I love mornings.
I went in to work early yesterday; 6 a.m., to work on a special
project. That's my old schedule, 6 a.m. to 2:30 p.m., and it's a great
one.
I set the alarm for 4:30 a.m. but was up at 4 on my own. Sure, there
are times when I need more sleep on that schedule. Either I've stayed
up late to many times, or the weight of the world interrupts with
anxiety dreams. But usually it's a schedule one gets used to.
It used to be people went to bed when it got dark out, and slept until
light. That seems like to much sleep to me. Lying in bed half asleep,
turning things over in my half awake brain... well, I'd rather get up
and do the dishes, pay bills, and check up on my email.
Going to bed a 10 p.m. is hard (no thanks to <i>Law and Order</i>).
Naps must be avoided. The urge to take a nap usually passes after a few
minutes. Like the urge to smoke. It seems so strong in the moment, but
ten minutes later it's all but forgotten.
I like the early morning quiet. No phone calls. My son is asleep and
doesn't need something to eat, yet (non stop teenage eating machine!).
The mind is sharp and focussed.
The older I get the easier it is to get up early. I seem to need less
sleep than most people. 6 hours is fine. 7 is plenty. Occasionally I'll
sleep 8, but it's surprisingly not very restful. Besides, it's easier
to fall asleep if you're a little sleep deprived...
Thursday, June 30, 2005
Early Bird Special
Tuesday, June 28, 2005
dumb paperback
Last week I spent a couple hours fixing our mass market table. That's
the pyramid of paperback mysteries, romances, thrillers, and scifi
(pronounce "skiffy" instead of "psy phy."). OK, I snuck in Leaves of
Grass to fill a hole.
(Amazingly, these go for about $7.99 a piece; still a good deal
compared to a movie ticket, or a silly meal at a snooty restaurant,
but $8 clams!? Give me a break. )
Anyway, after tearing apart cascading stacks and eliminating
duplicates and filling lots and lots of holes, I went down to work in
the office and found myself virtually dumb. I could not talk.
Not like that silence when your gf asks you if she looks good in
something clearly she doesn't.
Or asks you, "You're not into that, are you?" When
that could be something you are not only into, but have a lifetime
membership with a gold card neatly packed into your wallet.
And it wasn't like I had a stroke from drinking two pots of coffee on
an empty stomach.
It was that "flow" thing you hear about, where time goes by unnoticed,
and your hands are obedient serfs working your fields whether you
watch from the tower or go wandering your stone halls.
This used to be my job, what I did, working silently for three hours
every morning arranging books, lost in thought. Dreamy, in a way, yet
productive. Good, solid work.
It was nice to retreat into my caffeinated nut. And I had to be
dragged out.
Kicking, but not screaming.
Sunday, June 19, 2005
Surprised and Satisfied
So here I am, sitting on the deck, typing on my palm, on Fathers Day. There are a few small clouds and it's not directly sunny right now.
It's nice out. Grind of traffic, a few birds, all quite different, chirping, cawing, tweeting their little hearts out...
I have my coffee, the last cup of the pot... In my blue plaid pajamas and fuzzy slippers (OK, we guys call them sheepskin, but they are fuzzy!).
Robin had me read his story, a sci-fi romp, and we talked about writing... suspense, scene vs. summary; using sensual details to make important scenes and characters stand out.
I probably gave him more information than he needed, but it was also something I needed to hear. I guess, in some ways, he's my writing buddy.
Maybe I could let him read (and I could write for him as a reader), my Romeo and Juliet in Hell story...
Damn, these are important ideas in writing.
Suspense, mystery, foreshadowing... all overlooked in 99% of books on writing (notable exception, Rust Hills' Writing in General, the Short Story in Particular, which has nailed it down, although most of the rest of the book is classic writing bullshit.
David Sedaris is one of the best suspense writers out there. See, I'm not talking about Suspense as a genre, but suspense as a writer's device to pull readers in, to keep them reading, wondering what's going to happen next, when's it going to happen...
At some point we know what's going to happen, we just don’t know how, or, crucially, when.
Indeed, this is more than a device, but what fiction is. A suspension. Suspension of disbelief, of course, although a scholastic viewpoint - distanced and critical - is justifiable in some cases. But the emotional connection happens when we believe, when we empathized, when we walk in the characters shoes.
I don't think characters have to be likable, even. Many a so-called tragic hero is despicable, even though they are heroes, larger than life (classically kings).
But the other kind of suspense, when we allow ourselves to be set up by the writer with simple or complex conflicts that must be played out, to whatever ends, is what gives us the sense of time in our story; short of epic.
We are human. We want to know what's going on, what's going to happen next, what are the consequences of our actions or inactions, even if the answer is... nothing.
