Monday, May 21, 2012

The Great Debate!

I'm a guest contributor for this blog made by and for some college buddies. I don't ever post in there, because _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ & _ _ _ _ __ _ _ sometimes _ _ _ _ __ _ but then  _ _ _ _ _ so __ _ _ _ _ _ only to find out  _ _ _ _   _ _ !!!!!

Today I came up with a post but don't know how to acess the website. So I'll use my personal blog to further my thoughts on trees and drugs:


Good God, all those leaves are jumping to their death!--When I see a leaf falling in Autumn

Good God, that leaf just went on a suicide mission!--When I see a leaf falling in Spring

Good God, all the leaves have flown to Florida!--When I see no leaves in Winter

Good God, that tree's really stoned!--all of Summer


Today, I recommend that you listen to a George Harrison song. He's the best!

Friday, May 18, 2012

Hi Guys! I'm Back!

Hi everybody! I know that nobody reads this anymore. But still, hello! I'm back! I finished the school year yesterday. There was a ribbon cutting ceremony involved and I got to hold the big scissors. No, not really. But that would be a much better way of celebrating than my executed method. Right now I'm babysitting in a high rise in DUMBO (a high rise? you say. I've only seen pictures of those in magazines!) I know. Up until now, the same was true for me. I don't think I even knew you could go inside them! But it's true. You can. I'm in one right now waving back to the Statue of Liberty. Those are the type of friends you make when you occupy a high rise. I would feel less comfortable writing about this if it weren't for my almost complete anonymity right now. That, and the fact I will only be babysitting in this high rise twice. So by the time they try to find me--I'll be gone. My food just arrived. It's linguine. Delicious linguine. And I will post more later.

Sunday, February 26, 2012

I'm Not Really Writing a Novel Anymore

I'm working on short stories instead.

Check out my newest (and only) tumblr:

http://letterstoradiohead.tumblr.com

I've still got to write my letter to Ringo Starr.

My short stories are a lot of fun. Two things:

One, when I was in high school I ran cross country in the fall and track in the spring. My running coaches assumed I would do long distance in both arenas. One spring day a sprinter was injured, and I filled in. It turned out I was one of the faster people on the team, and stopped running the mile and two mile and started doing relays and short distances instead. Correlation? While the novel was fun, for now my energies are better invested in shorter works.

Two, when I was young my mom would play the piano a few times a week. I liked to get on the high keys and bang along as she played. She always asked me to stop, and I don't think I did. As a result my mother probably didn't play the piano as much as she would have liked to. Correlation? Little things can really get in the way of you having fun.

Wednesday, January 11, 2012

Dreams and Writing

I've started writing short stories based upon dreams that I've had. "Started" being the operative word. Dreams often give interesting propositions but not much substance beyond giving disturbing degrees of insight into my psychological state. For instance, the two dreams I had below are dreams I probably shouldn't be sharing with anyone but the internet gives you free reign to act anonymously, even though everyone knows this is my blog. Just a quick heads up I do not take these dreams to mean anything in terms of a desire to have children:

I had a dream about a woman who had a miscarriage, and was carrying the baby to a stream to place into the water. Once she was upon the bridge, she looked down and saw a dead man floating in the current. That's an interesting coincidence and I don't know what that means, which is why I started writing the story.

Another dream I had was about two men, A and B, having coffee in a train station. A asks B to do him a favor. If A's wife, who is pregnant, has a difficult delivery, B must go into the room and invite the children in and write about it. The next part of the dream was man B sitting in the delivery room, realizing any moment now the woman is going to pass away, but she won't do it until he calls the children in. So his dilemma is how much can he write in order to postpone this woman's death, essentially.

I saw a French film once that quoted dreams as interesting only to the dreamer herself (I think the film put it more harshly than that: calling dreams 'boring' and people who narrate them dull, or something similar). I only half agree. On a practical level I enjoy dreams. I find my friends interesting as well as their dreams, and enjoy their narrations of them. (I think the French dude would argue that maybe my enjoyment comes more from the payoff of being able to recite my own dreams. Whatever, either way, I enjoy it). Enjoyment on that level comes from the most literal and basic understanding of dreams: that they occur when you are asleep, you wake up, and recall them into the present via narration.

But dreams are often discussed and understood in far more metaphorical and metaphysical terms, especially in relation to their literature. Many writers talk about how writing is an unfolding of a dream; that successful writing will flow seamlessly and cohesively like a dream, adhering to its own unique logic and yet being cogent to the dreamer and audience nonetheless. Luis Borges wrote a _____* article on dreams, that I won't go into right now since I have ten minutes left before getting ready for work. But it's Borges, you should read it, and then see Waking Life, and get back to me.

In closing before I return later this evening to tidy this up: studying and understanding dreams is an interesting way to study and understand the creative process. It's also an adept introduction to thought on the function of memory and imagination in comprising a person's identity. I'll be back later!


*Brilliant, perfect, whatever adjective you want to put in there to describe Borges.

Tuesday, January 3, 2012

Quick Blog Post

Today is the first day off I've had in many, many moons. Count 'em, like 26. Making collages for my characters today. I found five design books lying on the street for the collage, so it's pretty easy to make it look awesome so far. The graphic designers did all the creative work; I just have to cut and paste. So far Miranda has the coolest, but hers is also black, and she is a bit of collage artist herself, so go figure. The best part about being a writer is that you can write in the first person about things you can't do in real life, but make it appear to be so. In my novel my characters are skilled at many things I'm abysmal at: playing guitar, drawing, cleaning house, and so forth.


I'm starving. I had a bowl of oatmeal and a cup of tea. But I'm out of eggs and waiting for my landlord to show up so he can fix our heat. Something tells me he will show at exactly the most inconvenient time.

I have to go get glue and food. I will try to post more soon.