Plateau

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At the risk of sounding like a braggart, I have always been a very quick learner. Moreover, I’ve always felt that I can excel at anything into which I put my mental and physical energy. With very few exceptions in my life, that’s been true: my biggest obstacle is overcoming the fear of the initial failure. It’s a useful gift to have for someone whose interests are so varied.

But there comes a point in every training cycle where your upward progress stalls. This is called a plateau, and it can be very frustrating. It’s often the place where folks give up, because they are no longer seeing the results they once did. They might even feel like they’re going backwards. The only way through it is to keep working through it, increasing the energy you put into it until the breakthrough comes and the improvement (however that might be measured) becomes exponential. Oh how difficult it is though, when you are doing the cost/benefit analysis, to decide that your goals are worth your effort!

I have recently come to a place where I’ve arrived at a few plateaus simultaneously. For example, I love doing improv, it’s so exhilarating to jump up on stage and make a scene work with your partner. Considering that I started with no stage experience whatsoever, I’ve come a long way. But I see how amazing and talented my improv friends are, and I know I’m not at their level. I know I can get there if I work hard at it, but right now I am where I am. To get to the next level will take time and effort. Frankly, I have too much other stuff going on. I’ll still do improv, take a few classes here and there where I can fit it in, but I’ll always be a hobbyist because it is not a priority for me the way that some other things are. That feels a bit like dishonoring the craft, but I will neither leave it nor embrace it so that’s the choice I make.

The same is true for guitar. After five years, I am learning how much I still don’t know. My progress has stalled because I won’t commit the time to practice. With visual arts, I haven’t even begun. There’s a huge commitment I am not making, although if I jumped into it I’d have that initial learning curve to guide me.

On the other hand, I feel like I’m still learning and growing in my dancing. I was worried I was hitting a plateau in tango, but I stayed with it and I’m on a learning curve again. Not that I’m some great tanguero, but I feel like I’m becoming a solid lead.

Writing, of course, has remained a priority. Every time I pick up the pen I learn something about that craft. It keeps me going, seeing what else is in my head, what is next. I am still wanting to get better, to keep exploring, keep taking chances. So many times the plateau is all about the complacency of competence. You have to find the place where you fail in order to improve. It takes effort, it takes time. So this writing thing had better pan out, because that’s where I’m investing.

Need Any Ideas?

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There’s a list of things I could be doing right now about as long as a sleepless winter night. I could be writing the next in the series of poems I’ve been working on for the past 6 months. Or, there’s this fantastic idea I have for my next series (about the robot apocalypse), which may not even be poems. It night be a short story or a novella, maybe with poems as chapter headers. Or, I could collect the dozens of poems I have that are not related to either of these series, and bind them up into a totally different collection with miniature themes. I could be looking at poetry magazines or contests to see what might fit me, where I could possibly submit. I have a few pieces that I think would rock the socks off The Paris Review. Or hey, I could finally get around to finishing up The Haiku Project. Or how about artwork? There a couple of images in my head that want to be expressed visually, and they aren’t going away until I address them somehow. Not only that, but there are a bunch of people, all of whom are dear to me, to whom I owe emails or least text messages which perhaps in some small way might diminish the guilt I feel for being so out of touch with them.

But instead of all that, I’m here writing this entry for all the eyes that might one day see it. I know, I know, some online personalities would say that this is good, this is productive. I’m diligently building my brand, fostering loyalty among my sturdy little group of fans. (Don’t think for a moment that I don’t appreciate each and every one of you, either. Every time I see a “like” on one of these posts it makes me smile, and smiles are wonderful gifts to give.)

Anyway, took a look at that list in the first paragraph and I think you’ll start to see what my problem is right now. There are too many choices, some of them so shiny and appealing, and each requires its own set of new choices, and commitment and time. The sad thing is that I have all the freedom I need to do whatever I want, and it’s too freakin’ much! I wander into an evening like this, with nothing on my schedule, and I’m just overwhelmed. I need some constraints to help me focus. I need rules to bump against. Without it, all these things pile up. I become a hoarder, leaving only this tiny little space clean where I live, unable to face the mess and stench of the rest of my trailer, unwilling to throw anything away.

So instead you get this rant, blasted out at stream-of-consciousness speed, because at least then I’m giving you guys something. You deserve better, but that’s what I got for now. But if you’re stuck for some creative ideas, some inspirations, give me a shout and I’ll share my bounty with you.

