptly dashed when the housing bubble burst."
You could argue that we as a society have evolved to a point where such technologies are integral; but we're still at a point where random strangers hide behind their keyboards, starting flame wars and spewing hatred to individuals who they have never even met. Or cyber bullying, which is even worse than regular bullying because of how quickly and anonymously is spreads like digital wildfire. Kids and teens have always been ruthless to one another; but entire reputations are destroyed in minutes over rumors spread over Facebook and Instagram. People always ask where the parents are; not considering that they're glued to the same devices their offspring are. We don't talk, we text. We don't laugh, we LOL with a straight face. Why go to a communal movie theater when you can sit alone in your room watching Netflix? We have fully succumbed to mechanical agoraphobia; and it not only happened overnight, it happened without us even realizing it. And we "90's kids" were at the head of the parade that led us down this road.
And the fact of the matter is this: we can no longer control what we have created. This addiction is too entwined for us to ever quit.
As I mentioned before, one of my goals this year was closure. Letting go and moving on from the things that haunt my thoughts and steal the sleep from me. And, it is with much sadness, that I am choosing to walk away from this town and to not look back. While I still hold dear these memories; this town is of no more use to me than the Walkman I once had as a child.
This evening I was in need of a walk to clear my head and to get a slight change in scenery. I didn't want to travel far, so I picked Safeway as my destination. I rarely go there (for no reason, really), so worked perfectly as a mild escape from the day-to-day pattern of life that I have. I took my time going there, ducking into another local market to wander and glanced in a local coffee shop that was barren of customers, but still open, nonetheless. The important factor to keep in mind is that the path I chose and took was down Main Street. I'll get to its importance in a minute.
Anyway, I reached Safeway, strolled around for about ten minutes, and then left. The whole point of this trip was, not to buy anything, but as I mentioned several times, to slip away. While I was in Safeway, I noticed that a local brewery had already released a pumpkin beer, which, now that I think about it, was the trigger to my contemplative journey back. It seems odd at first glance, but it's a subconscious signal of the changing of the seasons; which will eventually lead to the ending of another year. The unrepressible march of time continues forward.
As I began my stroll back, and this is where the importance of Main Street comes into play, I happened to start to approach the new high school. The old high school, the one I went to, was finally demolished this month. Out with the old and in with the new. Very little else has changed (structurally, anyway) on Main Street, but, as a whole, the demise of the old school is just another severed tie that once held my past to my present. The drive-in movie theater closed a few years back. The drive-in restaurant that used to hold a classic car show every Friday was closed down last year. A clothing store that used to sell letterman jackets and school rings finally went out of business this year. An old drug store that was around for 50 years is now a thrift shop that helps the local humane society. Even my 15 year high school reunion, which took place a couple weeks back, only had five people, counting myself. To sum it up, I was meant to move back here just so I could finally close the chapter of my hometown and move away forever.
It's bittersweet, this change. I'm no longer saddened or angered by the drastic spike in crime and meth that has swallowed up a town I used to call home. No, now all I am is just disappointed in the course of events that led to it. I do not grieve as I accept the very real future of me walking away and turning my back to it. It's just a let down that it had to happen this way. That we, as a species, are not allowed to have nice things, because we will only bring them to a ruin. We tarnish what we touch, as if a reverse King Midas. And even now, it what could be claimed as the pinnacle of technological advancement, still cannot get past our petty differences and self inflicted invisible barriers to become one race of people working towards one goal. It is truly this that I lament the most.
The other piece of the puzzle that brought me to this point was something I came across earlier this summer online. It's a picture on Imgur entitled "Only 90's kids will...oh...": http://imgur.com/gallery/uPims It sums up everything that my generation struggles with the most-rapid change. Some quotes from it include: "because so much technological advancement happened in a rapid time frame when we were growing up that we can clearly remember having technologies that are now obsolete..." "Just to add onto that, our childhood wasn't even that technology based. We grew up knowing of chalk, skateboards, jump rope, street hockey, playgrounds, butterfly collecting, etc. Slowly technology took over our lives and now there are hardly kids playing outside in the summer." and finally "Not to mention, ours was the last generation that grew up with all those bright promises of "hard work, go to college, and you'll have a successful life," only to find those hopes abruptly dashed when the housing bubble burst."
