The oldest advice on writing is probably the phrase, "write what you know." For the last couple of sittings, I'm realizing what good advice that is. The words have seemed to fly easily off of my fingertips for the last couple of entries. I decided to leave my thoughts in a rougher form without too much polishing or editing so that my writing remains raw and true. I hope you appreciate this. There may even be a typo or two for you to call me on.
Disclaimer: I'm a little embarrassed writing about the deplorable conditions my dad was living in toward the end of his life. I wish, to no end, that things could have been different between us for the past several years. I was really hoping to be back in contact with him and share my life with him. Stephanie and I have been so blessed by our son, Elliott, joining the world with us. I would have really liked to have shared that with my dad. It's not a story that was fun to tell, but sometimes that's just how it is. I can make no apologies for the content, in fact, I probably showed a little restraint to try to preserve a shred of dignity.
4.30.2007
4.25.2007
On With the Commentary
One... Spew... Free... OK, this is it. I've been fumbling around with the idea of blogging for at least 3, no 5 years now. I'm not the world's biggest Uber-Goober with every tech gadget known to man. I don't subscribe to WIRED. I hate my fucking iPod with a passion. I don't own a TiVo and don't care if I spelled it correctly (so don't write me about it), but I should be able to manage a blog, right? I mean, toddlers are doing it.
I have been in great need of a space where I can blast off with my thoughts, SCREAM at the top of my electronic lungs when things piss me off... a place for my uncensored mind to do whatever it damn well pleases without being necessarily politically correct, socially appropriate or care what other people think. Sometimes a guy just has to vent. FUCK! See what I mean? It just feels good.
Here's the deal... I was talking with my pal Horn recently. By that, I mean a month or so ago. We talk ever so randomly anymore it's pathetic... Not that there's anything wrong with that, except for the fact that our lives have become so busy that we don't reach out and touch each other (I mean in a socially connected way, not in a "bad touch" kind of way) like friends should. Anyway, P. Ho was telling me that his homegirl Darlene is a blog junkie and had recently informed him I should update my blog http://sidewalkstories.blogspot.com because she's addicted to blogs and needs her fix. Then he made fun of me for using alternating capitals and vowels [SiDeWaLK SToRieS] on the title page and asked me if I was a little bitch stuck in the 8th grade and called me Cara Euler [more on her some day, I'm sure]. Like I was sayin', word 'round the campfire is that Darlene was jones'n for more blog updates and I wasn't producing them fast enough. I already feel guilty enough as it is that I let myself down for not keeping up with my writing after all these years. I mean, a career you're tired of interspersed with a fucked up relationship or a few one-nighters that make you feel like a piece of shit has a way of pouring piss in your Cheerios. Are you smellin' what I'm cookin'? [Thank God (or your version of it) for marriage.] But Darlene is right, if you're going to dedicate yourself to something, fucking do it and stop complaining about it. Stop being a whiny little beeyatch and get down to the business of making some shit happen. The ever-wise Theresa Fitzgerald used to always tell me, "Life is not a dress rehearsal, don't fuck it up." OK, she didn't say the second part, but the take home message is still the same: Go BIG or Go HOME!
We spend too much of our lives doing shit we don't want to do for not nearly enough money and for damn sure not enough respect. I mean, what else but a full time job makes you feel like nothing more than your employee number? I.D. number 30951 reporting for duty. Fuck that! Why do so few people follow their dreams and succumb to working for The Man. I say rebel against that. Fight it like a chick fight... nails, teeth, hair pulling, whatever it takes.
Props to my man Horn for doin' exactly that. Check out www.cooljerk.com to experience what I'm talking about. He is without a doubt the most talented artist I have ever known personally and he's finally living the dream.
[Sidebar: there's also this really cool chick, Jane Kenoyer, I met in a painting class at UNR a couple years back whose talent I think is fantastic. Check out her site www.thejane.com]
Horn has told me many times in my life that I am the most talented writer he has ever known. Here I sit, having done nearly nothing with that talent for almost 20 years, and I'm finally fucking fed up with myself for it. At some point, I gave up being a writer to become a nurse because I had bills to pay. Nursing has done that for me, but I want out, seriously. I don't know the exact number of dead people it took for me to come to that conclusion, but I've had it. I used to feel like I had a sense of purpose when I first started in the profession. I used to enjoy helping people and thought I was making a difference in the world... but the world has changed. It's like the Jerry Springer show was cancelled, and all those homeless, overdosing fat bastards are smoking and drinking themselves into oblivion while people like me are trying to save their sorry asses and people like you are paying taxes so people like me can save their sorry asses. The shit's got to stop.
I have a plan to get back on track, follow my passion, and hopefully stop working for The Man again one day.
Short term plan: To get back into the creative flow of things I intend to post a weekly rant... you know, to get the juices flowin'. I want all of you to keep me in check. If I go two weeks without posting, I want you to blast my inbox with "WTF, dude?" in the subject line. I am inspired, but don't always have the follow-through. That's where you come in. Keep me on track. Don't let me off the hook.
