What and Do I Believe

The last seven years have brought something home to me with tremendous force: I don't believe in very much.

My life is filled with doubts and skepticism. Some of it very rightly so.

When politicians speak from their pulpits I find myself searching for their motivation, and often find it has to do with some special interest, or self-promotion in order to be re-elected.

When social priests, religious and otherwise, get in front of television cameras, or radio microphones, and spout off their outrage over whatever, I find myself wondering what they're getting out of it. Most of the time it's just attention.

I do not believe our judicial system has been politicized. I don't believe that things work out for the best, nor that hard work results in any reward other than the satisfaction of having worked hard. The best team does not always win, and good does not always triumph over evil. Not in the short term.

I see crooks in Washington and on Wall-Street make off with millions while the innocent lose everything they've worked for.

I've seen good employees harassed and suck-ups get raises.

What should be cause and effect is not, because after the initial cause, others interfere and effect it before it can achieve its purpose.

To win, one must play the same game the same way as others have established.

I don't do that.

Some used to claim it was because I couldn't. That was not true. I recall at one company I worked I was not well thought of by management because of my outspoken cries against favoritism and company politics. Got into an argument with a co-worker who challenged me to "play the game". So I made a bet. We had just had our annual reviews, and I had received no raise. The next time around, I would get a good one. He laughed at me.

I played the game. Did and said everything one was supposed to say and do. Got promoted and received the highest raise given out that year. And hated myself for doing it. The next two years in a row I refused the raises which were offered. Then I quit the company.

I can do it. I know how to do it. I just can't bring myself to do it. Not and live with myself. In some ways it turns out I really don't care what people think of me. And it really isn't about the money after all. It's about the few things I still believe in.

When I look at those who seem to believe everything I sometimes envy them. They ask no questions. They see no misdealings. They just accept what they're told and go on with their lives, fitting in nicely to the places others have made for them. Those who ask questions always seem to have some frustration or other when they catch people in lies, and find that things don't work as promised.

That's me. I question it all. Having lived my life among so many who use others for their own advantages, the first question I ask when I see anyone do anything is - why are they doing that? Why are they cruel? Why are they nice? Why take that? Why give it? How can they like that? How can they hate it?

I suppose it comes from my firm believe that everybody is capable of everything. Good. And bad. All it takes is for the right sequence of events to occur. This means that, technically, I am my own worst enemy, and I am as horrible as anyone I can think of - given the right sequence of events. A lot of people get angry when I tell them that. But it's one of the few things which I truly believe.

Here's something else I believe:

It doesn't have to be that way.

Only You Know

Here's a song I got to thinking about. Never knew the words, but I have always loved this song. I believe I read some place recently that Delaney had died. What a pity.

There had been a very nice YouTube track from the album, but apparently it violated some copyright law and was removed. Here is a live version of Delaney singing it.

Only you know and I know
All the love that we've got to show
So don't refuse to believe it
By reading too many meanings

'Cause you know that I mean what I say
So don't go and ever take me the wrong way
You know you can't go on getting your own way
'Cause if you do it's gonna get you someday

I appear to be pleasin'
Oh no no not deceivin'
But it's hard to believe it
When you've been so mistreated

'Cause you know that I mean what I say
So don't go and ever take me the wrong way
You know you can't go on getting your own way
'Cause if you do it's gonna get you someday

If I seem to mislead you
It's just my craziness comin' through
But when it comes down to just two
Aw I ain't no crazier than you

'Cause you know that I mean what I say
So don't go and ever take me the wrong way
You know you can't go on getting your own way
'Cause if you do it's gonna get you someday

Only you know and I know ...



Just because it'sJust because it's Music Day on The Great Sea.

Rock 'n' Roll is in the Attitude, and not the age - Delaney

But it's hard to believe it
When you've been so mistreated

It's still a fun song.

A Story is Born

To grow anything takes time. Even grass doesn't happen in minutes. Have a bare patch in your lawn? Till it up. Add some black dirt and compose. Sprinkled seeds over it. And within a few days the grass begins to sprout. But it will be weeks before it looks like a lawn.

