--I'M ALIVE IN THE UNDERTOW

…Today is a very happy day.  Can I tell you about it?

Yesterday I signed a contract with Aqueous Books for a story collection—“I’m Not Supposed To Be Here and Neither Are You”—to be published in August of 2014.  My hands were shaking when I wrote out my name.

Even for a person who writes, it’s difficult to put into words how special this is for me.

As a boy with five older brothers, I was once extraordinarily shy.  My siblings were all handsome, muscular, athletic and confident.  They could fix things, take apart a car engine and put it back together blindfolded.  I couldn’t.  In fact, I still don’t even know where, or what, a carburetor is.  I was skinny, with longish hair, wore puka shells and read constantly.  My friends were imaginary characters I created and played with in the wending woods far behind the trailer home where we lived.

When I was nine years old I started writing stories.  At school, in English class, we’d be given five different options/topics to choose from but I’d go ahead and write all of them, sometimes even creating my own subject ideas and writing those, too. 

Around fourth grade, a teacher--Mrs. East was her name--said, “I think you’re going to be a writer when you grow up.”

I was a little stunned.  Writers seemed Zeus-like to me, famous faraway scribes, regal and untouchable.

But the more I thought about it, the more Mrs. East’s comment took root.  A writer.  Me.  Yes.

One day—and I remember it distinctly--I became brave and got the nerve up to share my plans with family members. 

It didn’t go so well. 

It was explained to me that most writers starve to death or have to have real jobs in order to make a living.

Growing up poor, in a family of ten with a dad who was a mechanic, we were taught to be pragmatic.  It was okay to dream so long as we knew where those boundary lines began and ended.  This world view wasn’t meant to be cruel, only realistic, as that was the only world my parents—blue collar folk—knew.

So, for the rest of my life I put the notion of becoming a serious writer aside.  After college, I got a job, a “real” one.  I worked incredibly hard for many years, had a great career and retired (very fortunately) at a reasonably young age, and started writing full-time three years ago.

It’s been a joy.  Every day it has.

And now I feel like I’m nine years old again.  I’m still skinny.  My hair isn’t quite as long and I don’t have those puka shells any more, but I’m a writer after all.

--YOU REMIND ME OF ETCETERA, ETCETERA, ETCETERA

…Yesterday was the one year anniversary of Osama Bin Laden's death/killing.

It brings to mind many things and might be a good time to note that in ten years of wars with Afghanistan and Iraq 6,300 US service men and women have died and we've spent $1.3 trillion.
I've always thought we could cure cancer if we really wanted to.
If we can fork over $1.3 trillion that easily, the same amount spent on cancer research and development would surely bring about a cure.
Just sayin'.

…I've been watching "Nurse Jackie", the Showtime series starring Eddy Falco playing a nurse who's addicted to prescription drugs.  Besides having wonderful characters, it's filled with great ironies.

I realized that most brilliant shows, or the ones I think are brilliant, have that same sensibility:
"Breaking Bad" is about a chemistry teacher with lung cancer who sells meth to pay for his treatment.
"The Sopranos" is about a tough, conflicted mobster who sees a psychiatrist to deal with, among other things, his panic attacks.
"Dexter" is about a serial killer who only kills other serial killers.
"Weeds" is about a suburban mom who sell pot to pay the bills after her husband dies jogging.
And then there's the wonder "Wire" which has all sorts of character ironies.

 …The new Jason Mraz cd is very uneven.  There are a few catchy numbers but some really lousy songs, too.

 …I found my old Whiskeytown discs.  This discovery made me very happy.  I would have Ryan Adams' babies, but I sure hope he and Mandy Moore get busy.  Those kids will have to have some strong pipes.

 …I’m reading, “Catching Fire,” the second “Hunger Games” book which is more or less identical to the first.  There’s a lot to learn from her pacing and plotting.

 …Here are some things I like to get the week started:

"The gem cannot be polished without friction, nor man perfected without trials." Chinese proverb

"The proper function of man is to live, not to exist. I shall not waste my days in trying to prolong them. I shall use my time." Jack London

"The trouble with Facebook is that it turns us all into voyeurs.  It brings out the side of you that's looking for trouble." Annie

 "Yes, we love peace, but we are not willing to take wounds for it, as we are for war." John Andrew Holmes

"We are adhering to life now with our last muscle--the heart." Djuna Barnes

 "I shall tell you a great secret, my friend.  Do not wait for the last judgment, it takes place every day." Camus

 "To see, we must stop being in the middle of the picture." Satprem

 "There is luxury in self-reproach.  When we blame ourselves, we feel no one else has a right to blame us." Oscar Wilde

 

"The best portion of a good man's life is the little, nameless, unremembered acts of kindness and love.” William Wordsworth

"It is the nature of man to rise to greatness if greatness is expected of him." John Steinbeck

--WELL, EXCUSE ME, WHILE I BREAK MY OWN HEART TONIGHT

…I used to work in the corporate world.  For quite a few years I did. 

