The Giving of Thanks

I'm going to open up this blog with two parables. The first is Buddhist, the second Christian. Before you flip out (or don't), fully read them. Soak them in and the underlying message that they tell. And, since Thanksgiving is tomorrow here in the States, I thought it would be most fitting if the two parables (and the subsequent post following them) be about gratitude and being thankful.

Here is the first:

"An honor student, frustrated with his life and with school, worried about what tomorrow may bring, approached his teacher asking for some guidance.

“The story goes,” says the teacher in response to his students request for help, “That a Buddhist Monk was walking through the mountains one day. Then, out of nowhere, a tiger appears, chasing the monk towards the edge of a cliff. The monk, in his quest to escape the tiger, runs to the edge of the cliff and climbs over the side, where he sees five other tigers 15 feet below him, waiting to eat him.

So the monk is just hanging there, holding on to a vine on the side of the cliff, waiting there for the little chance he has to escape or for his imminent demise. Then, as the monk hangs there, exploring his options, he turns to the left and sees a strawberry.

He smiles, “Wow what a magnificent strawberry!” he says to himself. So, he picks it and he eats it.

The student waited for his teacher to continue but it was clear that the teacher was done with the story. “That’s it? That is it the story? The monk is about to be eaten by tigers so he reaches out to pick and eat a strawberry?” the student exclaimed.

“What’s the point?” he added.

The teacher replied, “The lesson is to know and embrace the experience of being alive. You must be alive every second you are alive.”

The student responded, “But teacher, everyone is alive when they are alive.”

“No,” said the teacher. “It’s the experience of being alive in each moment, in each experience, good and bad. We must be alive every second we are alive and not simply exist and live out our days.”

The student, confused, questioned his teacher, asking, “But everyone alive is alive, aren’t they?” he insisted.

“No. Look at you now,” explained the teacher. “You are running around being chased by tigers, consumed with your thoughts of how it could be better, how you could be better if only things were different. Yet, you have shared with me over the past year several difficult situations, in addition to the circumstances that I have observed, how you were about to be eaten by tigers and how you have been saved in each situation. You can’t be alive if you are living in fear and if you’re living in fear you can’t see and experience life; the magnificence of your life that is right in front of you in each moment.”

The teacher asked, “Are you running around, grinning over the feeling of being the luckiest, most fortunate and appreciative person in the world because of what IS  present in your life today, or are you consumed with fear, what you DON’T have in your life or what may possibly happen some time in the future?”

The student thought for a moment, looked up at his teacher, smiled, and continued on with his day…"

Here is the second parable:

Jesus continued: “There was a man who had two sons. The younger one said to his father, ‘Father, give me my share of the estate.’ So he divided his property between them.

“Not long after that, the younger son got together all he had, set off for a distant country and there squandered his wealth in wild living.  After he had spent everything, there was a severe famine in that whole country, and he began to be in need.  So he went and hired himself out to a citizen of that country, who sent him to his fields to feed pigs.  He longed to fill his stomach with the pods that the pigs were eating, but no one gave him anything.

 “When he came to his senses, he said, ‘How many of my father’s hired servants have food to spare, and here I am starving to death!  I will set out and go back to my father and say to him: Father, I have sinned against heaven and against you.  I am no longer worthy to be called your son; make me like one of your hired servants.’  So he got up and went to his father.

“But while he was still a long way off, his father saw him and was filled with compassion for him; he ran to his son, threw his arms around him and kissed him.

 “The son said to him, ‘Father, I have sinned against heaven and against you. I am no longer worthy to be called your son.’

 “But the father said to his servants, ‘Quick! Bring the best robe and put it on him. Put a ring on his finger and sandals on his feet.  Bring the fattened calf and kill it. Let’s have a feast and celebrate.  For this son of mine was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found.’ So they began to celebrate.

“Meanwhile, the older son was in the field. When he came near the house, he heard music and dancing.  So he called one of the servants and asked him what was going on.27 ‘Your brother has come,’ he replied, ‘and your father has killed the fattened calf because he has him back safe and sound.’