Same with fruits, vegetables, and grains. Farmers and gardeners alike will work feverishly in late winter and spring to prepare things for their plants. But often it will be weeks, or even months, before they reap the harvest. Assuming no disaster has occurred to prevent it.

It takes weeks to build a house. Months, if it is important to you.

Generally, rehearsals for a new play go a month or two. While these are taking place, set designers are working with construction workers to finish the set.

The same is true with storytelling. Whether the story is in poem form, consisting of just a few lines, or a thick novel, using hundreds of pages and thousands of words, the cycle must be worked in order. And to put a story out before it is truly finished is like serving unripe fruits and vegetables. Oh, sometimes it can be pulled off. Ever have green tomato pie? One piece is actually good. Two pieces not so much. A third piece will make you gag. But no one I know puts green tomatoes on their BLT. (Someone probably does, but it's not regular.)

Stories are like that. How many times have you read a story, or listened to someone tell it, or watched it on film, and thought, this needs more work. It's not ready.

You can tell that the premise is good. It's interesting, and maybe even exciting. But it was released before it was ready, and so it does not satisfy. In fact, it is tossed aside like garbage.

Stories are not like bananas, which you can set on a counter and they will ripen on their own. Stories are more like apples which, once plucked from the source of their nourishment, cease to ripen and begin to decay. Few stories - even good ones - stand the test of time. Those that do are magnificent indeed.

Some of us get impatient at times with our writing. I do, so I expect there are others like me. I like to think of myself as unique, but the truth is there is nothing special about me. Too often I have put forth some work of mine before it was ripe. There was so much more I could, and should, have done with it.

On the other hand, just as fruit and vegetables can be harvested too soon, so can they be harvested too late. The time for some things is now, and if they are not ripe, they will never come to market.

To some degree we control the speed of our story/poem's fruition. Personally, I believe inspiration plays the largest part, but I also believe that once one has taken hold of inspiration it is possible to consciously extend it's stay. Different methods work for different writers.

For those who do not write, the belief is that harvest time is the greatest time in a story's life cycle. Not true. Harvest time is the most stressful time. So many things can go wrong at harvest. Yet even if all goes well, there is the fear that this could be the final harvest. What if inspiration is gone and not to return? No. Like sex, conception is the fun part. The writing of a story can become very uncomfortable as it grows and begins taking control of our lives. The actual birthing is often painful - and life threatening when the subject is politically charged.

The problem is, though, that unlike fruits, vegetables, houses, and childbirth, knowing when a story/poem is ripe (finished) can be most difficult indeed. Even for the Author.

And some seeds should never be planted.

What to Do - For Me and For You

There's a new story episode posted on The Legion of On-Line Super Heroes. It's a Writtenwyrdd story, so you know it's good.

My current Hero Series, Hidden Embers, is now finished and the final two episodes will post next week and the week after.

I interrupted my work on The Animal Kingdom with work on our garage sale. Haven't done my query for Swords of Fire: Traitor, either. Don't look forward to being rejected again. That's the real difference between me and published authors. They kept sending in queries to new agents and editors while I sit fearfully doing nothing.

Had a thought about going back to Swords of Fire: Prophecies of Madatar. It's a finished story. Just needs to be edited. It's also 190,000-words long. Part of me resents being told a story is too long. How can it be too long? It's as long as it is for crying out loud. I learned that lesson all over again when I wrote Quest. Quest is the sequel to Apprentice.

Apprentice is just over 6,900-words. When I wrote Quest I was focused on not letting the story be longer than it's predecessor. The result was a bit uninspired, and there were multiple problems throughout. After receiving Fairyhedgehog's critique I returned to it and basically rewrote it, not caring about word length. I wound up with a very nice story at just over 7,800-words. The story needed to be longer because it had more to tell.

We have a rule on the The Legion of On-Line Super Heroes about episode length. Episodes should be in the 500-word range. However, most of the episodes exceed that. I know the one post is over 600-words. It has been my feeling, and now others are beginning to comment, too, that 500-words is merely an appetizer. Perhaps we should have allowed up to 1,000-words. But then some would think their 400-word story wasn't "good enough". It is. I have no doubt about that. So we'll leave the 500-word limit, but just not enforce it strictly. Kind of like speed limits. Whatever works well within traffic constraints. Just keep your vehicle (story) under control.

