Jaded

Why Write?

2008-10-26T21:45:00.002-04:00

As I was sitting at the computer earlier tonight after hearing some depressing news about something totally unrelated to what I was doing, when I had a sudden flash of insight that hit me like a brick. Okay, so it hit me more like a marshmallow, but it opened my eyes for about fifteen minutes or so.

I realized (probably not for the first time, but then, I have a short memory) that I wished I was in the middle of a new book or story - anything - so I could forget about my personal problems for awhile. Which translates to me using my stories as an escape.

Yes, an escape. Into another world, one of my making, totally under my control, where I can immerse myself totally inside a warm fantasy world cocoon.

There is something to be said for living in two worlds, which is what happens when I am seeing through the eyes of my characters. I can step outside myself and feel what my characters feel, see the world as they do, and escape from myself for awhile.

One odd thing I found out about writing my trilogy was that I began to forget which world was real. I may have mentioned this before, but it's true. I actually at one point encountered the odd feeling that I could pick up the phone and dial up my characters and have a conversation.

Of course, this revelation startled me back into reality, but for a few moments (okay, I admit, the feeling stuck around for a few days) it was almost as though I was living inside the book.

Now, I once saw a movie about an author who becomes part of the book he/she was writing, so I know this is not necessarily an unusual thing for an author to go through, but damn, how fucking disappointed was I when I had to shake myself out of the fantasy and back to reality. It was like seeing my best friends waving goodbye to me as they drove away.

As I sat at the computer earlier tonight, I found myself longing to connect up with those friends again. Another odd sensation. Too weird.

I guess the bottom line is that it's time for me to begin another book.

THE SLUMP

2008-10-13T11:08:00.001-04:00

The Slump. The time between writing projects where your idea bank is depleted and your writer's mind is looking for something to do.
That's where I am right now. I finished the three-book trilogy, finished my contracted short story, and wrote another short story just to flush out all the remaining crap from the trilogy surge.

It sounds crazy, but I guess I became too attached to the people, places and things I wrote about in the trilogy, and now I can't seem to pull myself away. They're friends I'm having a hard time giving up.

I'm thinking about maybe turning the trilogy into a series, but I'm out of ideas on where to go with the story from here. I conveniently left openings for myself - people and endings that could be expanded upon - but I've pretty much stumbled into that proverbial brick wall. I was hoping to move on, to write about a whole different set of people in a whole different world... to jump genres... However, I find myself drawn back to the old characters, and unable to write anything new except for short stories .

So, keeping that in mind, I'm toying with the idea of writing short stories based upon the books by delving into the innermost thoughts of the characters as they look back upon the last twenty years. Instead of third person, I'm thinking of taking it into the first person narrative as the characters reflect back upon the events that took place in the books, from their own perspectives, in a confessional sort of way. Just to keep myself from getting bored. To fight off severe bouts of cabin fever as we enter yet another long, daunting winter season in the mountains.

So, theoretically, between the short stories and these blogs, I should never run out of space. Filling that space is a whole other puppy. So, if you catch me rambling, say something. Leave a comment. Join in.

And who knows? Maybe we can give each other ideas...

Observations

2008-10-09T09:42:00.004-04:00

I don't know if it's me attracting them, or what. I seem to be surrounded by artistically talented people of all stripes, with one thing in common: It's all about them.

All they can talk about is themselves or people who have influenced their talent. I've come to the conclusion that a lot of them lead very small, narrow-minded lives, and that they need people like me to validate them or something.

If they only knew how boring it is to hear the same "me, me, me" rap from so many different people! I've come to the conclusion that at some point it goes beyond "insecurity" and "neurosis" and wanders into the "egotistical asshole" category.

What I have to keep in check is my own inclination to want to jump up in the middle of this flock of cackling chickens and shout, "HEY! I'M HERE, TOO!" because then I'd have to listen as the roar of their egos gets louder and louder as they try to "but I" me to death.

So if I want to keep the peace, I am forced to do one of three things at that point: Fight for my right to defend my own sensibilities; ignore them and live inside my own thoughts; or, make excuses to leave the room. I usually do one or more of the three, but what I'd really like to do is to duct tape their mouths shut, tie them to their chairs, and force them to listen to their own tape recorded bullshit for 24 straight hours.

