GasBuddah

Where were we? Oh Yeah: Merry Christmas!

2011-12-24T00:39:00.000-06:00

Happy Holidays, Dear Reader!

In my last, quite rambling, post detailing my romance with the words of George R.R. Martin mixed with background notes of confusion of perspectives of my story, and topped off with a dash of inspiration of some friends during the holiday season, I was headed in a direction of telling the tale of my enlightenment. I wanted to sing the praises of a, newly realized, love of writing that was magically bestowed upon me by the randomness of the universe itself. I yearned to express to you the magical moments of my life, over the past six months, that have led me to my current personal perspective of reality and the subsequent shifts of my story as a direct result of my new viewpoints. I wanted to convey the pain of my struggle to continue with a story that, while I was still in love with the characters and needed to know their tales, had hit a wall constructed, mostly, of stumbling blocks laid by my own choice of perspective. I needed to tell you the tale of how a holiday encounter with friends convinced to come back to my blog and use it to exercise my brain. My last post was to continue into this post so that I could let you know all of the backstory of how my hiatus from writing had led me to change my direction, and use this blog as an exercise to help carry me to my goal of getting a book published. But, as often happens in life, the clear path I had mapped out ended up getting changed, once again.

As I wrote out my last post, I had an epiphany. Actually, I had several epiphanies. I suddenly realized the point of view that I needed for my opus. I also realized that the simple exercise of writing that last post had led to the previous realization. Taking those things into consideration I decided that my attempt to focus on writing "the book" (capitalization omitted on purpose, as the projects current status does not warrant the use of capital letters) while merely using this blog to serve as a timeline of the construction of "the book", was no longer possible or realistic. This blog is a pull up bar for my brain. It is a tool, to be used accordingly, that can help me achieve my ultimate goal of a published tome.

So, Dear Reader (note that you DO warrant capitalization when being addressed), I am welcoming you to my new mental experiment. You will have front row seats, and back stage passes, to the development, the success, or the failure of my creative process.

This journey is about to get strange. I am going to use this blog as the tool to sharpen my skills. I will be posting a variety of exercises, rants, opinions, short stories, or scenes that will all help to hone my craft. While I had intended to continue the story of my friends and the holiday meeting that inspired me, that direction has now changed. I am going to jump into this experiment 'feet first' and offer you my Holiday Wishes.

Where Has the Time Gone?

2011-12-09T17:06:00.001-06:00

Where the hell has the time gone?

It's been nearly six months since my last post on this blog, and it pains me to admit that. Thanks to the rapidity and chaos of living daily life, six months has flushed away from my life without producing anything, creatively, over that period of time. I have been reading voraciously, but my writing has suffered. Although, I believe that reading is a integral part of writing. The act of reading the works of others allows you to explore different perspectives and styles, while also forcing you to review your current projects from new points of view. That is exactly what has happened to me over these past six months.

Inspired by the HBO series "Game of Thrones", I found myself reading the Song Of Fire And Ice series by George R.R. Martin. The depth of the characters and the world created around them drew me wholly into the series. Mister Martin succeeded in using words to create a world filled with characters that I found myself truly caring about. I quickly finished all five books of the series, and am now lamenting Martin's notorious time gaps between new books in the series. As an aspiring author, I noticed more that just the story being told in these books, I saw a style of writing that forced me to review my own opus-in-progress. The simple exposure to Martin's style of storytelling led me to discover a better point of view from which to tell my own tale.

I am currently sixty thousand words, and two chapters, into the ongoing experiment that I call "The Book". With over a dozen primary characters being introduced within those two chapters, I found that my chosen point of view was quickly becoming cumbersome and clunky. I was hitting walls with translating the story from my mind and attempting to mold it into a single, albeit omniscient, point of view. Mister Martin's five books in the Song Of Fire And Ice series offered a crash course in possibilities of altering perspectives from character to character. George's words also offered me the chance to see the benefit in keeping a linear timeline at the core of the story, whilst peppering the flow with numerous loops back to covering a pivotal time period from numerous perspectives.

Changing view points, throughout the series of books, offered the reader a beautiful rhythm with which to dance through the tale. Changes in tone, through the viewpoints of numerous characters, offered a tempo that blended splendidly with the rhythm. When the notes of each of, the numerous, main characters are added the reader is greeted to a song that is intoxicating and addicting. That song leads you thru the first three books of the series in a marvelous dance of emotions and adventure. The last two books split that song in two and, masterfully, covers the same time period twice with the views of the numerous characters constantly the changing the pitch and tone of the composition. Simply put, this series of books was a symphony to read.

Now, I didn't come back to my blog, after a six month hiatus, simply to gush over George R.R. Martin and his tales of dragons and thrones. I came back because, quite suddenly, I realized that I need to exercise my mind regularly to maintain my sanity. I need to let these thoughts of my skull, lest they fester and consume the last threads of sanity to which I am clinging.

At an informal get together, right around the turkey day holiday, a couple of friends inspired me to get back to making my fingers dance across the keyboard as my mind provided the symphony to drive those fingers forward and on down the page. Well, maybe I've rambled on too long to go into that story tonight.