Not all of the posts make 500-words, though. We have at least two in which the posts are less than 400-words - and still very interesting and well-written. I guess we need to think of our "rules" more as "guidelines".

If you like to write stories, particularly fun stories, I strongly encourage you to check out the The Legion of On-Line Super Heroes and write something for submission. Don't let the quality of Writtenwyrddd and the others intimidate you. It's all about having fun with a story. I post.

Meanwhile, I have several writing projects of my own to choose from. I've got The Animal Kingdom to finish, Prophecies of Madatar to edit, the Traitor query to write, and there are other Hero Stories waiting to be told. What to do, what to do, what to do?

Finish getting the garage sale set up. That's what's to do.

Some Days the Dream Seems So Elusive

What am I learning? That I have a long way to go. Possibly further than I have to to travel. Likely, in fact.

I feel I am at a bit of a crossroad. Or is it a dead end? Another cul-de-sac. Kind of like this man my Daddy used to laugh about. How Daddy knew him I don't know, but they were friends. Compared to us this man (let's call him Rich, just for fun) was quite wealthy, which is why it was so odd he was friends with my Daddy. But he related something which Daddy never forgot, and often repeated for us, which is why I still remember it.

Rich was traveling on a train. Back in those days train travel was common. Not like today, where only the most major cities have stations for people. In those days even small towns and villages had stops, and so people traveled by train a lot more frequently.

Well, Rich was on this train and walking from one car to another. He chanced to pass by a compartment where three men were playing poker. Now Rich liked to gamble, so he paused and asked politely if he might join the game. The men all smiled, and one very politely explained that Rich probably couldn't afford to be in the game. Always ready to show how wealthy he was, Rich took out his wallet and slapped down five one hundred dollar bills. He was given a single white chip. Without a word Rich picked up his money and continued on his way.

I feel like that. A lot. In my own little world I can write. Not only that, but I can write well. I can compare myself against people who can't write at all and believe I am a master. And then I read someone else's work and I am humbled. Ashamed for even thinking to myself that I am good at what I do. The truth is, I am a rank amateur, and probably won't be anything more than that.

In the movie, Chariots of Fire, Sam Mussabini tells Harold Abrahams, "You can't put in what God left out."

When God creates us he gives us each abilities. However, even scripture acknowledges that these gifts are not doled out equally. Some get more of one thing, and others more of something else. But we all get something.

Unfortunately, some of us, maybe me, desire abilities we do not have. We can enhance what we have of them, but only so far. A lot of very athletic men and women will never play major league sports. A lot of very nice singers will never stand before large crowds. Many actors and actresses will never play Broadway. Not all piano players will play Carnegie Hall. (How do you get to Carnegie Hall? Practice. Practice. Practice.) And not every story will be told to the world.

Those who do not attain their high goals are not necessarily without talent in that area. Rich was far from poor. He just couldn't afford to play poker with those who were wealthier than himself.

I read what other people are writing and I am tempted to pick up my chip and go home in disgrace for believing I can write as well as they. I don't because, to be honest, I think the story I have to tell is greater than my ability to tell it. It needs to be told. But will it?

Days like today I very much think not.

A Friend For Life

Have you ever told someone who doesn't write that writing makes you tired? If you have then you have gotten "the look", haven't you? You know the one. It's that condescending, "Right", look which speaks volumes about their opinion of someone who thinks scribbling with a pen or pencil, or tapping some keys is somehow strenuous. But you know they couldn't do it.

You know something else I've noticed? That people who work eight hours a day doing some sort of physical labor (tossing bales of hay, landscaping, construction, or anything which requires great and/or continuous physical effort) always seem to be filled with energy to do other things when they get off work?

Meanwhile, the people who spend their day in an office dealing with this problem and that, trying to figure out how to do whatever, come home completely exhausted.

Odd.

Went bicycle riding with Son the other day. We biked seven miles. When we got home we both felt energized. Meanwhile, on days when I actually work on writing something, I feel worn out. Of course, neither bicycle riding nor writing is generating any money for me, so I guess it doesn't matter which I do.

