Breaking the Creative Wall

"Writer's block: hitting your head against a brick wall and expecting silver to gush from the wound."

"Creativity: Spinning rainbows out of ashes."

"Inspiration: The divine reaching down and smacking you with a gold platter."

All written by me.  And all in moments of peak frustration.

Writer's block is something that writers talk about hitting for a certain period of time.  Going months, possibly even years without writing a single word.  It's a phenomena that we don't understand, being unable to strike a key or splash ink on a page without cringing at the very sight of it.  Anyone who declares themselves of the writing persuasion has felt this curse.  I think it hits me about once a week, if not daily.

Frustrations mount in this art.  You look at these words, these meaningless words, and think that your work is nothing more than refuse.  Where is the spark, that inspiration that drove you to the page?  Where are the words that just sing through your mind?  Shakespeare did it, Dickens did it, Fitzgerald did it, and with words that I'm supposedly using.  So why does everything fall flat?

Here's a collective message for all writers out there: your best work will look like your childhood scribbles.  It will never get better, and generally get so much worse as time passes.  Your familiarity, your knowledge of the entirety of the work will make every word seem like it was plucked from the bottom of the creative barrel.  Words that may be splendorous to the populace, will seem passing to your eyes.  And the frustrations will mount.

We do run out of creative thoughts.  I'm not going to lie and say the well within ourselves will never run dry. It shall, and we shall continue writing, and it will be terrible.  But too often we do not draw deep enough, do not go far enough, because for the most part our writings will go unread, our thoughts unspoken, and our dreams unfulfilled.

For any reading this not writing, or performing, or creating, please understand that what you see of our creative selves is the barest sliver of our being.  We try desperately to hide our thoughts as we fling them through the air, hoping that only the best will sail away.  Most writers live in the constant fear that the entirety of their thoughts will be published, will be read by the world.  And that is a darkness, real or imagined, that we perceive in ourselves.  That is why many have writers' block.

There's a problem, and it has been identified.  Great, what's the solution?  What is the curative for this self-inflicted wound?  Simple: being.  Talking.  Doing.  In a word: verbs.

Verbs are the lifeblood of creativity.  Actions, life, the lifeblood of creativity are all described in verbs.  Going out with friends.  Getting so drunk you fall over.  Walking reading playing talking praying laughing weeping living.  These verbs fill us with experiences, with emotions that we can translate into thought and beauty.  Just go out there and live, in whatever way your please.

My goal each day is simple.  Write five hundred words a day, of something.  Today, I've succeeded.  Tomorrow, maybe not.  But every day needs verbs that do not start with sleep, or eat, or watch.  Writing is a by-product of life, and enhances its cause to the fullest effect.  Writing is life's grace.

Hmmm...I think this might actually have some merit.

Stay strange, folks

How Far Must We Go For Revisions?

I've resisted talking about the shutdown for as long as I possibly can.  I've tried to look at it from every angle...any angle really, and all I've been able to do is come up with my own perspective.  And I've come to the conclusion that we all need to focus on the concept of revision.

My passion is writing.  I've written on most every topic, in every genre I've ever thought of.  Essays, plays, novels, comic books, TV scripts, blog posts...you name it, I've tried it.  Some have worked wonderfully, others are less appealing to the eye than a New Jersey beach at low tide.  But sooner or later, the first draft is done.  And it's mine, and I accomplished something.  The first step.  And now comes the dreaded step two: revision.

Revision is the hardest part for me.  Looking at my creation and saying to myself "what can be better?"  Once I start looking at my work (generally two weeks later), one of two reactions come to me right off the bat.  Number one is to keep everything generally the way it is.  Why should I change anything?  I worked hard at this, poured everything into it, it's my beautiful baby of joy, despair and wonderment, dammit!  And two, I start looking for the garbage disposal or a match.  Something that will at least sound or feel good as I tear this thing to pieces because, dear god, what was I thinking?  Needless to say, both of these reactions are wrong on many levels.

We all go through first drafts in life, and only a small portion of them have to do with writing.  Practicing a sport or an instrument is a form of revision.  Doing your daily job is revision.  And government, of course it is a revision.  If you've been paying attention at all the past couple of weeks, you'll have seen we just went through a government shutdown, costing the government over 24 billion dollars, i.e. more than me, my friends, and most of the country are ever going to see in our combined lifetimes.  Yay America...

What does the government shutdown have to do with me writing something that most likely won't be seen by anyone other than me and my mother's cats?  It is this idea that revising ourselves, and our government, usually falls into the same mistakes that I make in revising my own writings.  America usually falls into the two categories of keeping what is comfortable, or wiping everything away like a whiteboard.  And neither response seems to be working.

Option one is bad for numerous reasons.  We have senators and congressmen (and congresswomen) who have stayed in office since the dawn of time.  They know the role of politics, they have all their fund-raising in place, they know how everything goes.  And for some reason they seem to be doing nothing.  Why should they?  Doing something could get you noticed, and possibly replaced.  Keeping people around because they're familiar dooms us all to keeping things stagnant, unchanging, stale.

