Category: Fun

When You Get Into Your Groove

It’s the most wonderful feeling in the world. You start writing, and you’re off to a rough start. You struggle, you groan, you’re on the verge of calling it a day. Then the words start to flow, one after the other. Bam. Bam. Bam. The prose is smooth, the dialogue is superb, and your story just falls into place like a well-made jigsaw puzzle. Everything suddenly fits.

You get into your groove. The wheels turn without a hitch. You are rocking your writing session and just loving being along for the ride while your fingers type away and your subconscious pulls surprises out of the depths of your mind.

I’m in my editing phase at the moment, working on the second draft of my second book. It doesn’t have a name, yet. I’m still working on that. Mostly, I’m trying to make what I originally wrote into something coherent and readable. Sometimes, I think to myself, “I’m not much up for writing today, maybe just a paragraph or two.” Once I get started, I then think, “Well, a little bit more,” and again, “Huh, this isn’t so bad. I can work with this.” And an hour slides by without me noticing. Or two hours. It’s such a great sensation to be pulled into your writing, to let everything else fade.

A bit scary, too! I lose track of time. I start in the morning, I wrap up and look at the clock and – What! It’s already the middle of the afternoon!?

If I was a fish, then writing would be bait on a hook. I can’t resist. We all have that, don’t we? Our hook. Our favorite activity. The thing that gets us in the groove.

It really is a feeling that’s hard to beat.

If you just so happen to be enjoying my blog, feel free to subscribe. I post updates on my writing career, I muse over storytelling and fiction, and I reflect on the curious and wonderful things in life.

My first book, A God Walks up to the Bar, is available on Amazon.com. Witness the modern day adventures of the Greek god Hermes in a world much like our own – and with demigods, vampires, nymphs, ogres, and magic. The myths never went away, they just learned to move on with the times. It’s a tough job, being a god!

Image: “Sullivan’s Rock Star Trails, Western Australia” by inefekt69; Licensed under CC BY-NC-ND 2.0.

A Simple Drink of Water

What is your favorite drink?

I’ve never done one of WordPress’s daily prompts before, so I thought I’d give it a shot and see how things turn out.

For all the great drinks out there, my answer is really simple: Water.

Water isn’t exciting or fancy or showy. But after a long, hot summer day, nothing tastes better. After a vigorous workout session or a whole day without a chance to drink something, a cold cup of water is the sweetest thing you could ever hope to taste.

There’s something pure about water. It’s guilt-free pleasure. It’s not a cesspool of chemicals like soda, or sugary like juice or lemonade. It’s just water, simple water, and it is the stuff of life running through our veins.

I also realize that every drink of water I take is a privilege and opportunity not everyone has. Here in America, we don’t have to worry about waterborne illness or contamination the way that many other nations do. Heck, we don’t have to worry about not having any water at all. All I have to do is turn a faucet, and voila! Fresh water fit to drink, every minute of every day.

It’s simple. And that makes it very precious, indeed.

If you just so happen to be enjoying my blog, feel free to subscribe. I post updates on my writing career, I muse over storytelling and fiction, and I reflect on the curious and wonderful things in life.

My first book, A God Walks up to the Bar, is available on Amazon.com. Witness the modern day adventures of the Greek god Hermes in a world much like our own – and with demigods, vampires, nymphs, ogres, and magic. The myths never went away, they just learned to move on with the times. It’s a tough job, being a god!

What is Art?

The eternal pressing question: What is art? What defines it, what is its nature, how is it differentiated from the common dross, and how do we recognize it when we see it? What. Is. Art?

Ask a hundred people, and you’ll get a hundred and one different answers. Nobody can seem to decide, though everyone, from the working joe to the professional critic, seems convinced that they know exactly what art is. The artistic merits of literature, film, paintings, and even video games are debated again and again. Is it art? But can we know, when the definition of art is as fluid as the fresh paint dripping from a canvas?

Maybe we’re asking the wrong question. Maybe we should instead ask what isn’t art.

Can this process of elimination help answer this great question? Consider the humble spoon. Is a spoon art? Well, most people would say it isn’t. You use it to eat soup and cereal. It’s a mundane thing. It has an everyday utility. It isn’t art.

What about a car? Is a car art? Well, it also has a mundane use: transportation from point A to point B. But look at car commercials and car shows. Cars boast aesthetic pleasures and pleasing design. They are promoted based on appearance, performance, improvement, and flashy lights. People collect cars. People analyze cars. Are they art? Or are they merely utilities passed off as art? And how do we know, unless we can define what art is?