Branching Out

Apparently I need new ways to express myself, so I’ve been playing with some collages the past couple of days. I’ve always been reticent about the visual arts: I can’t draw worth a darn, and I’ve been told many times that I’m color-challenged. But I’ve felt inspired to try something new, and with this no one can accuse me of “telling not showing.” Since it’s me, of course, I’m working on two at once, and I have a few ideas for a couple of others. Both of these are being built from pictures I’ve taken.

The first is inspired by Folly Beach. It’s going to be roughly 11.75×36 inches. This still needs a few splashes of color, and it has too many straight lines. On the beach you do get a lot of horizontal lines (like the horizon, for example) but there’s also lots of waves and roundness and this needs more of that. I also think I want to add some beach element on top: sea grass maybe, or sand dollars, or netting. Something.

014The other is an homage to the Shack. This one is much rougher, but I like all the sharp angles and hard lines and shadows, which is what the Shack’s porch was like. I have some other elements I’m going to add on for color and some contrast, but you can see where it’s headed, I think. This will be 20×24.

015I’ll post photos of the finished products when they’re, um, finished.

 

Sneak Peak

With some help from Lucy, I’ve been playing with some possible book covers for The Haiku Project. I’m not done yet, because there’s definitely some room for improvement, but here’s a preview:

Cover1I think I need to move the text down a little and play with the alignment, and maybe crop the image a bit more as well, but you get the idea.

Tell me what you think!

 

Project 2013 Update

I admit I’ve been struggling staying on task with Project 2013 (aka The Sentence Project). But I’ve finally got them all up to date, and I finally have some clarity about what I want them to be.

The intention was to write sentences for each based simply on the one previous day’s sentence. But I found in each that themes emerged that needed some exploration until the next theme presented itself. As I look back over what I’ve written so far, I realize that what I’ve really done is planted seeds, and soon there will be a harvest. That was all these ever needed to be: crops that are growing.

It feels to me that some of these have run their course in their current incarnations. My plan is to keep adding to these until the end of the month, and then I will decide which to keep growing, and which to cull. I’ll no doubt ask at that time for new topics from which to start anew, so get your ideas percolating.

Also, I should have some preliminary cover art for The Haiku Project next week, so watch for that.

Dropping the Proverbial Ball

I have not been doing a very good job at this. Here you are, looking to me for entertainment or (if you are truly desperate) guidance. And what have I given you? Nothing for weeks and weeks. I haven’t even updated the Project 2013 pages. Let’s not even discuss all the emails and text messages I haven’t responded to yet, except to say that I owe many of you very humble and heartfelt apologies. My to-do list is the very definition of shambles.

While I make no promises about writing more blog posts, there are projects in the works. I am getting The Haiku Project ready to publish, and I’m working on a new collection, and I have plans for two others beyond that (including something intriguing involving zombies). So things are happening, and exciting announcements are on the way.

Stay with me, friends!

Dogwood, Episode 6

(Note: I wrote this a while ago, but I somehow never got around to posting it. It’s not the end of the story, just the next chapter. If you need to get caught up, you can see the previous episodes here.)

Dogwood, Episode 6

Mom had said to close my eyes, but I couldn’t. Not with that knife shiny in the sunlight. I looked into her eyes, and she into mine. We were both still. Joey broke the stalemate with his innocent question: “Mommy, what are you doing?”

Mom took her eyes off me, turned to my little brother. “I know you can’t understand, but it’s God’s will. I need to free you to go to Him. I’m the only one that can do it.”

She seemed to find some strength in that, because she took up the knife and started coming closer. I took Joey’s hand. I knew we had to get away, even though I was so tired, and Joey was so tired, and Mom was so close.

Just then a breathless voice called across the clearing, “KAREN!”

It was Dad! I could tell he had been running, his shirt was soaked in sweat. I wanted to run to him, but Mom was between us.

“Karen, don’t do this!”

“Kevin, why can’t you understand? This is the only way to save them. The demons have gotten to you, but you’ll see I’m right when this is over.”

Mom had her back turned, and I pulled Joey to his feet. “Hide and seek,” I whispered, and we ran into the woods. Mom was calling us to come back, Dad was telling us to run. I listened to him.