Because of that, I do some motivational speaking from time to time, and for the last few years I've been mentoring college students.
I like it.  It's fun to teach. 
 The kids are bright and eager and as naïve about things as I was.  Mostly they overcomplicate it or undervalue how simple it is to be success, if even on a limited scale.
 

…I read Robb Todd's collection, "Steal Me For Your Stories."

I read with Robb in NYC for The Sunday Salon Series and I've heard him read at two other venues.  He's a good guy and is something between an acquaintence and a friend, although we've never spoken on the phone and he doesn't do Facebook, which is hard to believe, especially since he's a writer and Fbk is important for getting one's work out there.
He's a great writer and his pieces are funny, gritty, and often nasty, twisted sometimes.  Often I couldn't figure out what a story meant, yet the prose was sharp and interesting throughout.
You can tell he lives in NY because he writes a lot about subways and trains and bars and sex with moody women.  Plus his phone is always prominent in his pieces, either buzzing in his pocket or sending him strange texts.
The physical book is small, as maybe it should be coming from Tiny Hardcore Press.  It's not quite the size of our hand if you've unclenched your fist.

 …I started John Green's "The Fault of Our Stars."

John is a Young Adult author, and quite a famous one, too.
His book, "An Abundance of Katherines" about a guy who dates 27 different girls named Katherine is one of my favorites, although his other, "Looking For Alaska" is the most famous.
So far the new one is immensely readable, though a lot more juvenile than the others.
It features a cast of 12 to 17 year olds who all suffer from some form of cancer and attend the same support group, which is a clever idea.
I'm hoping it gets better, but like "The Hunger Games," it sucks you in with a simple story that moves like a current.

…I thought this was interesting:

Countries with the largest percentage of consumers downloading e-books:
1. --24% India
2. --21% Australia
3. --21% United Kingdom
4. --20% USA
5. --18% Brazil

…And this:

A recent Ohio State U. study found that "on average, men tink about sex 34 times a day, or rougly once or twice and hour, compared to 19 times a day for women.  Also, men's minds were occupied by food almost as much as by sex."

…I like these:

"To be alive--is Power--

Existence--in itself--
Without a further function--
Omnipotence--Enough--"
-Emily Dickinson

"An accident isn't necessarily ever over." Diane Williams

"Everybody can master a grief but those who have it." Shakespeare

"Happiness is the greatest hiding place for despair." Kierkegaard

"We all hope, modesty enough, to get through life with being murdered." Martin Amis

--DON'T CRY FOR ME ARGENTINA

 …I wrote a bad book.

I wrote a novel last year.  It was a long haul.
I wrote it and rewrote it and then edited it some more.
A week ago I realized that somehow the physical manuscript had become tampered with.  I might have punched a button by accident.  Or something like that.
The indentations all disappeared.
So, to correct this mishap, I spent several hours indenting each paragraph until my hand went numb.
Along the way, I found many typos I'd managed to miss in the first three versions/edits.
Along the way, I re-visited those words and discovered that quite a lot of them were drivel.
I learned the novel was really not that good.

 And so I pouted for a few hours.  I got selfish  I wallowed in self-pity.

Then I mentally pulled myself out of the funk and realized I just needed to write a better book.
That is what I'll do.

 …Here are some things for the weekend, all from Robb Todd's collection, "Steal Me For Your Stories":

 “You know what is great about the sun?  It doesn’t give a shit about your problems.”

“I wonder what I make for this world that is useful other than problems for people.”
“Anger is almost always useless.”
“Nothing makes me want you more than you wanting me.”
“The only women who want me are the women who hate themselves.”

--TUESDAY, WEDNESDAY HEART ATTACK

...I received an email/query asking if I’d be interested in a project they’re doing for Occidental Park here in Seattle whereby some authors write about an item (or objects) in the park and then those pieces get posted around the park as a way of having people slow down and make a closer observation of the area.
It seemed like a cool idea, and I vaguely know the girl who asked me (who seems pretty cool, as well), that I'd agree to do it (I’m not good at saying No.)
So, I wrote three poems.
I wrote them in fifteen minutes.
That’s how it mostly happens with me. If I struggle to write something, I usually come up with crap. But if it gushes out, I can create an ocean of words and most of the time it’s not too bad.
One of the poems is about these fantastic old trees in the park that people sometimes dress up with Sues-styled sweaters. The second is about the cobblestoned walkways. And the other is about the whole square and a cute little girl:
Here they are:

Occidental Trees

We lean in to learn your stories,
the ones you tell about mothers you miss,
or a wish you might have made one dawn
when wonder still held a certain promise and
rainbows could keep you captive.
Our backs are made of bark,
sometimes sheathed with only the brittle knots of moss,
other times wrapped in dog clothes—
striped stockings, woolen scarves or Crayola-colored dickies.
But we were here first,
us and the earth below the cobble stones you walk on.
We were here before the great fire and explosions,
when Yessler was floating logs to and from the pier.
We are Seattle’s sacred sons
and years from now we will still be standing,
albeit bent from trying to tell you the secrets
 of our long and happy history.


