Crazy Dream

First, this line mad me laugh out loud:

"He was probably a very unselfish lover, I would imagine."

Killed me! Keep up the hilarious, man. That killed me.

Okay I'm about to get on a plane for Houston. Here's my weekend: Friday, worked, cleaned the house, packed up the car, drove to GA, got in around midnight, no writing.
Saturday cranked out 2,300 words.
Sunday. Packed up the kid and the car, made the HELLISH drive back home (w/the kid screaming the whole way and me thinking I wasn't going to make it), did some work, laundry, and was then presented with a choice: Writing or Sex. I chose sex.

So today on the plane I'm going to try to get those 2,000 words.

Now the Crazy Dream. Last night dreamed I was in this hospital and they were taking all my vitals etc, doing a bunch of tests, and they finally determined I'd had a stroke due to Special K poisoning. Special K is some kind of tranquilizer that I took once in my partying days. I don't really remember it doing anything special, as a matter of fact I hadn't thought about it in years, until this dream.

So I was like, "What is Special K poisoning?"
Doctor (white-haired old gentleman) said, "Well, we've brought in a specialist."
Lo and behold, the specialist was this guy named Ding, this Sudanese refugee I knew when I was in Atlanta. And Ding had very slender forearms and wrists. I remember I once told Ding how slender his wrists and forearms were, and how Ding gave me a dubious smile (actually that was the only smile in Ding's repertoire. He'd just moved from the Sudan to Atlanta so he was pretty much dubious all the time). And Ding was wearing a looooong rubber glove.
You don't want to know where Ding went w/that gloved hand. Let's just say that all of my cavities have been inspected. So, here's the Life Lesson. Whatever you do, don't get Special K poisoning. It's not good and the treatment is much worse than the disease.

Fri 10/11 - 1,958 Words

1,958

Totally contrived, utter bullshit, one-hundred percent forced to point the plot in its disgustingly predetermined direction....

But they is on da page, buddy... they be on da page...

Working On My Grip

Interesting post there, Bill... I have to admit it never crossed my mind before... I've never once stopped what I was doing, ran my fingers across my chin and thought, "hmm... I wonder if Jesus ever choked the chicken..."

My response would be, "of course..."

I've struggled with the Jesus thing my whole life, especially the last five and a quarter years. I had no problem with the higher power (though handing my life, will, management, control, sanity, grace, peace, serenity etc. took some time), but I've always taken issue with this Jesus dude.

Here's what I believe - I believe he existed. He was probably really weird, probably got beat up a lot as a kid because he was always so kind to people. At some point, people started paying attention to what he had to say, and his miracles were the result of lots of people together thinking about being kind, loving people, based on what he was teaching them. I don't believe he turned water into wine, walked on water, healed the crippled (though there's something to be said there about the healing power of reaching out in kindness to the sick, etc.), or rose from the dead.

I think he really did exist, and he was a way nice guy, and therefore the people in power got scared so they killed him. I also believe that he knew it was coming, had every chance to run away, or even sell out, but he chose to stick around and that he truly did die for everyone around him, and for everyone in generations to come who remember his kindness, etc.

But that's about it for me. That's as far as I go. I don't believe he was the son of God, though his actions sure made him act like someone who could have been the son of God. But I'd like to see the birth certificate.

Isn't it funny how I can just type that out loud right here in this blog without fear of imprisonment and torture? Can you imagine?

And you, you heretic... you'd have had your balls cut off and stuffed in your mouth for suggesting that Jesus gave in to such wickedness.

I've struggled with this Jesus thing for a very long time, since most any church you go into nowadays is going to hit you over the head in some way with the Jesus stuff. And I just don't buy it. For the most part, I can buy the message, the parables that all boil down to say, hey... just be kind and love each other (or, how JB said, and I love when he speaks... just don't be ugly... gawd, what a simple way to live that is... I may try it some day)

So, yes. I do think Jesus spanked the monkey, probably just as much as the rest of us. And I think while Mary Magdalene was washing his feet, she probably slid a soapy hand along his inner thigh and gave him some relief in the late-night hours. And he probably thanked her or maybe kissed her deeply, or maybe fucked the living shit out of her... Does that make him any less of a kind, beautiful person? I don't think so. He was probably a very unselfish lover, I would imagine.

I read the stories about St. Francis, and I think of him as another Jesus Christ. In the realm of social acceptability, there was something wrong with those guys. They didn't think or respond like normal people. They focused one-hundred percent on kindness, reaching out to others.

Oh... the post title... I was hitting golf balls this morning, working on my grip, that kind of grip. I don't masturbate. Never have. That shit's for weak-ass sinners and dang queer freaks. Pay no attention to my rock-solid forearm muscles.