Long term plan: I found a Masters Program in Creative Writing at Portland State University. Looks pretty interesting. Check it out at http://www.english.pdx.edu/grad_wr.html . They also have a book publishing track that I am interested in (backdoor loophole, rolling enrollment plus double major potential). My intent is to make Sidewalk Publishing a reality with Sidewalk Stories as the headlining book series that will be fueled by writing contests. Updates for http://sidewalkstories.blogspot.com coming soon. Promise.
I would love to hear feedback from any and all of you. Tell your friends. Kick me in the ass when I need it. Give me props when I deserve it. Join my band of gypsies. Subscribe below or just post a comment. And, for fuck's sake, follow your passion.
More later...
-C
I have been in great need of a space where I can blast off with my thoughts, SCREAM at the top of my electronic lungs when things piss me off... a place for my uncensored mind to do whatever it damn well pleases without being necessarily politically correct, socially appropriate or care what other people think. Sometimes a guy just has to vent. FUCK! See what I mean? It just feels good.
Here's the deal... I was talking with my pal Horn recently. By that, I mean a month or so ago. We talk ever so randomly anymore it's pathetic... Not that there's anything wrong with that, except for the fact that our lives have become so busy that we don't reach out and touch each other (I mean in a socially connected way, not in a "bad touch" kind of way) like friends should. Anyway, P. Ho was telling me that his homegirl Darlene is a blog junkie and had recently informed him I should update my blog http://sidewalkstories.blogspot.com because she's addicted to blogs and needs her fix. Then he made fun of me for using alternating capitals and vowels [SiDeWaLK SToRieS] on the title page and asked me if I was a little bitch stuck in the 8th grade and called me Cara Euler [more on her some day, I'm sure]. Like I was sayin', word 'round the campfire is that Darlene was jones'n for more blog updates and I wasn't producing them fast enough. I already feel guilty enough as it is that I let myself down for not keeping up with my writing after all these years. I mean, a career you're tired of interspersed with a fucked up relationship or a few one-nighters that make you feel like a piece of shit has a way of pouring piss in your Cheerios. Are you smellin' what I'm cookin'? [Thank God (or your version of it) for marriage.] But Darlene is right, if you're going to dedicate yourself to something, fucking do it and stop complaining about it. Stop being a whiny little beeyatch and get down to the business of making some shit happen. The ever-wise Theresa Fitzgerald used to always tell me, "Life is not a dress rehearsal, don't fuck it up." OK, she didn't say the second part, but the take home message is still the same: Go BIG or Go HOME!
We spend too much of our lives doing shit we don't want to do for not nearly enough money and for damn sure not enough respect. I mean, what else but a full time job makes you feel like nothing more than your employee number? I.D. number 30951 reporting for duty. Fuck that! Why do so few people follow their dreams and succumb to working for The Man. I say rebel against that. Fight it like a chick fight... nails, teeth, hair pulling, whatever it takes.
Props to my man Horn for doin' exactly that. Check out www.cooljerk.com to experience what I'm talking about. He is without a doubt the most talented artist I have ever known personally and he's finally living the dream.
[Sidebar: there's also this really cool chick, Jane Kenoyer, I met in a painting class at UNR a couple years back whose talent I think is fantastic. Check out her site www.thejane.com]
Horn has told me many times in my life that I am the most talented writer he has ever known. Here I sit, having done nearly nothing with that talent for almost 20 years, and I'm finally fucking fed up with myself for it. At some point, I gave up being a writer to become a nurse because I had bills to pay. Nursing has done that for me, but I want out, seriously. I don't know the exact number of dead people it took for me to come to that conclusion, but I've had it. I used to feel like I had a sense of purpose when I first started in the profession. I used to enjoy helping people and thought I was making a difference in the world... but the world has changed. It's like the Jerry Springer show was cancelled, and all those homeless, overdosing fat bastards are smoking and drinking themselves into oblivion while people like me are trying to save their sorry asses and people like you are paying taxes so people like me can save their sorry asses. The shit's got to stop.
I have a plan to get back on track, follow my passion, and hopefully stop working for The Man again one day.
Short term plan: To get back into the creative flow of things I intend to post a weekly rant... you know, to get the juices flowin'. I want all of you to keep me in check. If I go two weeks without posting, I want you to blast my inbox with "WTF, dude?" in the subject line. I am inspired, but don't always have the follow-through. That's where you come in. Keep me on track. Don't let me off the hook.
Long term plan: I found a Masters Program in Creative Writing at Portland State University. Looks pretty interesting. Check it out at http://www.english.pdx.edu/grad_wr.html . They also have a book publishing track that I am interested in (backdoor loophole, rolling enrollment plus double major potential). My intent is to make Sidewalk Publishing a reality with Sidewalk Stories as the headlining book series that will be fueled by writing contests. Updates for http://sidewalkstories.blogspot.com coming soon. Promise.
I would love to hear feedback from any and all of you. Tell your friends. Kick me in the ass when I need it. Give me props when I deserve it. Join my band of gypsies. Subscribe below or just post a comment. And, for fuck's sake, follow your passion.
More later...
-C
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