However, I have a strong feeling that it would do no good, because they would probably hear themselves and use every last word to bolster their contention that they are special individuals who need "understanding" because they are so "talented" and that only other "talented" people know what it's like to be them.

Yeah, well, bullshit. My mother once said something that I believe 100%. She said that greatly talented people - great people in general - NEVER brag about themselves. She said that the proof of somebody's greatness is to be found in their humbleness and their humility, not in their need to talk about themselves or their achievements.

We ALL achieve. We ALL have talents. What makes some people think theirs is more valuable than others? What makes some people think that their talent gives them the right to act irresponsibly, obnoxiously, or egotistically? What malformation in their character makes them think that they are more important than say, a grocery clerk who propagates orchids in his spare time?

Good god, how I long for a "normal" conversation! One in which the subject - for a change - does not turn to the artist and their art and how much satisfaction they get from it. Surely there must be other artists like me who have lives that extend beyond their own selves!

Trouble is, denial seems to accompany ego in a lot of artistically-talented people. If you try to point it out to them, they drown you out with the excuses and then go merrily on their way, having judged you wrong the moment you open your mouth and toss a roadblock in their path. The moment you give them something to think about that does not revolve around their own vision of how things work... after all, according to them, talented people are special and should be treated with kid gloves...

Bullshit. Talent is not a cross you bear and have to defend. I do not feel sorry or even sympathetic to artists who think they have it so hard because they are "sacrificing" everything for their art. I feel sorry for their friends and their loved ones. I feel sorry for people like me who are surrounded by these emotional vampires.

Yes, vampires. They suck all the energy out of other people in order to fuel their so-called talent. They must subconsciously feel that it's their right to do it. They over-talk you, not listening to anything you say when you manage to get a word in, and they fail to see the pit of ego they've fallen into because they no longer value the opinion of others, no matter how much they try to convince you otherwise. Bottom line is, they've closed their minds, and they have a million "poor me" excuses why they have to be that way...

And it's because of them that sometimes I'm embarrassed to let people know I have ANY talent at all...

On Becoming an Elder...

2008-10-02T00:44:00.002-04:00

Over the Hill sort of implies that at some point you reach the top and go beyond. When you reach the top of the hill you get a chance to look back at the way you came, and at the same time you get to look ahead.

The future isn't always visible. We may think we know what lies ahead, but life has so many twists and turns, we never really know what's in store for us.

Life's an adventure. Sometimes it sucks worse than a muddy camping trip with wet socks, but sometimes it's better than a dark chocolate truffle. Sometimes it's stupid as all hell, other times it's brilliant.

I've got enough grey hairs earned the hard way to be an Elder now. I think I've gained some wisdom along the way, too. That's not to say I'm smart - just wise and curious.

I got to the top of the hill awhile ago and stood up there looking back at the past.

Not all of it was pretty or fun, but most of it was. I have very few regrets. I think I can count them on one hand. I guess in that, I'm better off than most.

There is a point to life, and if you miss it, you lose.

The point is, experience all you can with more enjoyment than regret.

Be good to other people, even the ones that annoy the shit out of you (tolerance is a virtue, isn't it?). Don't kiss ass unless there's something in it for you (compromise can be a good thing sometimes).

Love honestly and with great passion. Stand your ground unless you're wrong. Ask stupid questions. Be kind to Mother Earth. Talk to the trees. Don't be afraid to express your feelings. If sex is an act, go for the Acadamy Award or why bother? Learn your limitations and expand their parameters. Don't spit in public. Wear clean underwear. Learn that eating garlic and wearing musk don't mix. Keep your perspective open. Remember that we are all related... and that means ALL.

There's more, but I won't bore you. When you get to the top of the hill, if you don't find me on the other side, just assume I'm on my way up the next hill...

Now What?

2008-09-26T22:52:00.002-04:00

I'm at a lull in my writing. I just finished two more small projects, have one client website mid-way done, and have nothing large looming on the horizon.

I have no idea what I'm going to write about next. I choose to call it a transition period.

Having just written a 3-book series, the characters have been embedded in my brain for quite a few years now, and I need time to get them out of my head.

I'm considering writing something in the first person, since I had so much fun doing it for the short story I just finished writing. It's so much more flexible a medium.

I've begun to run some ideas through my head, although nothing too seriously. I've thought about writing a few more short stories under my real name before embarking upon another Jade Coltrane novel.