You could argue that we as a society have evolved to a point where such technologies are integral; but we're still at a point where random strangers hide behind their keyboards, starting flame wars and spewing hatred to individuals who they have never even met. Or cyber bullying, which is even worse than regular bullying because of how quickly and anonymously is spreads like digital wildfire. Kids and teens have always been ruthless to one another; but entire reputations are destroyed in minutes over rumors spread over Facebook and Instagram. People always ask where the parents are; not considering that they're glued to the same devices their offspring are. We don't talk, we text. We don't laugh, we LOL with a straight face. Why go to a communal movie theater when you can sit alone in your room watching Netflix? We have fully succumbed to mechanical agoraphobia; and it not only happened overnight, it happened without us even realizing it. And we "90's kids" were at the head of the parade that led us down this road.
And the fact of the matter is this: we can no longer control what we have created. This addiction is too entwined for us to ever quit.
As I mentioned before, one of my goals this year was closure. Letting go and moving on from the things that haunt my thoughts and steal the sleep from me. And, it is with much sadness, that I am choosing to walk away from this town and to not look back. While I still hold dear these memories; this town is of no more use to me than the Walkman I once had as a child.
Sunday, August 2, 2015
The Changing of the Season
August, for whatever reason, tends to be the one month out of the year that is a catalyst for change. Maybe it's the beginning of the transition from Summer to Autumn. Maybe it's the fact that the year is now over half over and any change that hasn't happened yet needs to hurry up and start. Maybe it's left over from when I was in school and August meant starting school in September; thus the beginning of another cycle in my life. I'm not sure why this particular month is a powerful change agent, but it is and (from what I recall) always has been.
This has been a busy summer for me. Much has happened in a short amount of time. Some good, some bad, some events quite unexpected. But through the apparent chaos of it, I have been at relative peace with life. I am no longer "a hearse, carrying dead hurts" (Mostly Prove Me Wrong by Fiction Family). I've made it a point this year to bring closure to my past as best as I can. With malice towards none, I move forward with my life; only making time for those who choose to be in my life. What free time I have is precious to me and I would rather spend time with someone that respects that. That way, those who choose not to spend time with me close that door all on their own. No bridges are burned that way, either. I no longer take it personal when someone doesn't want to spend their time with me. It, quite simply, is what it is.
On the flipside, I'm not closing that door for anyone, either. I've already spent some time with a few friends who I haven't seen in years. If someone, anyone really, wants to be in my life, all they have to do is reach out and make the effort. I'm more than willing to meet them halfway and bridge any gap there is between us. Friendship is extremely important to me; and I would hate to think that I have lost one forever.
Speaking of transition, career wise, it looks like I will be working once again in Seattle. Every recruiter I have talked to recently is there. Every job and company I have looked at is there. I'm feeling the pull to transition north and I'm not getting in my own way. There's a lot of opportunity there and I feel like that is where the next chapter in my life will begin. If that means living up there as well, well only time and life will tell. I honestly don't know where I will wind up, but I know when the next phase begins, everything will fall into place pretty much overnight. That is how it has been happening for a while now-life stagnant for months at a time and then change just up and happening all at once. At least this time around I'm seeing the signs before they happen.
Speaking of the unexpected happening and seeing the signs beforehand, I know that I won't be single for much longer. No specific individual comes to mind, but the pieces are falling into place for me to enter into a relationship. With the stabilizing of my life just around the corner and the fact that I'm no longer fighting the urge to date (I'm not going to date someone when nothing is working out for me. If I'm not stable in my own life, I'm not going to bring turbulence into someone else's.). And, while I do have an affinity for finding the fairer sex, something tells me it's going to be someone I know already. I just have no idea who.