I will continue the tale of my six month hiatus in my next post. Until then, I am vowing to myself to post several times a week. I'm hoping that this will help exercise my fingers, my mind, and my creativity.

So I've Decided To Write A Book. What Now?

2011-06-15T23:42:00.000-05:00

Well, as I explained in my first post, I have decided to write a book. Partly hoping to catch a star and make a success of my life but, more importantly to satisfy this need within me to create. So where do I go from here? What do I do now?

I am a 30 something blue collar worker who has to support a family of four on my income alone, so time is a major issue. The nice thing about writing is that it doesn't really cost anything to do it. So, financially, I can easily swing the cost to write a book. Time, unfortunately, due to job and family is at a premium in my life. So I have started writing my magnum opus during lunch breaks, during time at home watching TV with the missus, or on weekends when other, more pressing, appointments don't need my attention. At this pace it will take a while before I can even consider my project ready for the eyes of the public, let alone to consider publishing. That's not necessarily a bad thing, as the extra time will allow me to hone my skills which are now rather raw. Not to mention, that I've waited all of these years to even attempt this so waiting a little while longer is no problem.

What I've Learned, so far:

After making the conscious decision to finally finish a story that I had started, I quickly dug through the hundreds of "story starter" ideas I had squirrelled away over the years. Since my days in junior high school, oh so many years ago, I have always had story ideas popping into my head. When an idea would begin to consume me, I would record the idea on a piece of paper. Sometimes I would begin the story, or write a middle chapter that came to me which would anchor the pivot of a great tale. My life is full of notebooks with different ideas scrawled in every direction. Some are dated, and sadly, some are not. My quest through my antiquated, disorganized, database of random thoughts caused me to narrow on three tales which I had started over the course of five years.

Each of those three stories had evolved from the initial thoughts, written in a notebook and stuffed into the nightstand, to a level of inspiration which caused me to begin writing them down. Two of those early tales hit the wall within the first three chapters. Upon rereading them I was amazed at how forced the characters seemed. I had outlined both stories, as my high school creative writing teacher had taught me to. Outlining forced me to layout the story in, what I now see as, a mechanical format. The third story, which was never outlined, had grown to a dozen chapters and showed some true character development. So I decided to base my story on this tale that I had last touched a pen to almost four years prior.

What I've done:

As soon as I had decided on a foundation for my first completed work I immediately, panicked and ran to my local bookstore. After a couple of hours browsing the stacks at my local box book emporium I decided on, and purchased, two books about writing books. I arrived home and immediately tore into the first book. After three chapters, I set both books aside and was ready to abandon writing. While I hadn't been writing yet, and while researching how to be a writer, the story was beginning to grow inside my mind, and was ready to explode forth to the page.

At night, I would crawl into bed and dream of the story I had written. In these dreams I found the entire story. Beginning to end, it simply unfurled over the course of a week. I was starting every morning by furiously jotting notes. Without setting out to build an outline for the story, I had wound up creating a loose framework outline for the tale in its entirety. I had done it! Well, I had figured it out. I hadn't actually written a single word at this point, but I was ready to.

After a long day of work, where the new seed of a story within my head was beginning to take root, I returned home and laid down. I am sometimes prone to taking an hour long nap after a day of work, so there I lay, snoozing away. I awoke drenched in sweat and still fully clothed, right down to my boots, and cleared off my nightstand in search of a pad and pen. Half blind, from sleep, I scrawled a conglomeration of notes onto a junior yellow legal pad. Four pages of notes, when all was said and done. I set the pad back on its perch and looked around only to realize that it was dawn again. I had slept almost twelve hours, and I had dreamed for, what seemed like, every second of them.

Well, I suppose that's enough for this post. In the next episode I will reveal to you my revelation after a twelve hour snooze. Stay tuned, dear reader.

What Is Your Future Going To Be Like?

2011-03-28T12:26:00.000-05:00

"What is your future going to be like?"

Such a simple question, or so it seemed at the time I heard it. I blew it off with a simple "Hopefully, good." Yet over the past few months this question has infected my thoughts. No matter how I try to spin it in my head, I have yet to come up with a decisive answer. The fact that this question was posited by a nine year old, my son, seems to add a massive weight to such a simple question.

My son and I were running a simple errand one evening, a quick trip to the super box store in town to pick up some supper, when he dropped that bombshell question in my lap. While the conversation which stemmed from this question was standard fare for a father / son interaction, the effects of that simple question have rocked my life to its very core. I guess that I should go back and let you in the conversation, before I try to explain to you the effects that it has had on me.

It was a rather normal evening. I had just arrived home from another long day of work when my wife asked me to run a quick errand to the store to pick up a few items that she needed to finish our supper. My son, as he so often does, put his shoes on and asked if he could go with me. I was tired, but I always love having him along, so I told him to saddle up and we both jumped into the mini-van and headed out of the driveway.

