What Gets You?

What Gets You?

- Persistence & the Writing Muscle -

Usually, I write about writing success or some sort of inspiring quip about writing... usually. But this time, as I'm typing away, I have to be honest. My regular writing times have been flagging a bit. I mean, I'm still writing something just about everyday, but I sense that I'm trying to revert to only writing when the misty-magical muse hits me. I realize instead of this, I ought to be focusing on writing consistently, instead. I really ought to read my own advice and just keep on going...

One of the things I love about my wife, Steph, is that she's a smart cookie. Yeah, I might complain about her, shall we say 'high standards' when it comes to my writing... but all that said, if you stick around long enough, she says just the right stuff I need, often at times I least expect (which makes for keeping me on my toes). In the previous paragraph, I used the phrase 'I ought' quite a bit. It just sort of spilled out. And if you're trusting me, I can assure you I did not just go back and add the phrases in for effect, either.  'I ought' is a dangerous phrase. One of the reasons I like journaling and blogging is because you get to take these little wispy, intangible thoughts out of your inner-dialogue and make them a bit more real. By going from little voices in your head to real words on the page or screen, it can help you to see what you're really thinking, and get it out of you. Once you've got your self-conscience out of the darker corners and into the light, you get to see just what sort of creature you're actually dealing with.

Which brings me back to the phrase, 'I ought'. Like I said, it's a dangerous phrase. The 'I ought' creature is one with ties often linked to fear, guilt, shame, and/or doubt. It's dubious and accusatory - and it's a real buzzkill. When you catch yourself running on fear, guilt, shame, and/or doubt, it means you're drinking from poisoned wells. So when you're creating art as you write, it affects you. 'I ought' is a slippery creature, too. Right now, you may even feel it's subtle claws grasping for your will... because you may be beginning to think I ought not use 'I ought'.

The only way I've found to avoid this existential trap is to jump tracks completely. Just like in Ursula LeGuin's A Wizard of Earthsea, you have to make peace with your own shadow. The only way I've found where someone can successfully jump tracks out of the 'I ought' trap is with George MacDonald's rallying cry from his Unspoken Sermons, "More LIFE!"

What did good ol' George mean?

The idea comes from the notion that we don't die (physically, personally, spiritually, creatively) from death. We die for lack of LIFE. The true goodness and vivacious gusto for what truly motivates and inspires us on a deep personal level (and at an even deeper, light-hearted level) is what we need to dance with and nurture. It's what we need to have our deep, late night conversations with - and IT is what we need to buy another round for. Among many things which humans beings are, one of them is Joy-Chasers. If you've never thought about it, get an idea about what you truly love. What gets you all passionate and waxing poetic about? It's not so much about what you get, but about what gets you.

When it comes, full-circle, back to writing, we find that now our love, passion, creative need ect. is now properly put in it's place. Our drive to write no longer corners us with black-mail, guilt, and fear like some lion prowling outside our door... When our creative Rally Cry really becomes MORE LIFE! our love of writing is transfigured from a devouring monster back into a needy kitty-cat purring in the sunshine on our lap.

What do we/I love? Joy-chase it. And while chasing, write.

thanks for listening,

- Ryan

Advice from Merlyn from Confucius

In the wonderfully moving sequel to The Once and Future King, The Book of Merlyn, near the end, Merlyn quotes Confucius:

"In order to propagate virtue in the world, one must first rule

one's country.

In order to rule one's country, one must first rule one's family.

In order to rule one's family, one must first regulate one's 

body by moral training.

In order to regulate one's body, one must first regulate one's 

mind.

In order to regulate one's mind, one must first be sincere in

one's intentions.

In order to be sincere in one's intentions, one must first

increase one's knowledge."

A lot of the times, living in here in Missouri really leaves me with nothing but time to write. That might sound romantic, but it's not so much. I have this tick about always having to be doing something important, something meaningful. I'm nearly always aware of it. It's something in me which wakes when I do, and probably stays up long after I've finally gone back to sleep again. Outside, the world is filled with puddles of melting snow and chilly wind. The land is bleak and bare. It is February. There is nothing going on in town and there is no where to go. Whatever you do or have must be done by you alone, or with a few friends. Often times, with jobs how they are - most everyone's schedules don't match up too well. This means you have time alone... alone with the Nuisance. That persistent feeling that you have to - must - be doing something.

So I write. I wonder if I just down enough words between gasps of intermittent boredom I can bleed out some of the impatience. I feel listless, grey like the land here. Grey, gray, grey. It's a funny word. I like using it in my stories, because again, it evokes some sort of mystique. But that's story telling for you. In the living world, grey days and times appear just so. I will be off work in about an hour and then I will drive home in my rusty white Ford Contour and probably sit back down into my usual spot on the couch and binge-watch more Netflix, or play more video games. I like and don't like doing it. I like it because it's familiar and occasionally enjoyable. I don't like it because I feel like I'm hiding from life and because of the Nuisance. Later, if I don't get side-tracked and I feel more or less up for it, I write. I always write fantasy. I've tried writing other things, but it always ends up as a fantasy. I'm not sure why. I dream about places and lands that never were. My house is usually empty since my wife often works late (she works too much).

Sometimes I catch myself thinking about how this is just where a fantasy story might begin. In the Grey Days... in the nothing and the piles of old slush.