This is getting complicated.

Why do Jackson Pollack’s paintings get hung up in museums but a two-year old’s paint smears don’t? What’s the difference? Aren’t they both paintings? And aren’t both paintings art? Well, the latter obviously isn’t art art because nobody cares except the parents. But everyone must care about Sydney Pollack since he gets public exhibits.

Nobody cares about spoons unless they try eating soup with a fork. But everyone cares about cars, one way or another. They’re both a fact of life, but one is just plain more noticeable than the other.

Nobody cared about the pipe until René Magritte put up a picture of one alongside the words, “This is not a pipe.” A pipe is just a pipe until it isn’t.

Maybe that’s all there is to it. Maybe art isn’t art until you decide that it’s art.

Until you care whether or not it’s art.

If enough people say that something is true, does it become true? No. No matter how many people say you can fly by flapping your arms, you can’t. But it sure is easier to think you can.

Is that all that art is? A shared belief? A social construct? Just the idea that if we belief something has merit inherent in its composition, construction, appearance, and intent, it rises above the mundane to become something with social significance?

But what about your two-year-old’s paint splatters? Is that art? What loving parent would say, “No”? To them it’s art. It’s more precious than everything in the Louvre.

Maybe art is more than just innovation, messages, and composition. Maybe it’s something more personal than that. Maybe art lies in how much it is valued by the individual. I happen to think cars all look the same and are basically just glorified boxes on wheels. I don’t see the appeal. Cars aren’t art to me. But to others, they are masterpieces.

Critics say something is art, and so we believe them. They must know what they’re talking about, right? Then, a hundred years later, the great art of the time is depreciated. It’s not as important. And new art replaces it. Tastes and preferences change. The definition of art changes based on what we think is important.

A spoon can be a piece of art. In some ways, it is by default. “Art” is a relative of the word “artifice.” Artificial. Manmade.

Maybe everything is art. But if everything is, than nothing is art.

Oh, to heck with it. Art is whatever you want it to be.

If you just so happen to be enjoying my blog, feel free to subscribe. I post updates on my writing career, I muse over storytelling and fiction, and I reflect on the curious and wonderful things in life.

My first book, A God Walks up to the Bar, is available on Amazon.com. Witness the modern day adventures of the Greek god Hermes in a world much like our own – and with demigods, vampires, nymphs, ogres, and magic. The myths never went away, they just learned to move on with the times. It’s a tough job, being a god!

A Game of Riddles

Do you like riddles? I love riddles. I think they’re interesting, fun, and come in infinite variety. They’ve been around for millennia, so someone thought they were worth keeping around.

The book I’m currently working on features a scene where two characters engage in a riddle contest. I used some riddles from history for the scene, but I also took a stab at making up my own. At least, they’re original as far as I know, assuming my subconscious wasn’t inspired by something I read fifteen years ago or some such.

Regardless, here they are. Highlight the space beneath each riddle for the answer. Enjoy!

Teary eyes and stolen breaths

So often found with death and wrath

No teeth to bite nor fists to strike

Yet destruction always marks my path

Smoke

A single eye, yet I cannot see

A single fang, yet I cannot bite

I have no hands nor feet

Yet many things can I complete

A needle

Clad in armor like the turtle, many do I command

Proud and vain like the eagle, on ground I need not stand

Beasts fantastic mark my name and honor,

Yet at day’s end, I die like any man

A knight

What are some of your favorite riddles? Maybe you’d like to take a shot at creating a few yourself!

If you just so happen to be enjoying my blog, feel free to subscribe. I post updates on my writing career, I muse over storytelling and fiction, and I reflect on the curious and wonderful things in life.

And speaking of my writing …

My first book, A God Walks up to the Bar, is available on Amazon.com. Witness the modern day adventures of the Greek god Hermes in a world much like our own – and with demigods, vampires, nymphs, ogres, and magic. The myths never went away, they just learned to move on with the times. It’s a tough job, being a god!

Confessions of a Skipper

I must confess to a strange reading habit, one that might shock and horrify you. Do not judge me too harshly, for I shall explain myself.

When I start a fiction book, I like to skip to read the last couple of pages first.

“What?” I hear you cry out. “What is this blasphemy? Why ruin the story for yourself?” Calm yourself, please. Let me clear things up.

It’s true that I’m not sensitive to spoilers. I really don’t mind when plot twists are brought up in casual conversation. But this habit is more than just wanting to know how things end. Really, without context, knowledge of a story’s ending doesn’t have a terribly great impact on me as a reader. I have no grasp of the import of the scenes and dialogue. What I’m really interested in is catching a glimpse of the finished jigsaw puzzle, then going back to the beginning to see how the pieces fit together.

