Posted in Life

My patio

I love my patio. It has become my favorite place in my home. It is spring now, and the weather is brisk and cool, and new life is coming up around me everywhere.

From my third story, I overlook the swimming pool. It is clear and blue, and deceptively inviting, as the water is much too cool to swim. But the waterfall fountain bubbles long and deep, and drowns the pace of life to a tranquil hum. I have a sort of a natural oasis up here.

I’ve taken up gardening…that is, I bought a couple of plants. They are growing nicely—nubile green sprouts boldly poking their heads above the earthen pots. On the wall, a bird has build a mud-based nest. The two parents regularly flit in and out, along with a milieu of relations that stop in to say hello. They periodically swarm the patio, marking their territory of sorts. I guess I am on their approved humans list, as they don’t seem to bother me—a subtle presence with notebook and coffee.

And so I love to sit, here at this table and write. Although, life has been so busy I can barely capture a thought worth writing. Surely, there must be something. And, so I have pages and pages where I tried to capture meaning in the everyday….The birth of a co-worker’s child, the revolving door of people in and out of my house, the conversations I’ve had, both great and small, a dinner party we’ll host tonight, and all of these people that populate my life, new and old.

And yet, they all seem to be playing some sort of larger purpose. They all seem to be part of a great symphony, and I haven’t quite caught the melody. I can hear strains and various chords, and yet, I can’t seem to capture the harmony of it all. And, so I live, each day, loving, laughing, moving, savoring each moment and tucking it away in my heart.

That’s what life is. Seasons of movement, and seasons of rest. Seasons to plant, and seasons to birth. Seasons to create, and seasons to work. It is spring here. And new life is all around me. It is beautiful. It is right. It is good.

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Posted in Life, Writing

…Or Die Trying

So, my New Year’s Resolution was that this would be my best writing year yet…or something of the sort. I think I was rather exhausted after a drama-filled fall and didn’t put a lot of effort into creating a gleaming vision for 2018.

I used to believe in New Year’s Resolutions. There was a streak of about three or four years, that I made one solid resolution each year, and amazingly enough, I kept it, and came out better and stronger the next year. Then, I got cocky and started making too many, or making them too ambitious and the magic failed me, and my resolutions stopped working.

So, then I got discouraged and made my resolutions vague and half-hearted. Now, my only resolution this year was that I would try as hard as I could with my writing, with the afterthought that it would be my best writing year yet.

So far this year, my novel was rejected by yet another publisher, and the web company I was writing for folded and laid me off. It’s only February and already I’m off to a great a start on my best writing year yet.

As I scan the want ads for yet another writing job, I had this sinking feeling in my gut. What if I’m still doing this when I’m 50? Already my 20’s are gone in a flurry of college, temping and failed freelancing. What if this–blogging, writing novels that don’t sell, and chasing an endless chain of short-lived staff-writer jobs—is all my writing will ever be? i’ve sworn deep in my heart, that I will make it as a writer or die trying. What if that’s what happens? What if I die trying to make it as a writer?

There’s the cliche, “Find the joy in the journey.” I am enjoying the journey. But, what if the journey is all I’ll ever have? What if I never arrive? Will it have been worth it?

I guess every artist has to ask themselves that question. If I never “make it,” will it have all been worth it? I don’t have an answer. But, it’s an intriguing question.

…And I have to believe in my heart, that is this is that liberating crossroads, one must come to, right before that “big break.” Because I don’t think I could handle any other answer.

Posted in Life, Writing

The Cycle of the In-Between.

I think I chose a bad profession. There’s just not a lot of room in our world for writers. That is–unless you go into scriptwriting, which is all plot and dialogue and leaves little room for playing with the beauty of language–my favorite part of writing.

But, writing is the talent God has given me, and I’ve at times felt he was rather adamant about it…in a tender, beautiful sort of way. There is nothing more touching in the world to feel the Almighty God demands you do the one thing in the world that makes you the happiest. I hope every one of you gets to know that feeling. It’s exquisitely, heartbreakingly beautiful and freeing.

So, God gave me this passion, but in our world, there is little lucrative use for it. So the pattern my writing career has followed thus far, goes something like this. I get a job as a staff writer somewhere, usually working from home. I work at it for a while, bursting out of my skin because I actually get paid to write. Then, eventually, the powers that be realize that having writers on staff is a waste of money, because writing just flat out doesn’t sell. Then, the job gets “restructured,” or the company folds, yada yada yada…I’m out of a job.

So, then I do the only other thing I know how to do–work retail. I get some even lower paying retail gig for a few months, until I can find another low-paying writer job that pays a little more than the last one, leading me to believe that I am climbing some sort of ladder. So goes my professional life.

I am aware of this cycle, and I have often wondered if I should go back to school and be retrained to use my talent in a new way. Perhaps my undergraduate education is outdated, and I need new, updated skills to survive in this market. Then I scoff. That might be true if I were in a technology field. But, in English? I doubt sitting around in stuffy classrooms, analyzing Charles Dickens would do much for my professional marketability.