Another itch I'm about to scratch is my urge to write. Not just blog, but an honest to goodness novel. Or even just a collection of short stories. I have so many ideas rattling around in my head that I cannot wait to turn them into a book. I've even considered selecting some of these posts and putting them into an anthology to essays (think David Sedaris). If I do go that route, I'm going to have to flesh out the ones I select so they're longer in length. Which I'm cool with doing. Regardless of the route I go, it's going to have to happen soon. The desire to create is palpable.
The seasons of life are about to change. With the cooling of the temperatures and the return of the rain, so also begins another cycle of metamorphosis. I shed the cocoon once more, spread my wings, and take another flight of faith.
This has been a busy summer for me. Much has happened in a short amount of time. Some good, some bad, some events quite unexpected. But through the apparent chaos of it, I have been at relative peace with life. I am no longer "a hearse, carrying dead hurts" (Mostly Prove Me Wrong by Fiction Family). I've made it a point this year to bring closure to my past as best as I can. With malice towards none, I move forward with my life; only making time for those who choose to be in my life. What free time I have is precious to me and I would rather spend time with someone that respects that. That way, those who choose not to spend time with me close that door all on their own. No bridges are burned that way, either. I no longer take it personal when someone doesn't want to spend their time with me. It, quite simply, is what it is.
On the flipside, I'm not closing that door for anyone, either. I've already spent some time with a few friends who I haven't seen in years. If someone, anyone really, wants to be in my life, all they have to do is reach out and make the effort. I'm more than willing to meet them halfway and bridge any gap there is between us. Friendship is extremely important to me; and I would hate to think that I have lost one forever.
Speaking of transition, career wise, it looks like I will be working once again in Seattle. Every recruiter I have talked to recently is there. Every job and company I have looked at is there. I'm feeling the pull to transition north and I'm not getting in my own way. There's a lot of opportunity there and I feel like that is where the next chapter in my life will begin. If that means living up there as well, well only time and life will tell. I honestly don't know where I will wind up, but I know when the next phase begins, everything will fall into place pretty much overnight. That is how it has been happening for a while now-life stagnant for months at a time and then change just up and happening all at once. At least this time around I'm seeing the signs before they happen.
Speaking of the unexpected happening and seeing the signs beforehand, I know that I won't be single for much longer. No specific individual comes to mind, but the pieces are falling into place for me to enter into a relationship. With the stabilizing of my life just around the corner and the fact that I'm no longer fighting the urge to date (I'm not going to date someone when nothing is working out for me. If I'm not stable in my own life, I'm not going to bring turbulence into someone else's.). And, while I do have an affinity for finding the fairer sex, something tells me it's going to be someone I know already. I just have no idea who.
Another itch I'm about to scratch is my urge to write. Not just blog, but an honest to goodness novel. Or even just a collection of short stories. I have so many ideas rattling around in my head that I cannot wait to turn them into a book. I've even considered selecting some of these posts and putting them into an anthology to essays (think David Sedaris). If I do go that route, I'm going to have to flesh out the ones I select so they're longer in length. Which I'm cool with doing. Regardless of the route I go, it's going to have to happen soon. The desire to create is palpable.
The seasons of life are about to change. With the cooling of the temperatures and the return of the rain, so also begins another cycle of metamorphosis. I shed the cocoon once more, spread my wings, and take another flight of faith.
Wednesday, July 22, 2015
The Winds of Change are Blowing
So it begins.
A new chapter in my life has begun. I woke up yesterday morning with the feeling that everything was different. That this past weekend has changed the course of my life. For better or worse, I begin on a path that I will walk for the rest of my life.
The question is: what?
Not to be cryptic, but I have no idea what the change is or will be. It was an amazingly fantastic weekend, but there wasn't anything remotely overt in the life changing department. The only thing is that I can tell you is that I woke up stronger. Ready to take on the world once more. I regained my determination to make this life mine and to not take any prisoners or compromises in the path that I feel I should be walking. To the future that I will make my own.