The woods were dark and cooler than the clearing. Joey and me had played back here a million times. I knew just the place to go. There was an old tree that had fallen, and the curtain of old roots and dried mud was a perfect hiding spot. Even though we were still close enough that we could hear them in the clearing, Dad had never found us there. Joey seemed to know where we were going too. We ran as fast as we could, and let that old tree throw its dusty cloak around us.

We couldn’t hear exactly what Mom and Dad were saying, just bits and pieces. Dad saying again and again to put down the knife. Mom saying she had to find us, she had to save us from the demons. Dad saying there were no demons, Mom accusing him of being one of them. Dad saying Mom needed help, that she needed to take her medication.

Then there was a strange sound, like Dad saying something but stopping midway, so just a noise came out, huhmmm.

There was a crashing through the brush soon after, and Mom shouting, “All come free!” Joey almost started to go to her, but I held on to him tightly. I knew that game would not have a good ending. We had to hide, all night if that’s what it took.

Mom kept calling for us, we could tell she was getting closer. Then she was on the path right in front of us. We could see her eyes, which were wild, and the knife with a red stain on it. She stopped, right there, not 20 feet away, looking. It was like she could smell us, like she knew we were there but somehow couldn’t see us. Oh, where was Daddy?

And then, without warning, Joey sneezed. It must have been the dust and mold in there, just got to his nose, but he sneezed. Mom turned, and her eyes burned right through that tree-root shroud.

“Get out of there right this instant!” she insisted. That tone, that Mom tone. Only my fear kept me from crawling out. Joey though could not resist it. Before I could stop him, he’d squirmed out and was walking slowly toward Mom.

“Where’s your brother?” she demanded, in that same tone. I figured it was all over, and started shifting to crawl out too. But then Joey did something I had never once known him to do: he lied.

“I dunno. We split up.”

“Which way did he go?”

Joey pointed back toward the clearing. “We got some pretty good hiding spots over there.”

“Show me!” Mom demanded, and off they marched.

I waited a few seconds, then slipped out of the hiding spot. Joey had lied to save me! I had to rescue him somehow. I had no idea what to do, but as quietly as I could, I began to follow them.

New Poem: Newtown

Newtown

I

Because I am a coward I will make you afraid.
Because I am powerless I will render you impotent.
Because I am invisible I will make you notice me.
Because I am empty I will fill you with rage.
Because I am worthless I will take what you treasure.
Because I am sad I will end your laughter.
Because I am hurt I will make you howl in pain.
Because I am damaged I will break your heart.
Because I am guilty I will slay the innocent.
Because I am a killer my name will live forever.

II

Here is the television,
So eager to show the horror,
Delighting in this orgy of sorrows.

Here is the talking face,
With gleeful solemnity
Telling us all how to feel.

Here is this week’s villain,
The demented fiend,
The name they can’t stop saying.

Here are the bodies,
The beautiful tragedy,
The obscenity so lovingly framed.

Here are the parents,
Their anguish a spectacle for greedy eyes,
Each tear caressed by cameras.

Here come the liars,
Shouting that now is not the time
To talk about the problem.

Here are the idolaters,
Convinced that guns can do no harm,
Proving that love is blind.

Here is the viewer,
Numbed by perversity,
Turning away.

Here is the poet,
Writing about Newtown.
What else can I do?

III

If they should ask,
Tell your children that monsters are real
And that this world is full of them.

It always has been,
It always will be.
But this monster, at least, is dead.

Children carry their own fears,
Their shoulders are much too small
To carry ours as well.

Their taste buds
Prefer the sweet and the bland
Rather than the adult palate of nuance.

It makes no sense
That their childhood should die
Because other children were killed.

Your kids won’t care why
You are hugging them extra tight,
As long as you are.

Tell your children that they are just as safe now
As they have ever been.
Newtown didn’t change that.