 “The older brother became angry and refused to go in. So his father went out and pleaded with him.  But he answered his father, ‘Look! All these years I’ve been slaving for you and never disobeyed your orders. Yet you never gave me even a young goat so I could celebrate with my friends.  But when this son of yours who has squandered your property with prostitutes comes home, you kill the fattened calf for him!’

“‘My son,’ the father said, ‘you are always with me, and everything I have is yours.  But we had to celebrate and be glad, because this brother of yours was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found.’”

 Both parables have three characters. The first has the teacher, the student, and the monk. The second has a father and his two sons. Both parables have extreme conditions, which lead to serendipitous outcomes. The first has the monk finding a delectable strawberry. The second has the younger son coming to his senses and returning home. And both parables have a character who does not understand the series of events and experiences frustration. The first is the student and the second is the older son who stayed behind.

Life, whether you are born as a rich child in a castle or a poor child in a hut, is a difficult journey and rarely gives us the "answers" that we demand from it. Events, both good and bad, unfold that defy all concept of what we consider to have reason. They say that hindsight has 20/20 vision; but that isn't always the case, either. Yet, when we do have the luxury of hindsight and we see the pieces that have unfolded into the path we are on now, we should give thanks. 

The true spirit and meaning of Thanksgiving is not about feasting on turkey; any more than the true spirit and meaning of Christmas is about giving gifts. The true spirit and meaning of Thanksgiving is about being grateful for what we have and what we have overcome. Myself, for example, I have overcome being let go from a company that I loved, friendships ending, a cancer scare, and a brief bit of homelessness. In just this year alone. But I am grateful for the job that I have now and the team that I work with, the friendships I still have, seeing my sister and her family (which is a rare treat) this summer, and the fact that I have a roof over my head and food to eat. This year has not been the easiest, but I have survived it and more importantly learned from it. With each storm is a lesson to be learned, an opportunity to move on and move forward, or both.

There is no "easy button" when it comes to life. To presume so is not only folly, but an invitation for catastrophe. You may have woken up today, but there will be a day where you will see your last dawn. You may have plenty to eat, but there may be a time when you find yourself hungry and unable to fill your stomach. The money you have in the bank, the job that you hold (or don't), the place where you live, and most importantly, the people you have in your life-all that will change. Many times. Most times, without warning. 

So, give thanks. And be thankful. Life may not be easy; but I promise you it is entirely worth it.

The Plight of Hank Moody

I'll set the scene for you: Here I am, sitting in front of a computer. There's coffee in my cup. I've closed out of Facebook and cued up Tool on YouTube. There's a Word document open and I'm set to start writing. My fingertips start pounding on the keys and I instantly start creating literary magic. Things are going smashingly...until I stop. Three paragraphs in.

People think that writer's block is simply the lack of ideas to write about. That's definitely a big part of it. But it's also equally the lack of desire to continue writing. Struggling to come up with the urge to write is just as strong, if now stronger than the desperate search for words after months of searching for the right plot or character.

It takes a certain type of broken soul to constantly generate the lives of others.  Not in the tormented, hell-bent, solely narcissistic creatures that Hollywood portrays writers to be. Well, certain ones are, I'm not going to lie. I do share a trade with those who's sole focus is themselves and the image they love to project upon others. But, one trait, one universal characteristic that we all share is that we have the lives, fully developed people-entire worlds, even, living constantly inside our heads. And yet...there's times when those worlds disappear. Just vanish into the fog of day-to-day existence. Slip into the fold of mundania that can be innocously necrotic to the creative juices. Which is how the demise of many a novel and short story comes to be. The Great Fount of Literary Brilliance will sometimes just completely dry up and refuse to flow. Three paragraphs in. And, this the writer is truly blessed and lucky, they will know the circumstances in which their purpose decides to fly the coop. Most, including myself, are rarely, if ever, that fortunate.