My only other option would be to do something radically different, like move to the Cayman Islands and teach Scuba Diving or something. Given that I have a debilitating fear of fish in their natural habitat, I guess I have to make it as a writer.

So, this week I finish out another cycle of the retail phase. I spent two months at Office Depot (Want a printer, anyone?)–and now I will start another full-time writing job. I am optimistic about this one, I’m making more than I’ve ever made, and the company seems to be a good one, a lot of good energy. So, I’m happy. But, I really would like to break free of this pattern. This sort of “in-between.”

A couple years back, I met with a business consultant about my writing career. He said my writing was all over the place, and I needed to focus my vision to build a consistent brand. I know he’s right.

But, whenever I start thinking about all of that business stuff, my head starts to hurt, and I feel like that guy in Jerry Maguire. He was the top draft pick, and all the agents were fighting over him, and he picked up his hotel phone to another sales pitch, and he interrupts them and says, “I just want to play football,” and hands the phone to someone else. I relate to that guy sometimes.

Posted in Life

Playing With Fire

I have a confession to make. I like to burn paper. It’s a weird nervous habit I have. Sometimes, I see a lighter, or a box of matches sitting on a counter, I’ll just sit there and burn the edges of any paper that may be around. It could be a piece of junk mail. It could be an envelope, a grocery list. Whatever, I just somehow feel the need to set it on fire.

Now, I don’t set it ablaze, mind you. I simply light the edge, and I get an odd satisfaction out of watching the fire eat the paper. And, just before the fire gets going, I hastily put it out. Then, I start again. There’s some kind of thrill of watching the destructive power of fire, I think. And there’s an even bigger thrill, in seeing how far I can let the fire go, before I know it’s time to put it out. I love to think about the phenomenal energy of fire, and how it’s all at my whim. That the power of my inevitable breath, will trump the fire and stop it dead. I am greater than fire.

I think there’s some sort of psychological principle at work here. Maybe there’s basic spiritual human instinct. I have a God given authority over nature, and I am not afraid to use it. Maybe it’s a control thing, and the power of control over destructive forces. Or maybe my sin nature gets off on the ability to destroy. Maybe it’s some kind of rebellion against childhood rules about playing with fire. As an adult, I can play with fire if I damn well please. (Real mature thought process, I must say).

Maybe I think too much. Maybe I just think fire is interesting. And really, if you think about it, if God created fire, then wouldn’t appreciating the complexities of it, in fact be a form of worship? I would like to think so. Beyond that, I don’t know why I do the things I do sometimes. And, you know what? That’s okay.

Posted in God, Life

The Day of the Bunny Pants

I have declared today, The Day of the Bunny Pants. I love my bunny pants. There is something about them…I sort feel like whatever life throws at me, at the end of the day, there’s nothing that can’t be cured with my bunny pants and Netflix.

It’s been a stressful month. A stressful last couple of months, if I’m honest. From the personal aftermath of Hurricane Harvey (yes, we survived, but that was about it)….to an elongated and messy break up, and finding a new job, just to name a few…life has dealt me a pretty random hand this fall.

And I think my choleric nature has gone into overdrive. It screams daily that I need to spend every free minute cleaning up this mess. Every moment must be spent being productive, pushing my life forward. And, at this point, I think I’ve forgotten that I am not a worker bee. I am a free, independent person that deserves to have fun, happiness, and simply bask in the raw joy of living.

I read one time about how the colonial Puritans are responsible for the work ethic behind the American dream. They believed strongly in the Scripture, “If a man doesn’t work, he shall not eat.” That’s good thinking, but like any Scripture or teaching, it can be taken too far. The Puritans were certainly guilty of this. Since they were largely responsible for the foundation of American ideology, that sort of “work until you drop dead,” became a building block of our cultural thinking. And we have taken it to heart for the last two hundred years.

Culturally, we disdain those that inherited privilege, and admire those that worked from rags to riches. We love phrases like, “working their way up,” or “paying dues at the bottom.” And this all comes from our fundamental Puritanical paradigm.

But, is that paradigm right? Is that paradigm Godly? I head a story one time, I don’t know how true it is. But, apparently there are historical records regarding Jesus’ stepfather Joseph. He was commenting on his work ethic there in the carpenter shop. He called Jesus lazy, saying that he spent all his time talking to people. Jesus would purportedly give products away, making it hard for the shop to make money. I don’t know how true that story is, but it makes for interesting thought.

Is our Puritanical work ethic Godly? Certainly God intends us to work. He explicitly frowns upon laziness, and there is Scripture after Scripture about the Godliness of labor and toil. So, certainly we are to work. But, beyond laziness, I don’t think God intended for us to spend our lives working to pay for our lives. Perhaps that is a product of The Curse. Perhaps in God’s natural order, we are to simply enjoy life. So, I think, that as a redeemed person in a fallen world, we should strive to have both. Both joy and work coexisting in balance.

So, this is why, today, I am declaring it The Day of the Bunny Pants. Nothing productive will go on here today.