Option two, which has been happening with far more frequency, is doubly alarming.  Wipe away everything, replace everyone, get some new blood in there!  Yes, get a fresh look, and suddenly we have junior congressman with no idea how to get things done other than scream at a camera about the injustice of the world.  New blood, and oftentimes well-meaning new blood, that is completely ignorant to the world of politics, will blindly lead us down the path of destruction.

Honestly, which is the better of these two paths of revision?  Total destruction, or blind acceptance of stagnation?  Of course the answer is neither.  We need men and women of intelligence, just as I need an intelligent process of addition and removal of these words on the page.  Careful examination of each and every individual in congress helps us realize whether these men and women are deserving of these roles that we value so highly.  Look at your congressman's record, all you have to do is google it and his or her votes will become open to you.  Have they voted where you stand on abortion, on gun rights, on immigration, on education?  Did they keep the promises they made during the campaign?  Are they more than just a voice in the darkness, demanding followers?  If you come to the conclusion they are, by all means vote for them.  Please vote for them, and ensure that such a presence remains in government.  But if not, then you must look elsewhere, to other options.  It is all too easy to say nothing changes in government.  Change it, revise it, with intelligence.

Stay Strange, Folks

Gratitude in Faith

It's been a while since I've written anything concerning faith.  I'm at a confusing crossroads in my life right now, and like most times of difficulty, religion is finding itself shuffled to the back of my mind.  But, as is true with almost all problems, an hour or two in a quiet diner with coffee and a good book can bring some true illumination.
I've struggled most often with the paradox of my particular branch of Christianity.  For those who don't know, I consider myself a Protestant, and in a Calvinist branch of thinking known as Presbyterian.  When it comes to actual knowledge of my faith, I've taken enough classes on theology to know that I know almost nothing about theology, but I can understand a few terms and what they mean.  Chief among them is a basic tenant of the Prostestant life: Sola Gratia, "By Grace Alone".  The idea that God is so perfect, that Christ is so wondrous, that everything we say, or do, or even think, is the refuse of a kegger left in the bathroom stall for three weeks.  Not pretty.
For this way of life, there is no getting into Heaven.  We're not buying a stairway, or climbing a ladder.  We're the line of Chinese toys, hoping that our supervisor Jesus is saying Heaven instead of the garbage bin that is Hell.  Either way, there's nothing we can do to help.
Weird as it may seem, I do believe in this.  I would like to think I have some input in the resting place of my eternal soul, truly.  But I feel like I have the same power in determining my salvation, as I do when I place my hands in the ocean and will the tide to turn.  Simply impossible.  My soul is in Christ's hands.
Great.  Crisis averted, salvation is God's alone.  Now what do I do with the rest of my life?  I can't help myself get into Heaven, and yet I still feel it's wrong to live my life like a live-action version of Grand Theft Auto.  I don't know what God wants of me, or even what I want of me.
This is the closest I've come to an answer: there is a certain duality in our natures.  I hope, I pray, that one day - many, many years from now - I'll be standing at the pearly gates.  AC/DC will be blasting, while Angus Young is laughing his head off at how wrong they were about where they were heading, and the dress code is not just white robes.  I hope it will be even more awesome than that.  Regardless, until (or if) that day comes, I am a creature of God.  I am living in this place, this wondrous place, by His will and compassion.  And I want to be good, do good, in thanks.  Not for salvation, or even damnation.  I want to be thankful for life.
I believe life is a gift in itself, something that no being can truly express.  Ladies and gentlemen, we've all had this same dream as children.  Our parents drove us down south to Disneyland.  There are plenty of people so it doesn't feel like a ghost town, but there are no lines.  Perfect weather, cool breeze, Goofy looks like he actually might be in a good mood, and Space Mountain is ours for the taking.  Our parents turn to us, hand us a thousand dollars and say those magical words: "Have fun".
Here's the kicker: God has done this for us, with the entire planet.  We are free to do as we please, build as we please, in something of His creation.  We've conquered and shaped this world as we have seen fit.  And never a word has been said against us.  How sweet life is.
Live in this life, love this life.  We have a world that continues to grow, amaze, change before our lives, and we have decades with which to enjoy it.  This can be seen as the greatest treasure we shall ever receive.  I hope to live it to the fullest.
Before you all walk away from the blog of the Happy-go-lucky-Christian Boy, I'm not entirely naive.  I'll live, and I'll laugh.  I'll also scream, cry, hate, moan, and wish with all my heart for an anvil to just drop on somebody's head (or Washington's collectively, but that's for a later post).  I am human, after all.  I'm going to screw this up.
But what I'm beginning to understand is that life on this world is a gift with no strings attached, and we should treat it as such.  Use it constantly, abuse it a little.  Love it, hate it, do everything to it.  Make sure it ends up on Facebook more often than not.  But at then end of our collective days, when you have to put away the gift of this world for good, try and leave it in a better shape than you received.  That's gratitude.

