When we're kids, or in our early teens, we can't wait to be an adult. You can do what you want. Go where you want. No one tells you what you can and can't do. Oh, but how wrong we were......
Being an adult sucks sometimes.
Life can throw us some pretty gnarly shit and no one can take care of it, but us. Unexpected job loss, the death of a loved one, a serious medical diagnosis. There are lots of things that can turn your life around on a dime, but it's how we deal with such things that either makes us stronger, or destines us to always feel like a victim.
I could get started on how we've become a society of victims, always offended by something, always blaming others, always feeling powerless, but that's another topic for another day.
When something shitty happens, we need to stop and regroup. It's probably the healthy thing to do, but it's not always easy to do. Life doesn't stop because we lost our job, someone died, or we got a shitty diagnosis. Life just keeps on happening. The electric bill needs paid. The dogs need fed. The kids have to go to school. We have to bathe. All the usual responsibilities are still there.
There are times when I've had a rough day/week at work that I want to crawl into a hole and not be bothered....ever, but I can't. I can unplug for a couple of hours, but I can't disappear from life....as much as I might want to. I can't turn into a fragile piece of glass sitting up on a shelf, where nothing touches me.
I don't know if I'm angry there is no one who will carry all my burdens so I don't have to, or grateful that I don't have to depend on someone to take care of me. I'm not a piece of glass. I'm more like rubber. I can bend further than I ever think I can stand, but then I always snap back eventually.
I may not be perfect at it, and sometimes it takes me a bit to figure out what I need to do to take care of me, but I've been doing it for a damned long time. Whitney Houston said learning to love yourself is the greatest love at all. I'd add taking care of yourself to that. It's the greatest skill I ever learned....after writing, of course.
Tuesday, June 11, 2013
Tuesday, May 21, 2013
The Big C- A Masterclass in Living
Three years ago I sat down to watch the premiere of a new Showtime original series, The Big C, with Laura Linney. I fell in love with both. Last night I watched the final episode.
The story follows Cathy Jamison, a Minneapolis teacher, wife and mother who gets diagnosed with stage four melanoma. She's terminal. We watch as she moves through the stages of grief: denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance.
Cathy begins doing the things she's always wanted to do. Not just a bucket list; a new way of living. A more honest way. A way in which she truly appreciates the gift we all take for granted at one time or another: life.
I won't give anything away, because if you haven't seen it, you should.
Last night's episode was the series finale. This fourth season was a mini-season. Four hour-long episodes--each which tore my heart out of my chest. I won't spoil the ending, but you've probably figured it out.
So, I have often asked myself, why are you watching this show? Haven't you dealt with enough cancer and death in your life? I could never really answer the question. Yes, the writing is amazing. The acting is out of this world, and well....I do love Laura Linney, but there was more. It wasn't until last night when Cathy asked a Hospice nurse why she did the work she did and the nurse replied, "When people are close to dying, they open up like a flower." I immediately began sobbing. That was the answer.
There is something beautiful in death. Something that strips us of all our worries, pressures, expectations. There is only that moment and that moment alone. It's the ultimate letting go. It's the one moment we will all share--regardless of the circumstances, the time, or the place. We will all have that final moment when we let go.
Why do I call The Big C a masterclass in living? Because if we can remember what it all comes down to, maybe we can live a little lighter, worry a little less, love a little more and do what we were intended to do. Live life to it's fullest.
For this life, that's all there is.
The story follows Cathy Jamison, a Minneapolis teacher, wife and mother who gets diagnosed with stage four melanoma. She's terminal. We watch as she moves through the stages of grief: denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance.
Cathy begins doing the things she's always wanted to do. Not just a bucket list; a new way of living. A more honest way. A way in which she truly appreciates the gift we all take for granted at one time or another: life.
I won't give anything away, because if you haven't seen it, you should.
Last night's episode was the series finale. This fourth season was a mini-season. Four hour-long episodes--each which tore my heart out of my chest. I won't spoil the ending, but you've probably figured it out.