Rather than starting a book with no idea of how things end up, I know exactly how it ends. And so, the fun of the read shifts from the “what?” to the “why?” Why is this the ending? And how will my initial impression of it change as I get more pieces of the bigger picture?

I suppose I’m interested in perceiving the author’s mind. How do they assemble the various elements of the narrative into its final shape at story’s end? How are these characters and events inserted into the story? In short, how did we end up here?

Pieces click into place as I read on, and the ending’s significance becomes clearer. Sometimes, I feel like a detective solving a case in reverse. I already know whodunnit, but the howdunnit isn’t so obvious.

And I do it because I’m quirky and it’s kind of a fun exercise to try out. I neither recommend it nor warn against it. Reading style is a matter of personal preference. It’s up to you.

And there you have it. The true confessions of a skipper.

If you just so happen to be enjoying my blog, feel free to subscribe. I post updates on my writing career, I muse over storytelling and fiction, and I reflect on the curious and wonderful things in life.

Over the Next Hill: Tribute to Mankind’s Curiosity

The history of humanity is the history of crossing over the next hill.

Where are we without curiosity? Caves and mud huts. One day, someone steps outside with a mind filled with questions. What is over that next hill? What is in that valley? What is beyond that forest? Anther follows, and another. Further afield we walk, driven not by necessity but because we want to know.

Questions follow questions. Can I eat that? Can I grow it? Why does this reed make a sound when I blow through it? Food and music are discovered. Someone finds a sturdy stick. A walking stick, and soon a weapon. Lines are draw on sandy ground, then painted onto rock and hides. Maps are made to chart the wanderer’s path.

We cross the last hill and find a sea. But now is not the time to stop. Wood floats, this is known. A little later, and mankind sails out on boats across the water to find out what lies on the other side. They learn how to make the stars their guide. Navigation becomes more than simple wandering.

Where people grow tired and rest, they find new fruits and vegetables and animals. The nomad becomes the gardener and herdsman. Someone notices those mangy wolves following the camp for scraps. Someone tames them.

People build huts of straw and wood, of stone and brick. Cities appear. Curiosity turns inwards. How to make life better? Clever hands produce answers: the wheel, the hammer, the nail, the net, the plough, the saddle.

Not all stay in cities. Others keep wandering, looking for the next hill and sea and valley. They wander far afield, planting new cultures wherever they stop awhile. Downriver and up mountain and across desert. Because they can. Because they must know what is there.

The whole earth is charted. Mankind does not rest. The ocean deeps call out. The stars wink at humanity, inviting it to pay them a visit. Steam and electricity are harnessed. Fire no longer warms the camp, but lifts man and woman on ships of steel into the airless void to visit the moon. Other ships carry them beneath the ocean into the lightless abyss to glimpse its moody depths.

It is the never-ending journey. Why? Reasons are given, some long and eloquent, others little more than a careless shrug. Because we must know. Because we are curious creatures. Because we can scarce imagine what new mystery awaits us over the next hill.

If you just so happen to be enjoying my blog, feel free to subscribe. I post updates on my writing career, I muse over storytelling and fiction, and I reflect on the curious and wonderful things in life.

Image: “A view of hills and sky” by World Bank Photo Collection; Licensed under CC BY-NC-ND 2.0.

New Year’s Resolutions? I Resolve Not To!

New Year’s Day is a day famous for resolutions. The day when people work up the courage to swear to permanent change in their lives. To resolve to start doing this, stop doing that, and make some adjustments to these other things. A time for fresh starts.

Now, let’s be honest with ourselves. How many of you have ever kept a resolution all the way through the entire year? If you have, you have my deep and abiding respect. You are a rare breed.

I don’t believe in New Year’s resolutions. I defy this societal concept. No, I’m not being contrary for contrariness’s sake, I just don’t understand the need for it. Why wait until one day out of 365 (or 366) when you can always decide to change TODAY? That is, if you really want to improve yourself. Maybe it’s just more comfortable to say, as little orphan Annie sings, “There’s always tomorrow.” And tomorrow always seems to be such a long time coming.

That being said, it’s all well and good to come up with new goals on New Year’s Day. It’s tempting to look out across the vastness of the new year, all those blank days ripe with promise, and imagine to oneself how this time you’ll do it differently. You’ll be better this year, just wait and see. You make that silent resolution to yourself. On the same day, of course, when everyone parties hard till midnight and carouses and gets drunk and gets into car accidents. A hangover and a car repair bill. An excellent start to the new year.