Accidental Wealth
If you look close enough you will see how alike we are—
our backs and faces worn from wear,
edges smooth or broken from
the pressures of lives well-lived.
Some of us bare scars-- spray-painted graffiti claiming “Jamie loves Fran 4Ever,”
a wad of gum stuck between our stone vertebra like
a pale eye missing its pupil.
Just now a little girl in a floppy hat
finds a coin in one of our crevices,
holds it up to the light, grinning wide,
letting the Seattle sun show her how rich she is.



What One Might Find

The buildings bearded with bushy ivy.
Streets a waffle iron.
Trees leaning in to eavesdrop.
Ancient totems, tall and prophetic.
Steel firemen looking almost regal.
A dozen tourists with their hip holsters.
Pigeons pecking for stray gold.
Gulls scrolling the sky.
Benches for the weary or wondering.
And somewhere among all the clatter and chatter a new couple holding hands,
  saying, “This is forever.”
  saying, “This is home.”

--DO YOU REMEMBER ME TAKING PICTURES OF YOU?


…I've been listening to The Kooks. For a very kooky name, they sure are good. Also, the new Shins is a shimmering piece of work.

…Tax time is here.
Did you notice on the filing form that there's a provision for "Parents of a kidnapped child?"
Really?
Yep.

Here are 10 Life tips from Rumi:
1. Challenge Fear
"Run from what’s comfortable. Forget safety. Live where you fear to live. Destroy your reputation. Be notorious."
2. Be Bold
"Do not be satisfied with the stories that come before you. Unfold your own myth."
3. Have Gratitude
"Wear gratitude like a cloak and it will feed every corner of your life."
4. Take Action
"Why should I stay at the bottom of a well, when a strong rope is in my hand?"
5. Have Faith
"As you start to walk out on the way, the way appears."
6. Embrace Setbacks
"If you are irritated by every rub, how will you be polished?"
7. Look Inside
"Your task is not to seek for love, but merely to seek and find all the barriers within yourself that you have built against it."
8. Learn From Suffering
"The wound is the place where the Light enters you."
9. Don't Be Concerned With What Others Think Of You
"I want to sing like the birds sing, not worrying about who hears or what they think."
10. Do What You Love
"Let yourself be drawn by the stronger pull of that which you truly love."


…The other day I came upon a 13 word story I wrote.
It was called "Terrain" about a couple in bed and the girl has physical scars she's afraid to show her boyfriend, but then, with the lights out, she does.
I flushed out the story, making it 350 words and changing the title to "The Truth About Ugliness."
This is the first paragraph:

In darkness, without mirrors, you finally start to unhinge, sharing every secret, saying, “Here,” then, “There,” now, “That one. Feel it?” Like this, though, even to a blind man, they are no more frightening than bisected worms.

--DID YOU SEE WHAT HAPPENED?


…In entertainment news, Matt Lauer inked a $25 million-per-year deal to remain on NBC's Today show while Snoop Dog announced (this is true) he's releasing a smokable songbook of his lyrics, with pages that can be used as rolling papers.
Madonna tweeted to Britney: "please come on stage and kiss me again." while Ryan Gosling, who broke up a Manhattan street fight last year, just the other day saved a woman from getting hit by a taxi.

…You know how they say men get better with age and, well, women don't? Not true. Case in point is Julia Louise-Dreyfus. She looks fantastic. One hundred percent better than Jerry Sienfeld, George, Kramer or Newman. Maybe more than one hundred percent better.

…Last week some recreational parks people stocked the lake outside my window with 8,000 fish. Today long-necked ducks are dive-bombing the water like they've won the lottery, which I guess they have. It's quite a sight. There are dozens of the birds.

…In the latest issue of Newsweek the featured a large photograph of a man running down a street on fire.
There was a crowd lined up down the sides. Several people were taking photographs of the burning man.
27 year old Jamphel Yeshi had set himself on fire to denounce Chinese President Hu Jintao's impending visit to India. Yeshi died two days later from severe burns.
Almost 30 copy-cats have self-immolated this year.
I can understand the passion, but how can that be worth it?

…Why do we still have the death penalty? I don't get it.
Most executions in 2011:
#1 --China, 1,000+
#2 --Iran, 360
#3 --Saudi Arabia
#4 -- Iraq, 68
#5 --USA, 43

…Of the five most affordable cars, only one is made in America

…So far American Airlines has cut 14,200 jobs. How does a company get so bloated that it can afford to reasonably eliminate that many positions?

… A New York Times article says that every U.S. death affects, on average, four other people profoundly. Of those affected survivors, something like 15 percent can "barely function." And this decisive suffering--which lasts and last, and offers "no redemptive value"--has been given a name, to distinguish it from what used to be called sorrow: "Complicated Grief Disorder."
-taken from Darin Strauss's memior, "Half a Life."