Guns & Violence

Guns and Violence

  1. Leroy always wanted to be a hero.
  2. He didn’t know what that word meant, exactly, but it had something to do with guns and being a good shot.
  3. The hero was the one who never got hurt, and inflicted pain on everyone else.
  4. Leroy had a lot of pain to give.
  5. He imagined the punishments he might dole out against the bullies and transgressors, the mercy he would withhold until it suited him to grant.
  6. So many hours he sat in his room, planning for the time that he would save the day.
  7. He could hear the girls swooning, even that prissy bitch that had laughed at him yesterday.
  8. One day it would all be different.
  9. For today, though, he could only sit in his room and plan.
  10. One day, he dreamed, he would be sitting in the cafeteria, shunned as always, minding his own business.
  11. Just he summoned up the courage to try the chip beef, which had been congealing on his tray for twenty minutes, Jock Henderson swaggered into the room.
  12. His real name wasn’t Jock, of course, but everyone called him that since he was the star of pretty much every sport every invented.
  13. For some reason the teachers were never around when Jock took part in his favorite sport, bullying the smaller kids.
  14. Today was no different in that respect.
  15. But something about Jock himself was strange.
  16. His movements seemed so stiff, his gaze so glossy.
  17. His expression was even more glassy and vacant than usual.
  18. Normally he had that grin that only comes with malevolence.
  19. Today he shuffled through the door, looked around, and headed straight at the nearest kid he could see.
  20. Even this was not normal.
  21. Usually his gait was lumbering but deliberate, but with the power of a predatory cat.
  22. Not today, however.
  23. Today he stumbled forward with arms outstretched as if his legs were alien to him.
  24. Little Bobby Hoyle had his back turned, and had no idea of the trouble approaching him.
  25. Leroy wondered how anybody could have made it this far into high school with so little situational awareness.
  26. Especially a runt like Bobby Hoyle, who was so often the target of bullies.
  27. Then again, maybe that lack of awareness is made him such an easy target.
  28. Anyway, Bobby was taking a sip of his milk when Jock ambled up from behind.
  29. But instead of smacking him or kicking his chair, Jock told a hold of Bobby’s hair and yanked his head back hard.
  30. Bobby let out a quick, “HEY!” but that was all he had time to say.
  31. In the next instant, Jock twisted Bobby’s head until a sickening crack silenced the cafeteria.
  32. Bobby went limp, with only Jock’s grasp of his hair keeping gravity from claiming his body.
  33. Before anyone could react, Jock bit into the top of poor Bobby’s skull.
  34. Leroy saw the whole thing.
  35. He knew just what was happening, and he was ready.
  36. He reached into his bag and grabbed a section of pipe that he had stolen from metal shop months ago.
  37. Panic was bubbling through the cafeteria as blood started to collect on Jock’s chin and clothing.
  38. One of the other boys, Henry, tried to pull Jock off Bobby.
  39. Jock whirled and bit into Henry’s face.
  40. Oh, the screaming!
  41. The blood spurting.
  42. The boy’s body jerking.
  43. Jock’s back was turned to his gristly task, which was the opportunity Leroy needed.
  44. He stood slowly, his knuckles whitening as his grip on the pipe tightened.
  45. It took only a few steps to get to Jock, but it felt like mile.
  46. Leroy slowly raised the pipe over his head as he approached.
  47. With the last step, his footfall splashed in the puddle of blood pooling on the lineolium.
  48. Jock turned, dropping his meal.
  49. Henry’s face was half gone, and his body twitched violently.
  50. Leroy swung the pipe as hard as he could.
  51. It connected with Jock’s temple with a sharp thud.
  52. Jock staggered back, but he didn’t fall.
  53. Instead, he took a wobbly step toward Leroy.
  54. This time Leroy brought his cudgel straight down on the top of Jock’s head.
  55. The squishing sound of the blow was sickening.
  56. Jock went down though, and stayed down.
  57. Leroy pulled his club out of what was left of Jock’s skull.
  58. One of girls ran over to Henry.
  59. “Oh God oh god oh god!” was all she could say.
  60. Leroy pulled her off, and commanded “Nobody touch him!”
  61. Henry’s twitching had stopped.
  62. He wasn’t moving now, wasn’t breathing.
  63. Leroy stood over him, watching.
  64. Suddenly Henry’s remaining eye snapped open, and he lunged at Leroy.
  65. Leroy swung the pipe again, crunching into Henry’s decimate head, and Henry crumpled again to the ground.
  66. “What the fuck is going on?” the girl cried.
  67. “We have to get out of here,” Leroy replied, and held out his hand.
  68. The girl hesitated, but then reached for him.
  69. Together they raced for the cafeteria doors.
  70. It was chaos in the hallway.
  71. People were running, screaming, papers flowed from abandoned lockers onto the grey stone floor.
  72. Here and there, red splotches stained the walls.
  73. Leroy took the girl’s hand, and pushed through the panicked throng toward the exit.
  74. Down one hall, they saw a teacher being mauled by a group of students.
  75. They both knew there was nothing they could do about it.