Some people take resolutions very seriously. And to those people who can keep them throughout the year, I say more power to you. Like I already said, you are a rare breed. Most people make a few half-hearted mentions of a few things in life they want to be different, then forget all about it in a couple weeks (or a couple drinks).

Which isn’t to say that the idea behind New Year’s resolutions is a bad thing. We should always strive to improve ourselves. But maturity and growth is a gradual process, not something that happens in leaps and spurts. It takes a lot of effort to change something about ourselves. We stubbornly cling to bad habits and thoughts because they’ve stuck with us for so long. A single day of swearing off a habit isn’t going to make much difference. You got to work at it every day. You got to practice. Change is slow.

So, I don’t bother with New Year’s resolutions. Why should I, when I can make that resolution any day of the year? Sometimes, I make the same resolution multiple times in a week or a month, because I stumble. We all stumble, especially after making a big show of the big changes in our lives. Life likes to set us up like that. It’s like setting the cute baby seal free into the ocean with cameras rolling and – oh, there’s the shark waiting to spoil the moment.

I will make resolutions as many days as it takes to improve myself for the better and change my bad habits. No one-and-done deals. One day’s quick and easy promises aren’t enough.

If you just so happen to be enjoying my blog, feel free to subscribe. I post updates on my writing career, I muse over storytelling and fiction, and I reflect on the curious and wonderful things in life.

Image: “Fireworks – Adelaide Skyshow 2010” by anthonycramp; Licensed under CC BY 2.0.

Snow and Me: A Complicated Relationship

Winter is approaching fast, and that means snow is on the way where I live. And snow means a clean split between those shivering with excitement and those groaning in despair.

Snow is weird. You want to paint a happy picture of winter fun? Throw in some snowmen and snowballs and snow forts. Want to paint a picture of a barren wasteland? Take OUT the snowmen and snowballs and snow forts.

Snow is great until it isn’t. Making snow angels and trekking through knee-deep drifts is all well and good until the melt seeps into your pants and you can’t feel your toes anymore. Or your fingers. Or your nose and ears. Hey, look! My pinkie just froze and snapped off! Isn’t this FUN?

Look at this magical winter world
Image by Bonnie Moreland; Public Domain Mark 1.0.

When I was a kid, I loved snow. Snow meant days off school and winter play and running around trying to come up with new ways to use the stuff. I loved playing in it and rolling huge snowmen. Well, more like snow boulders. We would just roll a bunch of big uber-snowballs and leave them scattered across the field. And I have fond memories of watching snow slipping off the tallest tree branches during the thaw. Snow is fun – when you don’t have responsibilities.

Nowadays, I prefer to stay inside and enjoy it from a safe distance.

You see, kids don’t have to drive in snow. Or walk down to the mailbox in it. They might have to shovel the driveway, but pay them in cash or candy and they’re happy enough. Too bad adults can’t pay themselves for cracking their spines lugging shovelfuls of very heavy frozen water. Growing up is a terrible thing, sometimes.

Ah, yes, snow is water. Which means it melts. And that brings on the SLUSH. Nobody ever mentions SLUSH when discussing winter. It’s a wintry wonderland, happy and clean and pretty! And then it all turns to SLUSH. Dirty, half-melted bogs of detritus covering roads and pooling in every yard and gutter. The aftermath of winter.

There are people who never see snow, for whom the concept is a distant fantasy. These people probably enjoy snow very much because they never have to deal with it. Snow is a pleasant image on TV screens and picture books and never, ever interferes with their lives. They can safely imagine what it would be like to be in the snow without having to actually endure it.

SOMEONE has to clean up this mess …
Image by jpctalbot; CC BY 2.0.

Yeah, you grow up and little fun things become big pains. Alas. But, snow IS pretty, I’ll give it that. And freshly fallen snow is one of the purest, cleanest things you can see in the world. And the morning after a snowfall is so quiet and peaceful and contemplative. Or eerie and spooky if you’re so inclined.

To all the people who live in regions where there is snow most, if not all of, the year, hats off to you. You are tougher and more patient than I am. I would say that snow only belongs in regions uninhabited by all life, but since humanity always seems keen on colonizing the most desolate and inhospitable regions on Earth, I guess that bus has long since passed. At least some people know how to make really pretty art out of it.

Snow is just weird. It’s this twisted dichotomy of life and death. Snow-covered landscapes are either joyful, festive scenes or just pits of death. Maybe a person’s changing attitude toward snow is some sort of reflection of our changing nature from childhood into adulthood.