It can be spelled out; "Bill put the screwdriver in his back pocket not knowing that later that day it would save his life... and bring down a kingdom."
Or subtler, "Jim had a temper that got him into trouble at work. He was told if he lost his temper again he would lose his job. (For six months Jim was able to control his demons, but then one day he started out late for work...)"
It can be very subtle, in the mood of description, "Clouds gathered in the east but did not move over the parched farm lands, and eventually the clouds drifted away over the horizon and the sun beat down on Mary's wilting crop."
These examples are ham-handed, but also good. They set us up.
Just like with characters. We want to root for them. We want to know what difficulty they are up against that makes them unique.
The cliché advise; first act you get them up a tree, second act, throw stones at them, third act, get them down.
A character is in suspension. They have something internal or external that they must face; to resolve, to fail, or to give up.
Often there are conflicting internal and external factors. One may be more glamorous and attractive, the other more important. We think we want them to succeed on the glamorous level, but when we are surprised at the end, we look back and could have seen it coming.
A classic misdirection.
A good writer is a hypnotist and a slight-of-hand magician.
We are both surprised, and satisfied.
It's nice out. Grind of traffic, a few birds, all quite different, chirping, cawing, tweeting their little hearts out...
I have my coffee, the last cup of the pot... In my blue plaid pajamas and fuzzy slippers (OK, we guys call them sheepskin, but they are fuzzy!).
Robin had me read his story, a sci-fi romp, and we talked about writing... suspense, scene vs. summary; using sensual details to make important scenes and characters stand out.
I probably gave him more information than he needed, but it was also something I needed to hear. I guess, in some ways, he's my writing buddy.
Maybe I could let him read (and I could write for him as a reader), my Romeo and Juliet in Hell story...
Damn, these are important ideas in writing.
Suspense, mystery, foreshadowing... all overlooked in 99% of books on writing (notable exception, Rust Hills' Writing in General, the Short Story in Particular, which has nailed it down, although most of the rest of the book is classic writing bullshit.
David Sedaris is one of the best suspense writers out there. See, I'm not talking about Suspense as a genre, but suspense as a writer's device to pull readers in, to keep them reading, wondering what's going to happen next, when's it going to happen...
At some point we know what's going to happen, we just don’t know how, or, crucially, when.
Indeed, this is more than a device, but what fiction is. A suspension. Suspension of disbelief, of course, although a scholastic viewpoint - distanced and critical - is justifiable in some cases. But the emotional connection happens when we believe, when we empathized, when we walk in the characters shoes.
I don't think characters have to be likable, even. Many a so-called tragic hero is despicable, even though they are heroes, larger than life (classically kings).
But the other kind of suspense, when we allow ourselves to be set up by the writer with simple or complex conflicts that must be played out, to whatever ends, is what gives us the sense of time in our story; short of epic.
We are human. We want to know what's going on, what's going to happen next, what are the consequences of our actions or inactions, even if the answer is... nothing.
It can be spelled out; "Bill put the screwdriver in his back pocket not knowing that later that day it would save his life... and bring down a kingdom."
Or subtler, "Jim had a temper that got him into trouble at work. He was told if he lost his temper again he would lose his job. (For six months Jim was able to control his demons, but then one day he started out late for work...)"
It can be very subtle, in the mood of description, "Clouds gathered in the east but did not move over the parched farm lands, and eventually the clouds drifted away over the horizon and the sun beat down on Mary's wilting crop."
These examples are ham-handed, but also good. They set us up.
Just like with characters. We want to root for them. We want to know what difficulty they are up against that makes them unique.
The cliché advise; first act you get them up a tree, second act, throw stones at them, third act, get them down.
A character is in suspension. They have something internal or external that they must face; to resolve, to fail, or to give up.
Often there are conflicting internal and external factors. One may be more glamorous and attractive, the other more important. We think we want them to succeed on the glamorous level, but when we are surprised at the end, we look back and could have seen it coming.
A classic misdirection.
A good writer is a hypnotist and a slight-of-hand magician.
We are both surprised, and satisfied.
Thursday, June 16, 2005
blogthink
Although I have not posted them, I have written a few more entries (thank me for not posting them). But most interesting is how I'm thinking of blog topics, composing in my head... In the shower, in bed at night, walking up Powell on my way to work...
Some topics: Book reviews of Freakonomics, Code to Zero, The Broker, some notes on getting older, the differences between men and women, risk aversion, being a parent...
Well, we'll see if they turn out post-worthy...
Some topics: Book reviews of Freakonomics, Code to Zero, The Broker, some notes on getting older, the differences between men and women, risk aversion, being a parent...