Stay Strange, Folks.

Working in the Serene

Let me describe today.  I put dishes away.  Had to take trash out.  Cleaned the back yard and the front yard.  Took air conditioning units from my grandmother's house down a flight of stairs.  All before noon.  And I was completely happy.  It wasn't for another hour to realize how much this didn't make sense.

Do we find ourselves happier when we have something to do?  Does doing good well and truly bring about good?  The rest of today I have had a feeling of peace, and the only true work I've done since is fiddle with some laundry, take dishes up and downstairs, and think really hard that it would be a great idea to consider mowing the lawn.  Still this feeling of workmanlike accomplishment persists.

There is a real and significant emotional impact brought about doing work we believe in.  Human beings are not built to emulate sloths, but to achieve something that they know to be worthy of their time.  We fail, we succeed, we keep trying anything to find this feeling of achievement.  Or so we hope.

I am not saying I am a perfect worker.  Last Thursday, I had a pure day off.  No job to go to, no need to clean the house, I didn't even leave the house.  And I accomplished measurable skills.  I honed my skills at Madden, studied the intricacies of Weeds, and I may have even picked up a book.  But I hated myself for doing nothing that I considered growing my mind...except for Weeds, but that's a discussion for another time.

We want our days off, we need our days off.  But more and more I'm understanding why parents are more than willing to help out with their child's soccer team, or teachers spending a weekend working with the drama club, or even just being that mean person that wants to take a hike in October.  People want to feel active and productive; not some days, but every day.  And once we recognize this, once we give ourselves permission to squander our free time actually being active, is when we realize our potential for doing good is truly limitless.

Stay Strange, folks

The Sin Of Being Born Elsewhere

I've tried forever to understand illegal immigration policies.  Several of the points made have had varying degrees of success convincing me.

1.  We need to protect our borders from terrorists.  Yes, we do, totally agree with that.  But terrorists aren't the same as guys crossing the border to get a job.
2.  We need to protect our high-paying jobs from being stolen by illegal immigrants.  Well...no.  Our high-paying tech jobs aren't going to someone who doesn't even have a GED.  Illegal immigrants, racist as it might seem, are most likely taking the low-paying jobs.
3.  Illegal immigrants do not belong here!  And that brings me to my greatest point of contention.  Illegal immigrants do not belong in "The Greatest Country on the planet."  To that my response is...why?

Why don't immigrants belong here in this country?  Because they were born in a different country?  So they are being denied access to some of the greatest schools, the greatest sciences and - from a completely aggrandizing perspective - one of the most beautiful countries the planet has to offer, because they weren't lucky enough to be born here.  They lost the proverbial genetic lottery, and are condemned forevermore.

It's been said we have over 11 million illegal immigrants in the country.  I'm of two minds as to whether or not to grant amnesty, and both of them agree.  I have a completely bleeding-heart mentality of let freedom ring!  From sea to shining sea, throw open out borders, and let us truly be a great melting pot once again.  Immigrants rock!  Secondly, I have a conniving, power-hungry, not-so-nice mind that says let them all become citizens!  Why not, we need more taxes anyways.

That's not just a cynical joke, ladies and gentlemen.  More taxes, please.  Once again, Democratic values shine through.  These people are coming here to work, for a better lifestyle, and are willing to risk life, limb and deportation to do so.  Surely they would be willing to pay a little bit to live without fear?  We should all be free to be tax-paying citizens.  11 million more people, finally sending something in on April 15th?  Let's see how our deficit looks afterwards.

Immigration has always been a part of this country.  Let's see if we can't bring it into the 21st century.

Stay strange, folks.

Variety, where have you left me?

My radio sucks.  I can't seem to get anything close to a clean CD in it, I don't even have a tape player and there is nothing close to resembling an iPod jack.  So I am stuck on the radio, which I am enjoying.  New music, discovery of different channels, I thought I'd finally be expanding my auditory pallet.  And then I was greeted to this:

"Toby Keith and Miranda Lambert on the same station?  Now that's variety!"

"Only one place you can find Fall Out Boy AND All Time Low..."

"All the rock music from 1982-1987, just the best for you!"

Congratulations.  My interests have been successfully narrowed down to five different artists.

As you would believe, it isn't just radio.  MSNBC is THE place for politics, with all the variety of views from the liberals to the super-liberals, while Fox News has such rousing debates on the differences between the republicans and the tea party republicans.  I can't even get a book on Amazon without recommendations for  the dozen or so titles that all have something to do with each other, and absolutely nothing else.

Niches are great.  We all have our personal interests, and there can be true wisdom found in a verse on the radio.  But how we grow as people is exploring, being thrown outside our comfort levels.  Ignore the recommendations at times, spin the proverbial wheel, and try something new.

Stay strange, folks.