My boy and I walked the aisles of the local blue super store and picked up the things my missus needed. As always, my son, wandered off to the toy department to beg for another thing to add to his massive collection of toys. While I am normally a sucker for my baby boy, on this night I am able to escape with only the added purchase of a pack of cherry tic-tacs to placate him. We take Mamma's shopping list of item and pack them in the van and head to the gas station to fill up.

With high gas prices, the van takes another sixty dollars from my anemic bank account before we head back to the house. Our conversation bounces from my boy asking me to put on some "cool music" to the latest challenge he's facing while playing Fallout 3 on his XBOX 360. Only a mile from home, and with a lull in the conversation, my son hits me with this innocent yet incredibly profound question.

"Hey Dad, what's your future going to be like?" My son looked up from the passenger seat with an innocence that overwhelmed me.

"Umm, well buddy, I hope it's good." Was the only answer that I could muster.

"Well, Dad, my future is gonna be great." My boy said, matter-of-factly.

"Buddy, I hope it's everything you could ever want." I replied as we pulled into the driveway and carried our quarry into the house.

So that was it. A simple conversation between a father and a son running a simple errand. I have had countless conversations with my boy on errands just like this one, but none stuck with me like that simple question. We ate supper that night and watched some television, just another night in suburbia.

As I lay in bed that night the question my son had posed lingered in my mind. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't come to an answer that seemed to satisfy me. The next day at work, while going thru my normal daily routines, that simple question haunted me. So I decided to do, what I always seem to do when I'm bothered, or worried, or confused about something, I picked up a pen and a pad and I wrote.

I started with the simple, age old, question: If you never had to worry about money, what would you do with your life on a daily basis?

   This is a question that my high school guidance counselor posed to me back when I was thinking about going to college. Those simple times are long past and a baby girl, my daughter, came along shortly after graduation and made college a moot point for me. I went to work, to make a living, to support my family. So back then I really didn't have an answer for that question. At nearly twenty years since graduation, this question opens up many more options than it did in my naive high school days.

   I have come up with many answers for that guidance counselor's question over the past few weeks. From the simplest answer: Nothing. To more eclectic paths for myself to explore. I've always loved singing, maybe I could do that. How about learning to play the guitar, I've always wanted to do that. Then I realized that I was already doing something that I loved. I'm doing it right now as I relate this tale to you. I would write.

   I have always loved writing. The simple act of putting pen to paper has always proven to be therapeutic for me. As I have approached crossroads in my life, with a major decision to make, I turn to the paper and let my hand communicate the thoughts from my mind until I find a satisfying answer. When the rigors of life have me perplexed, I can sit down and write out my problems and they seem to get resolved, right there, between the faded blue line of college ruled paper.

   So now I had an answer to the guidance counselor question. If I never had to worry about money, I would become a writer. While I was able to come to an answer to that question, the one posed by my son proved more difficult. Now I can say that I would become a writer, if I didn't have to worry about money. Problem is, I do have to worry about money. I am the only income for a family of four, so turning my back on the everyday grind is not really an option at this point of my life. So what would my future be like?

   Well, the way it looked is that my future would be a continuation of my present. Working, paying bills, always trying to stay one step ahead of bankruptcy. Maybe paying some of my bills a little late, but paying them all the same. Always keeping my eyes open for an opportunity to make a few extra dollars. Plodding forward, day by day, doing a job that I enjoy but not getting much enjoyment from life itself. Worrying constantly that one of the kids will get sick and need to go to the doctor, spending money that should go to a bill. This was my life over the past fifteen years and, so it appeared, would continue to be my life.

"What is your future going to be like?"

"Right now, it doesn't look too good son."

   So, for the next week or so, I went about my normal mundane existence. Going to work and going home. I couldn't afford to take any risks in order to chase a dream, so I tried to resign myself to the fact that this would be my future. At least until the kid's had grown and moved away. Yet my son's question kept digging its way into my brain. Digging and prodding, looking for an answer that I just couldn't seem to find. I didn't know it then, but that question, coming from the innocent mind of a child, had planted a seed in me. A seed which yearned to bear fruit.

   So, am I to risk my barely stable working man's life to chase a dream? Do I risk the welfare of my family to find some fulfillment in this one, and only, chance I get to live this life? Do I chance failure, to take one shot at success?

   All of these questions, and many more, have consumed me more each day as my mind tries to find a definitive answer to a question posed by a nine year old. No matter how I try to deny it, I need to take the chance. Whether the outcome is success or failure, I now have no choice but to try. While most of my adult life has been spent denying my dreams in order to do what was necessary to provide for my family, those dreams have been set free of their cages by a simple question, with profound weight, slipping from the lips of my son.

   I am going to write. I am going to attempt to tell my stories to the world. Whether the world enjoys the end result remains to be seen, but I need to try for the sake of my own sanity. I invite you to follow along on this journey with me. Mayhap I'll be successful. Mayhap I'll fall flat on my face. Either way, I must try to write or I will simply succumb to a life of mediocrity.

"What is your future going to be like?"

"Well, son, I don't know. Now, more than ever, I am afraid of what the future holds. I am also excited to simply be taking a risk for a chance at the future I have always needed. Check back with me, because my answer is subject to change as time goes on."