There is a show that used to be on Showtime (it's now on Netflix-where I discovered it) called Californication. The main character is Hank Moody, a one hit wonder writer who's book became a big movie. The show takes place as Hank is going through a severe bout of writer's block. His "wife" (although they never got married) is in a strong committed relationship with another man and this devastates Hank Moody to the point of putting a bullet in his Muse. He, quite simply, can't write. He has talent and the vocabulary. The fan base to propel him back into the literary limelight whenever he wishes. He just...can't. His life is in perpetual turmoil (most of which is admittedly self-inflicted) and he longs for the ways and days of yesteryear. When he had everything that he ever wanted. And didn't realize exactly what he had until he lost it all. And, future reference, if you do check out the show-the first season is undeniably the best.

I know the plight of Hank Moody all to well. I sympathize with him and his complete lack of ability to do the one thing that he was put on this Earth to do. He doesn't lack the words (he's incredibly articulate and verbose), he just cannot translate that into putting forth, once again, the Great American Novel. He's suffering from, for lack of a better term, literary constipation. He's spinning the wheels of his fantastic lexicon and wasting in on the pointless diatribes on living in LA. I know his struggle all too well (although, I don't live in LA and have zero desire to) and I can honestly say that I am doing the same thing (albeit his...poor decisions I do not, and would not, ever consider pursuing). It's not that I lack the desire to create. I just can't. I love writing-don't get me wrong, but I know all what it's like to have life eternal swallowing up any and all desire to forge literary greatness.

Which brings me to this blog. If I ever had a digital lifeline, this is it. I had two other blogs, but this one is my most honest one. I said in the beginning that it would be no-holds-barred. I meant that, not only for your benefit, but my own. The complete ability to have full-on candor is, refreshing. A breath of fresh air. I love that I can come on here and be contemplative. Or vent. Or both. The fact that I can come on here and the words don't escape me. There is no cause for them to flee just as I'm reaching for them. It is here, on this blog, that I can finally and fully become the writer I always dreamed I would become.

Which also brings me to my (and Hanks' dilemma). Write a blog is good and all, but it's also a world away from writing a novel. Giving birth to a creation that the world entire will judge (good or bad), is paralyzing, to say the least. Calling or not, when the time comes to actually do what I was put on this Earth to do...I choke. Plain and simple. I get all up in my head (and not in the good, creative way) and I begin to overthink. Unintentionally overwhelm myself. Which is the breeding ground of doubt. Which is surefire death of all literary greatness.  Or even just mediocrity. Either way, I become my own worst enemy. And, thus, the inevitably cycle begins once again.

The Weight of Words

So, as I'm about to embark upon my first true attempt at becoming a novelist, I'm once again reminded of the weight of words. This particular challenge is to write a novel in the span of 30 days and 50,000 words. I sat down yesterday and hashed out a timeline (it's the only way that I outline) and I'm pretty excited about it. In fact, I'm thinking it's probably going to surpass the required word count. If I do it right.

Fifty-thousand. It's daunting when you think about it. But what is more daunting is the statements that are ten words or less. "I love you" is only three words; but it can fill you with unimaginable joy. Change just one word-"love" to "hate" and it can devastate someone, even years after the fact. "He's gone" is a very benign statement that is open to a plethora of interpretation. But add two more words at the beginning: "I"m sorry" and you come up with "I'm sorry, he's gone." Which, I'm not going to lie, is one phrase I've heard more than once and it is truly soul crushing to hear. Add the same two words at the beginning of "it's over" and you have a relationship that comes to an end. In fact, "I'm sorry, just on it's own can be said through a fount of tears. But it can also be a building block to better days.