I've been writing some lyrics for my husband's next musical project, which burns up some of the more poetic ideas I have, so there's no need for me to write more poetry, thank God, because frankly, they work better as songs than they do as poems.

I was also toying with the idea of writing porn. Maybe I'll do all of the above. Or none of it. I didn't realize how taxing a novel - or three - can be. I'm taking some time off to enjoy the transition. You know... to transcend.

TO DO LISTS

2008-09-22T17:31:00.003-04:00

I mowed an acre and a half of land with the push mower today. Gassed it up and went to town. I'd been putting it off, waiting to finish my books, hoping it wouldn't grow anymore this year, but damn, the cabin level was 6" high and the lower level was at least 10", more in places. I hurt like hell, but at least I accomplished something.

Not that it was the only thing I did today...

This morning I got up at 8 A.M. and proceeded to go to work on SLIPPING, a short story I was asked to write last winter, centering around a dream that a friend of mine once had. By noon I was done. Now I have to read the thing to make sure the 3 chapters I wrote today don't contradict the four I wrote last winter. For me, it's not the doing that's hard, it's the getting started that kills me.

I've always hated beginnings. I don't know why, but when something important needs to be done or begun, I get this feeling of dread. I mean, I've learned to work around that feeling, but sometimes I wait until the last possible moment to get 'er done.

My workaround is the good old fashioned TO DO list. I make a long list of things I need to do, then if I accomplish 80% of it in two or three days, I make another list and put the things I didn't accomplish at the top.

I do the same thing with my writing. I make notes and add them to my writing TO DO list, such as: "fix paragraph 2 on page so and so", or "dig up notes on blah blah blah".

For reluctant starters like me, the TO DO list is of major value. I make mine at the end of my writing day if there are things I need to do the following day. That way there is no confusion when I sit down at my computer in the morning. I know what has to be done.

Sometimes I have two or three lists running concurrently. Writing, chores, and a shopping list. I stick the shopping list in my pocketbook, tape the writing list to my monitor frame, and as I drink my morning coffee while my computer boots up, I look at the third list and try to figure out how many chores I can postpone until tomorrow.

Out of Thin Air...

2008-09-18T10:59:00.000-04:00

Have you ever known a person who killed someone? Think hard.

In war soldiers are asked to kill if necessary, and many do just that. I've known mob guys (by first name only) who supposedly killed people - afterall, isn't that the initiation for becoming a "made" member of the "family"? I've also known a hell of a lot of high ranking outlaw bikers, a few of whom I assume have killed people or who have at least seen people killed. None of them ever discussed things like that with me.

However, I once had a good friend (just a citizen, no organizational affiliation) tell me that the first time you kill someone, it's like their soul enters your body and never leaves. He said that, after the first time, it ceases to have any real meaning. How the hell he knew that is beyond me, since I highly doubt he ever participated in any killings, but the thought stuck, and I wrote it into The Biker Chronicles.

Little bits of information like that stick with you, and can give you insight into the thought process of some of your characters. I never modeled any of my characters after that friend, but I did use the words he gifted me with, and it taught me something... Always be on the lookout - even in casual conversations - for stuff that you can use later.

Like most writers, I always keep a notebook and pen with me. When I'm away from home I keep one in the truck. Sometimes I keep a spiral bound index card "book" in my bag for those times when I want to take notes or to do an impromptu "interview" with an interesting person for possible use as background material later on.

Sometimes it seems as though writers just grab ideas out of thin air, but the truth is, they've seen it or heard it somewhere. Writers are sponges. They absorb facts, thoughts, ideas and conversations all the time. Of course, they also forget 90% of what they hear and see, so that's why the notebook is so damn important.

So here's my advice to fledgling writers. Go to Walmart, buy a couple of notebooks and some index cards and a few good ball point pens. Now, start taking notes...

Changing of the Seasons Along the Blue Ridge

2008-09-17T15:36:00.003-04:00

Fall is on the way, and there's a slight chill in the air, a forewarning of things to come. The hawks are beginning to think about migrating, and the deer are getting rambunctious and careless.

After a dry as dust summer, the cooler temperatures are bringing moisture. It's neat as hell to walk out my back door and see the clouds hanging below the peak of Hawk Mountain across the way, or to awaken to find that the cloud is sitting right on top of us, like a dense fog in the trees.