Or maybe we’re all crazy and should just stay inside where it’s warm.

Enjoying my blog? Don’t want to miss a single post? Subscribe for updates on when I post and follow my writing career, musings on fiction and storytelling, and reflections about life in general!

Title Image: “snowman” by Dan’l Burton; Licensed under CC BY-SA 2.0.

Escapism: A Necessary Respite

Escapist entertainment. What thoughts run through your head when you hear that phrase? Positive? Negative? Joy? Disapproval?

Escapism gets a bit of a bad rap. Life is serious business, and there’s a lot of work to be done. People are suffering. Injustice is rampant. And when are you going to pay those bills? Why are you wasting time on fluff?

But is escapism a bad thing?

Imagine yourself going up against the hard knocks of life every day. Life is a jerk. It hits you hard without letting up. And it doesn’t play fair. It pulls your hair, throws sucker punches, and it cheats you out of a rightful win.

Even when life lets up, work and responsibilities can weigh heavily. Imagine a rock on the coast, battered by the waves every hour of every day of every year. The rock stands tall for a time, but every wave takes a little bit of it into the sea. The stone is smoothed and weathered. Eventually, it wears away completely. That is a person who works and works and works, but never takes time for a moment’s respite. Life just … wears you down to nothing.

We need to escape, sometimes.

Some light reading, a silly movie, an action-filled comic book, a walk in the park, a thrilling sports activity. For someone somewhere in the world, they’re all ways to distance oneself from the daily grind and relax. They are ways to refresh the mind and body and forget about our troubles for a few precious moments. We need escapism for the sake of our sanity.

Escapist fiction allows us to suspend disbelief and accept that there can be stories that don’t have to reflect reality. Superman and James Bond and Indiana Jones aren’t high art, but they are fun. And what’s the point of entertainment that isn’t fun? There is art and literature that dwells on philosophical questions and searches for meaning in the tragedies of life, but here’s another nugget to chew on: Real life never goes away. It’s waiting for you right outside the door. There is plenty of time to dwell on the deep questions. But don’t we just want to – need to – take a break from it once in a while?

Ah, but here comes the counterpoint: Escapism is withdrawing from responsibility to society and ourselves. It’s evading the important things in life, the things that we must do to live healthily and productively. But all things in moderation. A life of nothing but escapist fantasy is as bad as a life of nothing but grim obligation to work.

Still, there’s a reason why people like fluff entertainment. There’s a reason why people want to laugh at silliness and cheer on the hero fighting the evil villain. Such stories are simple and inspiring. Why do you think cartoons and comics were thriving during the Great Depression? Or during the more recent Great Recession, for that matter? People need something good in their lives, and for many, that can only be found in stories. And it is a healthy thing, because people need hope. We all need a counterbalance against the mundane and dreary.

The greatest responsibility, then, of the escapist is to remember that there is a time and place for everything. A time to mourn, and a time to laugh. A time to work, and a time to play. But don’t forget to take a moment’s respite. You might need it more than you think.

Enjoying my blog? Don’t want to miss a single post? Subscribe for updates on when I post and follow my writing career, musings on fiction and storytelling, and reflections about life in general!

Image: “Pittsfield Hot Air Balloon Rally – 2006” by Heartlover1717; Licensed under CC BY-NC-ND 2.0.

Why Do You Write?

To all the writers out there.

Why do you write?

Is it a compulsion, a need? Do you wake up each day and not know peace until you write a sentence, a paragraph, a chapter? Do you fear that if you don’t then you will burst?

Do you write for fame and fortune? Do you envision filing whole shelves in the bookstore? Do you see websites devoted to you, adoring fans, #1 on the New York Times bestseller list?

Why do you write?

Is it a profession like any other? A way to pay the bills and keep a roof over your head? A means to put food on the table?

Maybe you’re a dilletante. Writing is self-entertainment, a way to vent your creative impulses in your spare time. Nothing worth publishing, just for fun.

Or maybe you write for friends and family. It’s a way to amuse them with your talents, a bonding experience.

Do you write for strangers? Potential followers? Or maybe for no one in particular?

Why do you write?

Do you have a message to send? A vision to share? A statement to make?

Is it about entertainment and laughter? Or maybe you seek to instill fear, or joy, or curiosity, or dread, or thoughtfulness, or …

Or no reason other than because you can.

Why do you write?

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Image: “Pencil” by taylor.a; Licensed under CC BY 2.0.