I ran through a stop sign today. Went right through it without ever looking. That’s bad, Į know. That’s a really bad thing. I wish I had it to do over again, maybe I’d… No, I’m sure I would stop if I had it all to do over again. But, like everything else in life, there are no do-overs. You do it once, and it’s done. Whatever that may be.
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It’s all that divides me from the outside world, and vice versa. In the window of my office, built long before double pane and vacuumed sealed units filled with argon gas, the window is but ¼ inch thick, and in the grand scheme of things, that is a substantial barrier.
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Driving down the road the other day, I was struck by how wonderfully beautiful a day it was. A nice blue sky, done fluffy, white clouds. It’s at times like this that a guy thinks, wow, what did I do to deserve this? Cruising down the road, wind in my hair… Alright. So I look over to my radio, all good times like this need a soundtrack, and start dialing in the tunes. Now here’s the really good part, I’ve got one of those new Sirius satellite radios. Now– I’m sitting here thinking, “what would be something good to listen to”? Let’s make a short list; end of summer wide open highway, no place special to be, good lookin’ Senorita ridin’ next to me. Easy… Buffet.
Jimmy Buffet
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I awoke this morning to a sharp realization in which I compared my time in San Francisco this last year alongside the personal relationships in my life… of family, friends, and acquaintances. I mean, we’re all interconnected to some degree, and at different junctures, the severity and/or intimacy only depending on the particular person or relationship in question. If this weren’t the case, then how would we be related at all?
At any rate– I was struck by the recollection that even though I spent approximately 4 months in San Francisco, known by the locals as “the City”, I was dismayed for not having pursued the City’s identity sooner.
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~Robert Frost, A Boy’s Will, 1913
A saturated meadow,
Sun-shaped and jewel-small,
A circle scarcely wider
Than the trees around were tall;
Where winds were quite excluded,
And the air was stifling sweet
With the breath of many flowers,
A temple of the heat.
There we bowed us in the burning,
As the sun’s right worship is,
To pick where none could miss them
A thousand orchises;
For though the grass was scattered,
yet every second spear
Seemed tipped with wings of color,
That tinged the atmosphere.
We raised a simple prayer
Before we left the spot,
That in the general mowing
That place might be forgot;
Or if not all so favored,
Obtain such grace of hours,
that none should mow the grass there
While so confused with flowers.
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There are times that I sit and wonder just what the hell is wrong with me, and for that matter, with the world in general. I’m nearly certain that, after 45 years on the planet, that things shouldn’t be as they more often than not turn out… and if so, then not only are we all destined to be screw ups, but so will our kids and grandkids. The main problem is that people seem to refuse that others among and around them have feelings. We complain that there is a lack of empathy and a blasé attitude toward the human condition; however, when it comes right down to it– most people could give two shits less about their fellow man, and more than a few will admit that to you freely… upon request. And yet, we think that, somehow, we deserve more…
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First Published- April 25, 2017
I’m a little over halfway done with a first draft of my first book. But, I have been trying lately, perhaps a bit to much, to try and “turn the story” towards it’s ending. As a result, I’ve been struggling a bit with 500 words a day or maybe a sentence re-work here and there, and my process has slowed over the last week. I think that SOME editing along the way might be helpful to keep the story on some kind of pathway. Others, including Steinbeck, say to just write and then edit when it’s time to edit. And really, who am I to argue with the likes of Steinbeck? The man was an expert writer and my literary hero!
He gives us 6 tips for writing and number 2 says to “write freely” and edit later… Well, maybe I should try that. Still, I’m a little bit of a grammar Nazi, and when something isn’t correct, I feel the need to go back and correct it! I’ll do my best to try and get past that.
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I am beginning to think that travel is bad for the writing process. It seems that the more places I go, the less influenced or inclined I am to write about it. I understand that other authors have had, in a great many instances, just the opposite effect– with travel necessarily incorporating new and exciting ideas and thought processes into their script. The problem becomes, I suppose, on how fast you travel, and whether or not writing is the main focal point during that particular journey. I can tell you that my focal point is not merely to write, though I would love to have that as a by-product; and the method of travel is usually pretty quick, even by my slow-by-the-side-of-the-road standards. Continue reading
I finished up my last book, officially, about a month and a half ago. It wasn’t until this last weekend- however, that I sat back, and tried to take stock of everything that was left… after the book took what it wanted.
Let me explain. Continue reading Copyright secured by Digiprove © 2021
They say that a picture is worth a thousand words- unless it’s a picture of the Ocean. The Sea appears as an endless expanse, constantly changing, calm at times and violent at others. It ebbs and flows, coming and going, and however chaotic- follows the order of life.
The Pacific ~ Jim Steele
Viewed in that way, that picture- much like our lives- is now worth more than a million words, and an absolute meaning will never be achieved. Still, as a writer I try to put into words what others may hear, see, or feel. I attempt to convey emotions: Love, Hate, Bravery, Fear- Birth, Life, Death, and Dying.
It all goes together. We are all made up of millions of bits and pieces, put into words.
Listen as I tell our Story.