I will say this: I'm done putting my life on hold. I'm done waiting. The kid gloves are coming off and I'm putting myself and my needs first. I'm not saying "no more mister nice guy" because I am always going to be that guy. I'm always going to be there for others and to treat them better than I treat myself. But I am getting out of my own way and I'm ready to take this life by the horns and see where the bucking bronco takes me.
The last time this happened, this feeling, I was living in Texas two months later. I am no stranger to sudden and drastic life changes. When I let go of my doubts and get out of my own way, big, nay, drastic life changes happen overnight. And it has begun once again. I'm wiping the slate entirely clean and starting from scratch.
As of right now, everything is an option. Living situation. Relationship status. Job and career path. Empires will rise and fall and the mental eclipse that has been blackening my potential is rolling away once more. It's time to hit the ground running and to show the world just exactly what I'm made of. It's time to bring forth why I was put on this Earth to begin with.
The winds of change are blowing. And the air has never been sweeter.
A new chapter in my life has begun. I woke up yesterday morning with the feeling that everything was different. That this past weekend has changed the course of my life. For better or worse, I begin on a path that I will walk for the rest of my life.
The question is: what?
Not to be cryptic, but I have no idea what the change is or will be. It was an amazingly fantastic weekend, but there wasn't anything remotely overt in the life changing department. The only thing is that I can tell you is that I woke up stronger. Ready to take on the world once more. I regained my determination to make this life mine and to not take any prisoners or compromises in the path that I feel I should be walking. To the future that I will make my own.
I will say this: I'm done putting my life on hold. I'm done waiting. The kid gloves are coming off and I'm putting myself and my needs first. I'm not saying "no more mister nice guy" because I am always going to be that guy. I'm always going to be there for others and to treat them better than I treat myself. But I am getting out of my own way and I'm ready to take this life by the horns and see where the bucking bronco takes me.
The last time this happened, this feeling, I was living in Texas two months later. I am no stranger to sudden and drastic life changes. When I let go of my doubts and get out of my own way, big, nay, drastic life changes happen overnight. And it has begun once again. I'm wiping the slate entirely clean and starting from scratch.
As of right now, everything is an option. Living situation. Relationship status. Job and career path. Empires will rise and fall and the mental eclipse that has been blackening my potential is rolling away once more. It's time to hit the ground running and to show the world just exactly what I'm made of. It's time to bring forth why I was put on this Earth to begin with.
The winds of change are blowing. And the air has never been sweeter.
Monday, July 13, 2015
The Words in My Veins
"Oh girl, this boat is sinking. There's no sea left for me. And how the sky gets heavy, when you are underneath it. Oh, I want to sail away from here. And God.... He came down, down, down..." - Otherside by Macklemore.
As a writer, there is nothing more intimidating than a blank screen and a blinking cursor. Ideally, it's an invitation to create, but it can be the most frightening and paralyzing thing you can see. There's a lot of doubt that fills the very essence of your being as you look at the possibility of either utter and complete failure or skyrocketing success. Or, the worst of it all-mediocrity. Because I, like every other writer, would rather be a terrible writer than a mediocre one. One who's craft is utter meaningless crap.
Being a writer is the loneliest type of magician there is. We create whole worlds; while we can barely live in our own. We're shut-ins by nature. We HAVE to be shut ins-the world is a noisy place and full of distraction. We're dysfunctional by default and the best of us are truly broken souls. Some of, hell probably most of the greats dealt with crippling depression and more than a few committed suicide. And addiction is something that runs just as rampant in the wordsmith community. We let the coping mechanisms take over; and most of the time we don't even realized it. Writing staves off the demons in our head for a while, but never permanently. Which is the other main drive of why we keep writing. And, to clear the air right now-no writer writes to get rich. No real writers, any way. The biggest and most universal addiction that writers have is writing itself. The flow of words as they materialize in front of us is almost a high. No, strike that, it is one. When a writer is "in the zone" we're getting high on our own craft and there's a fire inside us that allows us to feel alive once more. Which is why when we stop writing, the crushing weight of depression kicks back in. Hence the quote at the beginning of this post.