We've become careless with our words. The aforementioned "I love you" is a phrase that has all but lost its meaning. Sure, we may tell someone that we truly care deeply about that we love them; but we also say it to friends, coworkers, and even random strangers (such as the pizza delivery person) who are giving us something we strongly desire. "Literally" is rapidly loosing its meaning due to overuse. "Epic" no longer is. With the over-gluttenous saturation of phrases that appear nonstop-and often in 140 characters or less, we are saying far more than we have ever had and communicating the least amount in human history. Add to it such phrases as "bae" and "yolo" and the English language is rapidly disintegrating at our own hands (or, really, out of our own mouths). And, on the flip side, we no longer listen to what a person is saying, but how we're going to respond to it.

Communication isn't dead; but at this rate, it's not long for this world.

I'm keeping this particular post short-it's just after two in the morning and I'm bloody tired. But, as I mentioned in the beginning, the weight of the words of this world are once again on my shoulders. Hopefully, this post will remind you to be less frivolous with the prose and speech in which you use every day.

Words still have a meaning. We just need to be reminded of their impact every now and again.

Writing A New Chapter

There's a popular saying that goes "when one door closes, another one opens". For the longest time (and still, to some extent now), the saying got on my nerves. Not just the fact that it's a trite concept of life; but also that it's such an unrealistic view on how things work. It's as if they believe that there's some magic fairy that waves their wand when things go bad and "poof" everything is better again.

Yet, Newton's Third Law of Motion states that for every action, there's and opposite and equal reaction. And life is eternally in motion; so, perhaps, there's some truth to the glib platitude.

To be blunt, I'm not sure where my life is, at this moment. It's no longer in Limbo, but it doesn't feel like there's going to be any massive life changing events before the end of the year. Which, let's be honest, I'm quite grateful for that. This year has had it's fill of turbulence and I would be quite pleased if it would calm down for a bit. I'm working again (albeit severely part time); but I'm back in my element- a bookstore. I didn't realize how much I missed it until I started working for B&N. The commute is a nightmare, but when is it ever not? Most everyone has a dreadful commute, so why should I be any different. I'm single, still, but I'm much more open to the possibility of a relationship than I have been in quite some time. Let's be honest, if I keep waiting for the conditions to be right for me to date, I will die alone. Which is a concept that I'm not fond of at all.

No, as of this current moment, it feels as if I just allow myself to let go of the illusion of control over my life, then things will actually fall into place. What that exactly means, I'm not certain. But, if there has been one indisputable fact that this year has given me, it's that the harder I try to "fix things", the more likely they are to unravel. So, by doing the exact opposite-letting go, I'm actually letting life take care of itself. At least in theory.

In ten days, I begin NaNoWriMo. I'm finally writing a book. And, I'm actually kinda at peace with it. I'm not stressing about it (yet) and I'm not doubting myself as to whether or not I can pull it off. I haven't had the opportunity to put together an outline; but considering the format I'm going with, an outline might now work in the first place. No, the one thing that does give me apprehension is that I looked up just how many words 1,667 is (that, by the way, is the daily word count needed to pull off 50k by the end of November) and it was a lot more than what I was expecting. But, it's only insurmountable if I psych myself out about it. Will I face challenges? Of course. Without a doubt. But it's worth it. Not only is it the reason I was put on this Earth, but it's something I deeply enjoy doing. Which was something else I was reminded of as I started working at B&N.

Sometimes fate needs you to pave your own way, and other times life needs you to just let things happen. I had a dream the other night that was a huge wake up call. I was basically shown that I have been stressing way too hard about things that were never in my control to begin with. Instead of walking through a door, I've been pushing at a wall trying to make it open. So, as I write this book and create a fictional life, I'm going to let my real life play out in whatever way it needs to.

Because, sometimes the best way to make a change is to do nothing at all.

Get Scrappy.

So, next month is NaNoWriMo: National Novel Writing Month. There's a well known online organization that gets people to participate and become novelists. I've made several stabs in the past, but this year is going to be my year.

So, what exactly does that mean? 50,000 words in 30 days. Or, 1,667 words a day. To put that into perspective, The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy (46,333), The Giver (43,617), and Fahrenheit 451 (46,118) all had a lesser word count. Also factor in that Thanksgiving counts as one of those days. So if you don't want to write then, you're going to have to double up somewhere else. Also, (because I'm insane like this), I fully plan on continuing to blog in November, as well. 