Lack of Grip

It's been a long time since I've seen a hot chick; a long time since I've seen the way her body moved and had my throat seize up with lust and envy. A long time since I've seen a woman on the street and then imagined her naked.

Maybe something is wrong with me. I'm not gripping much. I am a man, therefore what I am about to say next, I really believe (and I'm not trying to be provocative etc...I could care less about that shit). Jesus masturbated. Maybe not right up until his death; maybe by the time he began his public ministry he'd gotten over the whole gripping thing and was just thinking pure thoughts all day long. But there was a time when the young Jesus, just like the rest of us, was gripping like a true stallion.

Every man grips. Period. I worked with this woman, she insisted that her husband didn't. She insisted that he only got his rocks off w/her, that he saved everything up for just those moments.
"Have you asked him if he does it?" I said.
"Yes, I have. and he told me he can't. He can only orgasm with me."
I groaned and rolled my eyes. "Honey, unless you're blowing that dude once a day and banging him three times a week, he's gripping. I promise."
But she wouldn't believe me. She really thought the guy only busted nuts with her, as a result of her ministrations, etc.

Years went by. Literally, years. Then one day she called me out of the blue.
"You were right," she said.
"What?"
"You were right. About the masturbating."
"Yeah?"
"I came home early from my workout class and I went in the back door because I was checking one of our sprinklers, and he had a porno tape in, cranked up really high, and I caught him in the act."
When I was done laughing I asked her what he said when she caught him (red-handed).
"Oh, he looked frightened at first, and then he said he was just trying it out but he wasn't doing a very good job and could I help him?"
"He asked you to help?"
"Oh yeah."

Now that, my friends, is a good man. That is the kind of man you don't want to mess with because not only does he have the balls to perpetuate an outrageous lie (I don't masturbate) but when he's caught in the act, he turns it into a request for sex.

The Value of Writing Methods

Ultimately the only thing we absolutely have to worry about is whether or not WE find our writing interesting. Just us, the first and only guaranteed audience. And then of course we hope to find someone else who finds us interesting. And even better if that someone else happens to be a publisher or agent. Better still if it expands from there to include paying readership, etc. But the litmus test is whether we like it.

All that is to say, these methods I'm investigating (WantObstacleActionResolutionEmotionShowing, Snowflake, Three Sentences, Hero's Journey) are best practices...they are retroactively uncovered elements that seem to be present in the majority of salable fiction. As such, I think it's time well spent to understand (as well as one can) the principles behind these methods and if you're of a certain methodical turn of mind (god help me) you might even use these tools to build a few stories of your own and see how they function. All of this is fine, in my opinion, and part of the learning process. I really do believe that one must have some knowledge of the "rules" and how they function in order to break them effectively.

Having said that, if it's no fun, it's no good. Period. And I will admit that, on occasion, my fascination with Method (which springs from the same impulse to make a SYSTEM out of loading the dishwasher or tying my shoes) had overtaken my appreciation for the simple joy of putting words on the page.

And that's it. That's the gift. Laying down words with my hands and picking them back up with my eyes. Like a game of cards...

None of the Above

I had this friend named Matt, he was really into this French-Canadian metal band called VoiVod. Their later albums were these orchestral Sci-Fi/Fantasy epics that told stories about androids trapped in bio-domes, victims of genetic tampering, and so on.

I didn't really want to like the band, but my friend insisted. He broke it down. He made me see their genius. He didn't stop until I admitted that they were good. This morning at the gym one of the VoiVod's songs came on my iPod and it got me to thinking about Matt. He's dead now. Died in a culvert outside Orlando. It got me to thinking that it's really a shame not to believe in Heaven.

Why shouldn't I believe in a place where everyone is happy and where I'll be reunited with all of my old friends and family? Is intellectual pride worth missing out on a place like that? I don't know. I just think it would be nice go to to heaven someday and hang out with Matt again and tell him that 15 years later I still like VoiVod.

So, congratulations on the 2,000-plus words! You are my hero, Steve. And my friend. I like friends who push me and get in my stuff. I don't like polite friends or friends who are afraid to be annoying. I don't like diffidence in a friend. And you are one talented bastard. I can't wait to read your stuff and giggle with glee.

Tue 10/9 - 2,661 Words

2,661 today... marathon session before lunch, and a little follow-up afterward.

Got into a scene (two actually) I've been looking forward to writing.

So much to do in the rewrite, but I'm desperately trying to not let that bother me, drag me down, etc... trying not to think and just to do... just letting the story out, letting it bleed for now, enjoying the life of the scene, not worrying about description or fancy literary devices... just telling the damn story, telling the damn story....

"In that imagined world I have a small TV that only shows boxing matches and footage from World War II. "

Not sure what part of your brain that came from... wouldn't be surprised if you don't either... but man does a little beat like that bring a scene alive. Impressive.