The writer is lazy simply they will do anything – organize drawers, clean the bathroom, write a blog – just to get out of work.
No One is Lazier Than a Writer
Monthly Archives: April 2021
Pandemic Accomplishments: Final Edition?
With the pandemic winding down in New York, I thought It time to offer a final list of Pandemic Accomplishments.
Most importantly for me, I completed the final draft of Anori (well, almost).
I applied for 80+ jobs across America (including Atlanta, San Francisco, Boston and New York, Europe (London, Lisbon, Salzburg, Rome, Zurich, Paris and Barcelona to name a few) as well as Kathmandu. Still looking. Hmm.
I travelled to Maine, Oregon, California, Rhode Island and Martha’s Vineyard.
I raised the daily visits for this blog from 30+ views per day to 150+ views per day.
I had both of my knees replaced, had nine Covid-19 tests and was vaccinated.
I have basically kicked my Fishdom addiction after reaching Level 2865. Although I might check in again one of these days.
Does Any of This – Black Lives or Vaccines – Actually Matter?
The job of the writer is to engage people on the horrors of the world even if they don’t care – they do not! – about all of the wrongs because it is how they themselves pretend to be willing to die for truth but actually only care about when their time will come and how their children might cry about that and then carry on and be worse.
So, no, none of it really matters.
Writing Process: The Almighty Opening
Every time that I open Anori – something I have done a couple of thousand times – and wait as the document slowly loads, my always eye fastens on the opening line. And it’s never what I want, which has led me to change it some fifty or sixty times.
Dee watched the police car turn down the empty street and vanish on the other side of the park.
The keys to this sentence are a. the police car, b. the viewpoint (from a penthouse apartment) and c. the winds of Hurricane Sandy.
Jostled by the winds, the police car vanished on the other side of the park, as Dee slid the balcony door closed.
And then I think it’s all too much and that I only need the bare bones: The police car vanished on the other side of the park. But, that doesn’t work. Neither does: Dee braced herself as the gusts of wind came up again.
I want to communicate an isolated and brooding tone in the opening, something like Dee stood alone watching the police car as it went from sight on the far side of the park. But not that either.
Floating in the Water
“I like to float in the water.” Michael was a long-lost friend, quiet; it was like he knew more about me that I ever would. “I just lie back and drift, you know, my nose just above the surface and look up through the water. It’s more like meditation, I guess.”
“But I can never hold it. I feel too vulnerable, like something will come up under me and bite me in half. I always freaking myself out like that.”
Editing the Gangly Bits: Writing Process
I had a scene with some real problems. The background information was heavily front-loaded, and it was repetitious and awkward and gangly and sputtering and bad.
And so I hacked it up, rendered it down, patched it to another equally sputtering bad thing, did some cauterizing and cutting again and thought I was on the way to something new.
But it had become a bald thing, nothing in it, the description and progression and dialogue trimmed to nothing, the conclusion non-existent. And so I started to write it all over again.
Gaslight Ghosting
Gaslighting is a form of psychological abuse where someone is made to question their perception of reality. (The term is derived from the film Gaslight where the husband lowered the gaslight incrementally and told his wife the light had never been changed.)
Ghosting is a method of terminating a relationship by suddenly withdrawing from all communication without explanation.
Gaslight ghosting, also called Extreme Ghosting, means to make someone question their perception of reality by withdrawing all communication without explanation.
In other words, the practices that most employers inflict on their employees.
Writing Process: Work Habits
Years ago, I worked at a mini storage facility in Vancouver. The job was simple: collect monthly payments and help customers access their lockers.
A new employee, Alex, struggled with these basics, preferring to instead adjust his biking gloves all day. I explained to him what I thought of his work habits. David Smejkal, a co-worker with a sense of humor and artistic talent, gave me this depiction of the event.
It appears that I have always had a reputation for speaking my mind.
The Golden Era of The Grateful Dead: 1982-87
I recently had the great fortune of driving down the west coast, ten days in the open spaces, with the radio constantly tuned to The Grateful Dead channel on Sirius X. And as wonderful as that truly was, I couldn’t help but notice a programming fixation with all eras but one – 1982-86.
Dave Lemieux’s exclusion of this golden age of the music is well documented in his Dave’s Picks selections. I just had no idea that the influence extended over Sirius X programming. Which obviously leaves me aghast. When will The Grateful Powers That Be realize the error in their ways?
This era offers ultimate and spell-binding versions from the catalogue including the hell-bent insanity of Jack Straw (Seattle ’83), the ecstatic electricity of China Cat Sunflower/I Know You Rider (NYC ’82), the crackling magic chest of Bertha/Greatest Story Ever Told/West LA Fadeaway (Oklahoma City ‘85), the plaintive epiphanies of Cold Rain and Snow (Augusta ’84) and pure tribal energy of Help on the Way/Slipknot (Hampton ’83).
Are these the best versions? Ah, what do I know of best? But must they be listened to? The answer to that is a most emphatic yes.
If Only Reviewers Could Write Like This
I recently attended a conference in Kenyon College where one writing colleague, although young, was astounding in his engagement with the work.
“It’s…” Sean jabbed a finger out, pulled it back just as quick, snapping his fingers, once, twice, bowing his head, eyes closed. “I’m jiving with this. I totally am. I’m just riding this train until it gives out.” He paused, looking up. “Something is getting fucked, in a bad way.”
“That’s exactly it. Unless you disagree.” He bent forward with kindness, reaching for her understanding. “It’s up for debate. I can’t remember what I said a second ago. Oh, right, yes. City life. Absolutely fascinating. I know nothing about it. I think that’s really very awesome. It all feels so urgent. Ardent. Just caring about—just caring about that. It’s a very cool thought.”