By nature, writers are difficult people to be around for an extended period of time. I am, at the very least self-actualized to both realized and admit this. I know how moody I can be; even if I don't realize at the time how difficult I'm being. Don't get me wrong-we're (for the most part) very down-to-earth and (somewhat) friendly people. Some of us (such as myself) are also extremely non-judgmental people you'll ever meet. But being around us for an extended period of time is about as good for you as being around untreated uranium. By nature we can be extremely self-destructive and it's hard to maintain a friendship that is constantly doubting themselves. One minute we can think we're the best writer that has ever put pen to paper and the next we want to set fire to everything we have ever written. Especially during the editing process.
Before you start thinking we're the most terrible people to ever walk this Earth, there's many redeemable qualities about us. First off, we LOVE our readers. I cannot emphasize that enough. To know that someone is reading our work (and hopefully is enjoying it) is the biggest thrill. The most gratifying experience is when someone says that they love our work. I'm not going to lie-we may be skeptical at first, but that's only because, as I mentioned before, we constantly doubt ourselves and our work. So, and I mean this from the bottom of my heart, we love our readers far more than you love us. Someone told me recently that they loved something I had written and I wanted to hug the crap out of them.
Second is our quirks are pretty awesome. Writers love our tools. I'm a big quality pen freak. Quality pens are pretty much the best thing ever. Especially when you hear them scratch over quality paper and the magic begins again. And typewriters. Despite where technology has taken us, every writer should not only own a typewriter, but use it at least once a year. I personally do not own one, but I will as soon I have the ways and means to pick one up. Growing up, my family had an electric Smith Corona and the hum it made while it sat there waiting for the magic to begin; followed by the ecstasy educing sound of the pounding of each letter hitting the paper and the creation of each word. The clanking and rattling is the best sound in the world. As soon as I can, I'm going to find and pick up one of those Smith Coronas for myself. I honestly know and believe that I need one of those in my life.
Writers are also readers and we're always searching for amazing quotes. When I came across this Buzzfeed article the other day, I had to bookmark it immediately: http://www.buzzfeed.com/jenniferschaffer/i-am-i-am-i-am#.mtr7xMeBa The perfect turn of a phrase is what we live for. There is a strange electricity in the forming or reading of a perfect sentence. In fact, the one of the best is Gone Girl by Gillian Flynn; as every sentence is razor sharp and cuts to the bone. Not a single word is wasted and that is truly a rare thing to find in any novel. I honestly tip my hat to her.
Brevity, as you may have noticed, is not my strong suit. I realize that. Which is why I'm cutting this short. Writers have a strong tendency to go off on tangents and I'm a perfect example of this. To be blunt, I had the strong urge to write and this is what came from that. I will add, in closing, that I started watching the show Californiacation yesterday and the show struck pretty close to home for me. The show, if you're not aware, is about a writer who is dealing with crippling bout of writer's block and it's about his struggle to not only write, but deal with life while he can't. If you do check out the show, be forwarded that there is a lot of sex, drinking, and somewhat drug use. He also smokes like a chimney. But he also has a lot of redeeming factors about him. And it is honestly the most closest depiction of what being a writer is truly like. Because, at the end of the day, the thing that is most vital to writers is writing itself.
As a writer, there is nothing more intimidating than a blank screen and a blinking cursor. Ideally, it's an invitation to create, but it can be the most frightening and paralyzing thing you can see. There's a lot of doubt that fills the very essence of your being as you look at the possibility of either utter and complete failure or skyrocketing success. Or, the worst of it all-mediocrity. Because I, like every other writer, would rather be a terrible writer than a mediocre one. One who's craft is utter meaningless crap.