But my point is that writing is hard. Even bad writing. (I know. That's the only kind I know how to do.)

Writing puts a strain on the spirit while physical exertion seems to release it. And of the two, the wearing down of the spirit is far more taxing than the wearing down of the body.

Sometimes I have become tired just thinking about writing. This is when the Muses have deserted me for more fertile ground to play on. During these times writing anything is taxing. Lack of confidence also makes writing hard. When too many things have gone contrary to my desires I cease to believe in my ability to do anything right, including write.

When I was young I remember talking with my brother about sports in general. The two of us played a lot of sports together, despite his being ten years older than me (nearly to the day). Mother hated sports. But then she hated anything that took her children's attention away from her. But she (and a couple of my sisters) often argued with Mickey about the uselessness of sports. As far as they could see, sports were pointless.

I had not bothered to argue with them. My attitude was, what was the point? By keeping silent their criticisms didn't last quite so long. But at the same time I felt personally maligned by their dislike of activities which gave me great pleasure. The truth was, I didn't know how to put my feelings into words at that time. Too young, I guess. But Mickey put it better than anyone I have ever known.

Sports is my friend. It's one of my best friends. I know it will always be there for me.

That was it! It explained it all. Every time I played baseball, or football, or any sport, I was engaged with more than just the other players on the field of play. There was something else there. Something alive! It was Sport itself.

Unfortunately, Sports and I had a parting of the way. It changed to suit a new attitude which I cannot abide. It was an unhappy, but necessary, parting. I hardly pay attention to sports anymore. Don't care for the attitudes of athletes, coaches, reports, or spectators.

Writing is another Friend. One that is still with me. It has also changed, as it has many times through the years. The story forms which worked well in the 1800s are no longer accepted. Same is true of early 1900s work, and other eras. To be honest, I very much doubt that J.R.R.Tolkien could get his book published today. The requirements have changed.

But writing is different than sports, because writing still has a place for people like me. People who just want to write and be happy with what they've written. People who want to write a story that's just fun to read. Will agents and publishing houses want what we've go to offer? Probably not. But unlike Sports, in which the whole point of even playing has changed, writing still has a place for me. Together we can still have fun. Sometimes wearying fun. I can still put together words in a way that I like. That make me happy. For when I am happy, so is the writing - even when it's saying something sad.

Sometimes, however, I do find myself wishing for more.

What Was and What Is

Some things change over time. I'm talking about what we like and dislike.

I can recall when I would practically gag at the thought of eating a mushroom. Now I try to eat them as often as I can. Same with Miracle Whip, lettuce, broccoli, cocktail sauce, and picante sauce.

On the other hand, I no longer care for Fig Newtons, certain candies, and the like.

When I was young I loved monster movies and stories. Now they annoy me. Maybe it's because I prefer the old monsters: Bela Lugosi's Dracula; Boris Karloff and Glenn Strange's Frankenstein Monster; Lon Chaney Jr's Wolf Man. I find the modern versions of these, and other monsters, quite dull.

There was a time when I was very interested in science fiction movies. Never liked reading it, though. Now I'm not so keen on even the movies. Still like Star Trek, though. Star Wars is okay, too. The rest? Meh.

Some things don't change.

Still like ice cream and watermelon. Spaghetti and roast beef are still my favorite foods. I still laugh at Bugs Bunny. And I love reading/watching fantasy. Even when it's not great I still enjoy it. When it's pretty bad my joy fades considerably, but mostly I like it.

The truth is, good fantasy in films is almost impossible to find. Special effects have improved, but the storytelling has not. In fact, I would venture to say that with the improvement of special effects, the quality of storytelling in films has actually decreased. The original King Kong captivated me. The remake not so much.

I think there is something about simplicity which appeals to imagination. My son has always played more with the toys which don't do anything than those which have all kinds of special gadgetry. His hard plastic Batman figures get much more play time than those which can do all kinds of poses. The cars, tanks, and other vehicles, who's only moving parts are wheels that go round and round, are played with far more than those which shoot foam darts, steer, and do other things.

Simplicity. It leaves so much to the imagination, which makes the film or book so much better. That's kind of how I see it anyway.