Well, we'll see if they turn out post-worthy...
Monday, June 13, 2005
Freakonomics and Bullshit
Started reading the fun and thought-provoking book Freakonomics, which I recommend, but also Penn & Teller's Showtime series, now out on DVD (and torrents), Bullshit! It's been great to watch this with my 17 year old son. Last night we watched some episodes on bottled water, fung shui, second-hand smoke, end-of-the-world dopes...
Of course, P&T give it their spin, their attitude. That's what makes it fun. It's unfair, biased, and lacks suficient research, but in general it's very good. Something ALL high school students should see. Be a little skeptical, question authority...
Freakonomics goes even further, uncovering cheats, crooks, and sloppy thinking. Paradim shifts are smooth, leaving you thinking, in hindsight, "that's so obvious, now!"
Still, even though there are notes at the back of the book, it's light on data. One has to trust these experts even as they teach us not to rely on experts.
Being someone who is involved in the interpretive-dance with data at work (massaging our customer satistfaction feedback) I have always been leery of how data is used and abused (and the fact dad taught statistics at the university and dinner table). It doesn't suprise me that most people, myself included, are not trained or experienced with statistics, but that we are not more skeptical.
We seem to treat trust statistics (see the classic How To Lie With Statistics) especially with any kind of social pressure.
Even when it's bullshit.
Of course, P&T give it their spin, their attitude. That's what makes it fun. It's unfair, biased, and lacks suficient research, but in general it's very good. Something ALL high school students should see. Be a little skeptical, question authority...
Freakonomics goes even further, uncovering cheats, crooks, and sloppy thinking. Paradim shifts are smooth, leaving you thinking, in hindsight, "that's so obvious, now!"
Still, even though there are notes at the back of the book, it's light on data. One has to trust these experts even as they teach us not to rely on experts.
Being someone who is involved in the interpretive-dance with data at work (massaging our customer satistfaction feedback) I have always been leery of how data is used and abused (and the fact dad taught statistics at the university and dinner table). It doesn't suprise me that most people, myself included, are not trained or experienced with statistics, but that we are not more skeptical.
We seem to treat trust statistics (see the classic How To Lie With Statistics) especially with any kind of social pressure.
Even when it's bullshit.
then again...
In review, it seems quite ironic that I complain about how people aren't enjoying our Spring mists with their umbrellas, and then I go on to focus on them... But then were are a society that keeps the weather out, shades drawn... I'm the one who hadn't even noticed it was "raining" until I left the house...
Wednesday, June 08, 2005
"Stinkin' Thinkin'"
Heard a fellow the other day talking about how thinking always got him into trouble. I took it he meant he could think himself into doing anything, the way you can talk someone -- someone weak -- into doing something (the way some self-centered customers will try to talk and talk and complain until you give them what they want.. or else they'll go "shopping for answers"; keep asking different supervisors and managers until they get one to give in.)
I can relate. I get a broom handle up my ass when someone else starts to try to persuade me, cajole, manipulate, or guilt me into doing something. I get more and more rigid (except, of course, my son seems to have, in a clumsy way, a high percentage success rate with me, i.e., I'm wrapped around his little finger.)
But internally, I listen to my selftalk with slackjaw obediance. What a rube I am.
Sure, I'm a sceptic about most things; God, romance, government, business, politics, labor, art, celebrity, style -- including those that react against against all these thing, too... "Question Authority" is my byline.
But inside my own head, I am a true blue sucker. I can sell myself on just about anything.
If it wasn't for my rigidity, my inflexibility on the few things I do strongly believe in -- those things I've somehow been able to draw a line in the sand that I will not step over -- well, I fear to imagine what chaos would my life would be, what kind of hell I would put my son into.
I think that's why I like to work under pressure, why I like being a floor manager, rather than having time to try to think about what I should be doing. I like a deadline (as much as I hate the pressure), trying to figure an efficient way to beat the clock, see just how much I can get done...
But if I have time to work on my own projects I will think them to death. I get stuck writing stories when I get to a crossroads in the story where not two roads divide, but ten, twenty, a hundred roads divide! My ripe imagination overflows and burns on the stove. Big mess.
Just look at my sentence structure. My parenthetical remarks. Commas, hyphens, parentheses, colons, finally running dry not with definitive punctuation but elipses...
A couple months ago, walking home from work, I was blindsided by a drunk on Powell Street. I didn't see him stumbling towards me until the last moment. He kicked me in the shine, hard, but before I could think a thought I had already hooked my foot under his and sent him to the pavement. Hard. My arms didn't leave my sides, I didn't have time. I didn't even stop walking, just looked back to see that he was obviously fucked up.