It's not easy. The best advice I have ever received when it came to writing came from none other than Patrick Rothfuss (author of The Name of the Wind). I asked him what his best advice for completing NaNoWriMo and he told me "Sit your ass in a chair and write. That's really it." Or, as Ernest Hemingway put it: "There's nothing to writing. All you do is sit at a typewriter and bleed."

Honestly, that's exactly what writing truly means. There's a whole hell of a lot of blood, sweat, and tears that goes into writing something. As Frank Herbert put it: "Fear is a mind killer" and  there is a lot of that that happens as you put words to page. "Is this crap?" is something I ask myself with each blog post, poem, short story, etc. In fact, with my blog (and my poetry), I hit "submit" before reading it. That prevents me from butchering it or allowing it to get to my head. In fact, I rarely ever read my own posts. So, the fact that I'm dedicating a month of my life and creating a piece of work that I hope and pray will hit bookstores some day is daunting, to say the very least. I'm facing very real adversaries; both external (time and extenuating circumstances) and internal (doubt and distraction). 

I'm scrappy. Which is a very nice way of saying I'm stubborn and hate to give up.  When I'm truly dedicated to a project, nothing else matters. I pour every ounce of my being into what I am creating. And this particular project is one that I have made multiple attempts at. Which makes me all the more determined. So, by hell or by high water, I'm writing a book.

"Every Saint Has a Past, Every Sinner Has a Future"

I make no excuses for my past. I'm human. I screw up-A LOT. Daily, to be honest. I'm far from perfect, and I make no bones about it. I've burned bridges that should still be standing. I've stayed on bridges that were clearly in flames. I trust too much, and not enough. I forgive and I hold on; probably much longer than I should. I am my own worst enemy, but I know I'm not the only enemy I have. And I know that those who hold a grudge against me have every right to.

But, at the end of the day, I'm still trying.

I was shot down, again, by unnamed tech company today. And there's a strong chance that I may have to leave B&N due to transportation issues. Both of which makes me equally sad and angry. I have fought, so damn hard, so completely damn hard, to finally get ahead and get my life back on track this year; only to be met with roadblock after roadblock. Mind you, there have been some (more than some, to be honest) that have been my fault. I am, as mentioned before, my own worst enemy. But, on the flip-side, there have been instances (such as my cancer scare this summer) that came out of the blue. Or the elongated job hunt that dragged on months longer than it should have. This has been a hell of a year and it's not over yet.

But I'm still kicking.

"Even foul balls are practice for home runs." I came up with that this evening when discussing this year's events. Ok, to be honest, it popped into my head and I typed it out. But I like it. Just like I like the Oscar Wilde quote that I'm using as the title. I know I'm not perfect. I know there are those out there who have every right to be angry at me, and are. I know I'm not done screwing up.

But I'm also not done trying to make things right.

"The Lannisters always pay their debts" is a very nefarious saying in the Game of Thrones/Song of Ice and Fire series. But, when Tyrion, the so-called Imp says it, he means it in the sense of the good of the realm. He doesn't care about gold or glory. He's there to right the wrongs and to finally fix the Seven Kingdoms (even as they tirelessly try to tear themselves apart). He's also my favorite character in the series. He actually gives a damn about Westeros and, even though all the odds are stacked against him (physical limitations being chief among them), he's still trying to not only right the wrongs of others, but of his own faults and disastrous mistakes. He is hardly a saint, but he's also a sinner who is trying. He could care less about his own fate-if anything, he has damned himself in his own mind. But if one commoner is spared or The Wall gains one more brother who will fight the good fight; then he can rest well knowing that there was some benevolence in the Universe. If only for a short while.