Right now I'm writing about two Wizards and a Nameless Girl. They live in a far-away land with no name full of islands and magic. There's often so much magic there, that wonder is hard to find. But that's only a concept I've recently realized exists. In my stories there is usually a personal quest people are on. I feel like I have to figure out how to make it special. I have to figure out why it matters. It's important. But I don't know if I can figure it out. I want to rush through the story to the end... I want Christmas to hurry up and happen so I can know what I got. I feel that way about here, too. I want life to hurry up. What does that mean? Will anybody like it? Do I want people to like me? I act like there's an invisible stage I'm always on. Sometimes I get tired of my current story-lines and I wonder about other lands and lives far away.

I read somewhere that artists are miserable people. I don't know how I feel about that. It seems like it's the sort of thing an artist would say to make themselves feel better. I don't know if I trust it. But when Steph, my wife, says it we laugh and we mean our laughter. How can you just change something with only a few words? The right sentiment from the right person... the right relationship with the right gritty bonds can transform something from dubious to lovely.

I wonder if I write enough I will change. I wonder if I wait long enough, the blase will fade away. I remember remembering a better way. I wonder why I stay here. My parents are always overtly trying to pressure me back to New Mexico. I feel like moving back would be admitting defeat. I value my freedom and individuality too much to move back - even for culture, even for family, even for better opportunities. But I also think it's not just for me that I stay. I think that somehow I'm supposed to be here. As dumb as it is. As drear as it is. I don't understand why. Maybe when someone stakes their claim willfully, the strength of their resolve makes for a firmer ground for others to stand, too. I hope so. I hope there's meaning to all this. And not general meaning - not pie-in-the-sky meaning- but real meaning. Something that makes sense and can be understood.

I know I live in my head too much. Being stuck at home for 5 days is just too much. Sure I was sick but I had to do something. The Nuisance was back again, I guess. I still feel sick. But maybe I'm better now, a little bit. I want to matter. I want to save the day. There's so much saving that needs done here. I don't see no cavalry. I don't see grand miracles. I see little people in faded streets. I see needy and I can't meet all their needs. I see what's left of beautiful slowly drift apart. And I don't... I just don't understand why it must be.

We need Ways, not Directions. We want directions. I want directions. I want do this, this, and then this and bam - there you go. Problem solved. But we don't get that sort of permanency here. Stability. We need Ways. We need to hold on.

Poetry for your Monday

"We bled under a banner to find life as free men 

the wind still blows across those far off glens

where Scottish blood flowed to keep us all free 

What we did not know was, what will be, will be   

We can alter the future by the actions of today 

but yesterday is already set and flown away 

so set your sights on changing tomorrow 

don't dwell on the past and all of the sorrow   

The future can shine as bright as the sun 

Our web of life is still to be spun 

The silken thread that join us together 

all interlinked and entwined  with the heather   

The blood in our veins carries memories of the past 

linking us together from the first to the last 

Wherever you roam you will remember your blood line 

no matter where you are a Scottish heart will always shine   

The freedom we had is still all around 

The heart that is Scotland can never be drowned 

A voice from the past is heard in every true heart 

So stay true to yourself and live free before you depart"

-Leslie Hounsel

Wisdom from Author Ursula K Le Guin:

Ursula K Le Guin,

Multi-Award-Winning Recipient for SciFi & Fantasy writes:

    “In the years since I began to write about Earthsea I’ve changed, of course, and so have the people who read the books. All times are changing times, but ours is one of massive, rapid moral and mental transformation. Archetypes turn into millstones, large simplicities get complicated, chaos becomes elegant, and what everybody knows is true turns out to be what some people used to think.
  
It’s unsettling. For all our delight in the impermanent, the entrancing flicker of electronics, we also long for the unalterable. We cherish the old stories for their changelessness. Arthur dreams eternally in Avalon. Bilbo can go “there and back again,” and “there” is always the beloved familiar Shire. Don Quixote sets out forever to kill a windmill...
  
We may turn to fantasy seeking stability, ancient truths, immutable simplicities; but the realms of Once-upon-a-time are unstable, mutable, complex, and as much a part of human history and thought as the nations in our ever-changing atlases. And in daily life or in imagination, we don’t live as our parents or ancestors did. “Enchantment alters with age, and with the age. We know a dozen different Arthurs now, all of them true. The Shire changed irrevocably even in Bilbo’s lifetime. Don Quixote went riding out to Argentina and met Jorge Luis Borges there.”
  
To this I would add: As the virtual world of electronic communication becomes the world many of us inhabit all the time, in turning to imaginative literature we may not be seeking mere reassurance nor be impelled by mere nostalgia. To enter with heart and mind into the world of the imagination may be to head deliberately and directly toward, or back toward, engagement with the real world.
  
In one of T.S. Elliot’s poems a bird sings, “Mankind cannot bear very much reality.” I’ve always thought that bird was mistaken, or was talking only about some people. I find it amazing how much of the real world most of us can endure. Not only endure, but need, desire, crave. Reality is life. Where we suffocate is in the half-life of unreality, untruth, imitation, fakery, the almost-true that is not true. To be human is to live both within and beyond the narrow band of what-happens-now, in the vast regions of the past and the possible, the known and the imagined: our real world, our true Now.”

- from the afterword of Tales From Earthsea, by Ursula K Le Guin