If I had had time to think about it I would have been frozen in a swarm of possible outcomes and consequences. I didn't want to hurt the guy. By the time I got to the MUNI station, I looked around for a cop to let someone in authority know what had happened, to take responsibility. (OK, maybe to brag a little in how fast and easy I had sent this dufus to the pavement, too, but now I have this blog to do that!)
But now let's take my "Heavens!" cartoon idea. I stumble across Wittenburg Door, a Christian humor magazine I respect, and realize it would be a great market for my cartoons. That was over a month ago. I have their address, I have 14 cartoons finished, done, ready to submit, but then I think...
Maybe I should try to syndicate these, maybe I should try a better know magazine, maybe I should try to sell them as a book, greeting cards, calender...
Thinks to much...
I can relate. I get a broom handle up my ass when someone else starts to try to persuade me, cajole, manipulate, or guilt me into doing something. I get more and more rigid (except, of course, my son seems to have, in a clumsy way, a high percentage success rate with me, i.e., I'm wrapped around his little finger.)
But internally, I listen to my selftalk with slackjaw obediance. What a rube I am.
Sure, I'm a sceptic about most things; God, romance, government, business, politics, labor, art, celebrity, style -- including those that react against against all these thing, too... "Question Authority" is my byline.
But inside my own head, I am a true blue sucker. I can sell myself on just about anything.
If it wasn't for my rigidity, my inflexibility on the few things I do strongly believe in -- those things I've somehow been able to draw a line in the sand that I will not step over -- well, I fear to imagine what chaos would my life would be, what kind of hell I would put my son into.
I think that's why I like to work under pressure, why I like being a floor manager, rather than having time to try to think about what I should be doing. I like a deadline (as much as I hate the pressure), trying to figure an efficient way to beat the clock, see just how much I can get done...
But if I have time to work on my own projects I will think them to death. I get stuck writing stories when I get to a crossroads in the story where not two roads divide, but ten, twenty, a hundred roads divide! My ripe imagination overflows and burns on the stove. Big mess.
Just look at my sentence structure. My parenthetical remarks. Commas, hyphens, parentheses, colons, finally running dry not with definitive punctuation but elipses...
A couple months ago, walking home from work, I was blindsided by a drunk on Powell Street. I didn't see him stumbling towards me until the last moment. He kicked me in the shine, hard, but before I could think a thought I had already hooked my foot under his and sent him to the pavement. Hard. My arms didn't leave my sides, I didn't have time. I didn't even stop walking, just looked back to see that he was obviously fucked up.
If I had had time to think about it I would have been frozen in a swarm of possible outcomes and consequences. I didn't want to hurt the guy. By the time I got to the MUNI station, I looked around for a cop to let someone in authority know what had happened, to take responsibility. (OK, maybe to brag a little in how fast and easy I had sent this dufus to the pavement, too, but now I have this blog to do that!)
But now let's take my "Heavens!" cartoon idea. I stumble across Wittenburg Door, a Christian humor magazine I respect, and realize it would be a great market for my cartoons. That was over a month ago. I have their address, I have 14 cartoons finished, done, ready to submit, but then I think...
Maybe I should try to syndicate these, maybe I should try a better know magazine, maybe I should try to sell them as a book, greeting cards, calender...
Thinks to much...
Umbrella Umbrige
OK, I didn't know it was "raining" out until I stepped out the front door on my way to work (Did my neighbors get up and water in the middle of the night?). A beautiful mist, not even enough to fog my glasses. Air alive with Spring, sweet and pregnant.
But then up Powell street, a forest of umbrellas. When did umbrellas get to be a socially accetable way to be rude? Besides being totally unnecessary and missing the beauty of a gentle rain upon the skin, these umbrelites seem to need to extend their personal space into larger radii than anyone with social sense would ever claim under any other circumstances.
And what's up with these anal-retentites wearing a hat AND carrying an umbrella?
If you are insecure enough to feel you need to flaut your personal space at least have the minimum social grace to keep your personal dome out of my face. Carry it up high and for God's sake stop waving it around!
Otherwise you may find your spoked insecurity-blanket shoved up your tight ass.
But then up Powell street, a forest of umbrellas. When did umbrellas get to be a socially accetable way to be rude? Besides being totally unnecessary and missing the beauty of a gentle rain upon the skin, these umbrelites seem to need to extend their personal space into larger radii than anyone with social sense would ever claim under any other circumstances.
And what's up with these anal-retentites wearing a hat AND carrying an umbrella?
If you are insecure enough to feel you need to flaut your personal space at least have the minimum social grace to keep your personal dome out of my face. Carry it up high and for God's sake stop waving it around!
Otherwise you may find your spoked insecurity-blanket shoved up your tight ass.
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