To be completely honest, I have no clue how this year is going to end. To call it a roller coaster is far too cliche to aptly describe it. I, frankly, don't even know if I'll survive to see the end of it. None of us have that guarantee. But I do know that when the end comes (may it be the end of the year or the end of my life) that I will not be who I was at the beginning of it. I'm stronger now. I'm more determined now. I'm more humble now. And I'm less perfect now. But, as we shed the facade of "perfection" do we truly allow ourselves to grow and become the individuals we were meant to be all along.

Small Town, Big Changes

Life is all about finding the balance in chaos. Accepting the things you cannot change and having the courage to change the things that you can. And, more importantly, being in the moment and appreciating it for what it is.

I'm finally settling in to where I'm living now. As mentioned in the last post, I moved (quite suddenly) last month to a small town on the Olympic Peninsula. It's gorgeous out here, but it's a bit of a culture shock to where I was living before. It's not like Auburn is a bustling hub-bub, but it is a city, surrounded by other cities. Out here, I'm truly in the middle of nowhere. There's pockets of civilization surrounded by forest. Now, mind you, I did grow up in the boonies, but it has been a long time since I've lived in that environment. People are in no hurry to get to where their going and everything shuts down pretty early. I was on the bus the other day and people were chatting with the bus driver as if it was an everyday conversation. People smile and wave at me as I'm walking down the street. It's...an adjustment. A good adjustment, but one, nonetheless.

And, now for the big news part. I've been keeping this under my hat because it's been stuff in development and I didn't want to spill the beans until things were official. I, as of yesterday, am gainfully employed once again. It's part time (only 18 hours), but it's something. And it's Barnes and Noble, so I'll be surrounded by books once again. And, speaking of employment, I'm also currently in talks with a tech company in Seattle. I won't disclose that one unless things become official, but that one would be full time, with a solid base pay plus commission. If I get hired on with them, I'll have to let B&N know that I got a better offer. Which wouldn't be hard because I don't even have a start date with them. So there's a (very slim) chance that I will get the offer from said tech company before I even begin B&N. But, also, if things fall through with the tech company, I'm still employed. Which is a massive sigh of relief.

The other bit of big news is that I'm finally going to be getting serious with my writing. I helped a friend move last week and one of her new roommates is someone who blogs professionally. Recently had a post published by the Huffington Post. She gave me a couple websites that get bloggers paid and published. I've signed up for both and will be posting from them soon. I will, of course, keep this one up and updated as regular as possible. But there's a strong chance you'll see my name in print soon. Fingers crossed anyway.

The other thing is that, as of this writing, NaNoWriMo is 25 days away. This year, by hook or by crook, I'm doing it. No more excuses, and, more importantly, no more crazy work schedule to prevent me from writing. That has been the main hurdle in the past and that is one that is finally out of my way. I also have a phenomenal idea that has been bouncing around my skull for the past few days that I'm going to go with. The story actually takes place in two different time periods: the "present" (actually 2011) day, with an old man turning 90, and 70 years prior, when that same man enters World War II just after turning 20. The old man is someone who is very unassuming and is spending the winter of his life in a nursing home. No one takes him seriously and he's considered frail. Wasting away. He's also missing his right leg. The parallel story is how he goes to war and even serves under General Patton in North Africa, where he loses his leg and is sent home. And how he watches his close friends go to Normandy and never return.

It's bittersweet, don't get me wrong. The idea came to me as I was wandering around a grocery store and saw an old man wearing an old army coat. There were some kids who walked right by him and didn't even glance at him. The disinterested kid I'm going to have in the story is going to be his own great-grandson, who really does not want to go to the birthday celebration of his great-grandfather. When he gets there, the two of them spend some time alone together and the kid finally works up the courage to ask about the leg. By the end of the novel, the kid will have some massive respect for the great-grandfather. I'm not sure yet if the old man will live to the end (closing chapter being a funeral). I don't have all the details, but I'm going to flesh it out now so come November 1st, I can just write.

So, yeah, that's the latest. I'm still alive. I'm still kicking. I'm not in a glass half full or empty state of mind. There's liquid in it and that's all that matters at this point.