I had to use a down comforter last night, but then again, I had the windows wide open and both fans going, but it was a little nippy up here on the hill. We're at 3400' in a mountain "hollar", or cove, at the end of a road. There's only one residence above us, then nothing but coyotes, mountain lions, bears, bobcats, deer, etc., and forest.

Okay, so the coyotes come and go and the cougars and bears are infrequent, but they're there, and every now and then they come down the hill to mark their territory.

I bring the cats in at night. The dog - Tip (our elderly neighbors died and we "inherited" Tip) - keeps most of the wildlife away from the property. She's not really our dog, but we feed her and she patrols the hill for more than a quarter mile up and down the road. She catches the occasional rabbit, and yesterday she got a chipmunk.

The cats love chipmunks. Yum. Their snack of choice. Elvis and Wanda are Native Maine Coon cats that came to live with us while we were still in New Jersey, so they went from being "barn cats" in Maine to apartment cats in Jersey and then "mountain cats" down here in the Southern Appalachians. Sam used to belong to the elderly neighbors, too, but my husband made the mistake of petting her and giving her some food one day, and ever since then, she's lived here with us. In the last 7 years these three cats have cleared the property of chipmunks, squirrels, voles, moles, and a hell of a lot of mice. They chase off the wild turkeys. They keep the farm cats away. They've even been known to chase a stray dog off the property once or twice.

Funny thing about cats - they sometimes hang out with possums. I saw it in NJ, and I see it here. We had a possum under the house in the crawl space all last winter, and it tore up all the mouse nests and apparently ate all the babies, because we had very few mice in the house for the cats to catch last winter, and only one mouse all summer (which got into my no kill trap that I forgot I had under the kitchen counter and expired during one of our many hot spells. After awhile there was no mistaking the smell of dead mouse. Yuk!) .

Between the cats and foxes and snakes and hawks and owls and now possums, rodents have a hard time of it here. Breaks my heart. Yeah, right.

I'd prefer it if the chippies and red squirrels were left alone because they're fun, but I guess that's the way it goes. To a cat, or a dog, if they can catch it and eat it, all the better. The cats barely even lift an eyebrow to look at birds now.

I like snakes. We have a lot of black snakes here, but a lot of other snakes, too. This area is home to three poisonous snakes - copperhead, timber rattler, and pygmy rattler. Black snakes like to eat other snakes. Where there is a big black snake population, you find very few poisonous snakes.

But tell that to the Southern Baptists around here! To them all snakes are evil, so they go out of their way to shoot, run over, or hack to death any snake they see, even the innocuous little garter snakes (harmless). Most snakes eat bugs and rodents. I welcome seeing a black snake in my garden. Around here they're only supposed to get to 5' in length, but I've seen them as big as 8' and maybe bigger. I've made it part of my duty to inform locals that snakes are good and that they should just let them be.

Of course, if I saw a copperhead or rattler on this property, I'd grab my .22 and send that critter to snake heaven, but all other snakes are welcome...

The lives we live...

2008-09-16T18:56:00.006-04:00

My friend Smiley called last night and told me that a friend of his, a musician known as Ransom, had been murdered. I expressed my shock, offered condolences, and wondered if I'd ever met this person. Then Smiley and I began to recount all the dead bodies in our pasts.

Both of us are ex-bikers with a lot of old hippie and musician friends. Neither one of us has lived a very "normal" life, and both of us thought we'd be gone long before this, so we stand amazed, looking back on the long list of the deceased.

This blog entry is a small memorial for a man I'm not sure I ever met. He was a good guitarist and a nice guy, from what I hear. William Ransom Hobbs Jr. Rest in Peace.

But it is also a memorial to the others who passed in the last three years, especially: Big Danny Gallagher - the Burl Ives of the Blues and good friend; Bernie Brausewetter - best, most fluid guitarist I ever knew; Bobby Alfano - harmonica player and super good guy; Chris Barry - gonzoesque music writer and great friend; Tony Guadagno - bassist and good guy; Scotty "BamBam" Bigelow, former roadie and pro wrestler; Helyn Chrobosinski - Queen of Clearwater; and the list goes on and on... Friends dropping all around us.

Which should serve as a reminder that...

We're all gettin' older and the road is gettin' harder, but when we get where we're going, I think we're gonna find that Heaven rocks and that there's a lot of dope-smoking hippies and bikers up there waitin' for us!