Being a writer is the loneliest type of magician there is. We create whole worlds; while we can barely live in our own. We're shut-ins by nature. We HAVE to be shut ins-the world is a noisy place and full of distraction. We're dysfunctional by default and the best of us are truly broken souls. Some of, hell probably most of the greats dealt with crippling depression and more than a few committed suicide. And addiction is something that runs just as rampant in the wordsmith community. We let the coping mechanisms take over; and most of the time we don't even realized it. Writing staves off the demons in our head for a while, but never permanently. Which is the other main drive of why we keep writing. And, to clear the air right now-no writer writes to get rich. No real writers, any way. The biggest and most universal addiction that writers have is writing itself. The flow of words as they materialize in front of us is almost a high. No, strike that, it is one. When a writer is "in the zone" we're getting high on our own craft and there's a fire inside us that allows us to feel alive once more. Which is why when we stop writing, the crushing weight of depression kicks back in. Hence the quote at the beginning of this post.
By nature, writers are difficult people to be around for an extended period of time. I am, at the very least self-actualized to both realized and admit this. I know how moody I can be; even if I don't realize at the time how difficult I'm being. Don't get me wrong-we're (for the most part) very down-to-earth and (somewhat) friendly people. Some of us (such as myself) are also extremely non-judgmental people you'll ever meet. But being around us for an extended period of time is about as good for you as being around untreated uranium. By nature we can be extremely self-destructive and it's hard to maintain a friendship that is constantly doubting themselves. One minute we can think we're the best writer that has ever put pen to paper and the next we want to set fire to everything we have ever written. Especially during the editing process.
Before you start thinking we're the most terrible people to ever walk this Earth, there's many redeemable qualities about us. First off, we LOVE our readers. I cannot emphasize that enough. To know that someone is reading our work (and hopefully is enjoying it) is the biggest thrill. The most gratifying experience is when someone says that they love our work. I'm not going to lie-we may be skeptical at first, but that's only because, as I mentioned before, we constantly doubt ourselves and our work. So, and I mean this from the bottom of my heart, we love our readers far more than you love us. Someone told me recently that they loved something I had written and I wanted to hug the crap out of them.
Second is our quirks are pretty awesome. Writers love our tools. I'm a big quality pen freak. Quality pens are pretty much the best thing ever. Especially when you hear them scratch over quality paper and the magic begins again. And typewriters. Despite where technology has taken us, every writer should not only own a typewriter, but use it at least once a year. I personally do not own one, but I will as soon I have the ways and means to pick one up. Growing up, my family had an electric Smith Corona and the hum it made while it sat there waiting for the magic to begin; followed by the ecstasy educing sound of the pounding of each letter hitting the paper and the creation of each word. The clanking and rattling is the best sound in the world. As soon as I can, I'm going to find and pick up one of those Smith Coronas for myself. I honestly know and believe that I need one of those in my life.
Writers are also readers and we're always searching for amazing quotes. When I came across this Buzzfeed article the other day, I had to bookmark it immediately: http://www.buzzfeed.com/jenniferschaffer/i-am-i-am-i-am#.mtr7xMeBa The perfect turn of a phrase is what we live for. There is a strange electricity in the forming or reading of a perfect sentence. In fact, the one of the best is Gone Girl by Gillian Flynn; as every sentence is razor sharp and cuts to the bone. Not a single word is wasted and that is truly a rare thing to find in any novel. I honestly tip my hat to her.
Brevity, as you may have noticed, is not my strong suit. I realize that. Which is why I'm cutting this short. Writers have a strong tendency to go off on tangents and I'm a perfect example of this. To be blunt, I had the strong urge to write and this is what came from that. I will add, in closing, that I started watching the show Californiacation yesterday and the show struck pretty close to home for me. The show, if you're not aware, is about a writer who is dealing with crippling bout of writer's block and it's about his struggle to not only write, but deal with life while he can't. If you do check out the show, be forwarded that there is a lot of sex, drinking, and somewhat drug use. He also smokes like a chimney. But he also has a lot of redeeming factors about him. And it is honestly the most closest depiction of what being a writer is truly like. Because, at the end of the day, the thing that is most vital to writers is writing itself.
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