So, I have often asked myself, why are you watching this show? Haven't you dealt with enough cancer and death in your life? I could never really answer the question. Yes, the writing is amazing. The acting is out of this world, and well....I do love Laura Linney, but there was more. It wasn't until last night when Cathy asked a Hospice nurse why she did the work she did and the nurse replied, "When people are close to dying, they open up like a flower." I immediately began sobbing. That was the answer.
There is something beautiful in death. Something that strips us of all our worries, pressures, expectations. There is only that moment and that moment alone. It's the ultimate letting go. It's the one moment we will all share--regardless of the circumstances, the time, or the place. We will all have that final moment when we let go.
Why do I call The Big C a masterclass in living? Because if we can remember what it all comes down to, maybe we can live a little lighter, worry a little less, love a little more and do what we were intended to do. Live life to it's fullest.
For this life, that's all there is.
Sunday, May 5, 2013
A Great Time for Entrepreneurs
I read somewhere a few years ago that during a bad economy is the best time to start a new business. The risk is high and the stakes are higher, but the pay off is worth it. For some, working for oneself is the only viable option. If we've learned anything over the past few years, it's that the American worker is undervalued and the illusion of job security went by way of the Y2K bug.
When one usually thinks of opening a business, it's a brick and mortar type business--selling products or services. But now that entrepreneurial spirit is also alive and encouraged with artists. When I say artists, I mean anyone creating something, be it a song, a piece of fiction, a photograph, a painting or a film. That in large part is due to the advances in technology and showcases such as YouTube and Amazon.com.
This past week, something was done that was pretty groundbreaking. Two cancelled thirty year old television shows were brought back to life and have a new home online. I'm talking about the daytime dramas, All My Children and One Life to Live.
When ABC Television cancelled the two longtime sudsers about a year and a half ago, it looked like that was it. The lights were going out in Pine Valley and Llanview. But no! A new production company called Prospect Park bought the rights to the two shows and after an agonizing year or so, finally were able to bring the shows back together for presentation on the internet--where many are already viewing their favorite shows. If this is successful, television networks better watch out. There's new competition in town and they don't have to play by the FCC rules.
This week when All My Children re-premiered, I had to watch. I'll admit that I didn't have very high expectations. I envisioned choppy camera work, subpar writing, bad lighting--all the things that usually come from doing something on a low budget. Boy, was I surprised. Prospect Park was able to capture the look that was All My Children. The sets are great. The actors are great. The writing is crisp and it has a faster, more edgy pace. And guess what? They aren't playing by the same FCC rules. Several characters said words they can't say on tv. The most shocking was Angie Hubbard, played expertly by Debbie Morgan, saying "shit." Now when she drops the F-bomb, I'll piss my pants (and they can say that now too).
Aside from the new life for AMC, independent film makers, and musicians, are finding YouTube to be a great place to produce a web series, show their films, or get their music heard. Just as Amazon.com and Barnes & Noble are giving writers the tools to produce their work in ebook, or standard print form, and the opportunity to sell their work. Sure, some of it might not be good, but the rules have all changed. Finally, the little guy can put something out without the big publishers censorship or marketing analysis telling us what we want to read. We know what we want to read, and finally we're able to get that sent right to our Kindles.
I have to say I like this new era. It kindles that entrepreneurial spirit in me. That one that invokes the original American dream--if you work hard, you can enjoy the fruits of your success. I've never been afraid of hard work, but I want to control my destiny, not some corporate big wig who only sees me as a number. Why should I be making him rich when I could be doing the same for me?
When one usually thinks of opening a business, it's a brick and mortar type business--selling products or services. But now that entrepreneurial spirit is also alive and encouraged with artists. When I say artists, I mean anyone creating something, be it a song, a piece of fiction, a photograph, a painting or a film. That in large part is due to the advances in technology and showcases such as YouTube and Amazon.com.
This past week, something was done that was pretty groundbreaking. Two cancelled thirty year old television shows were brought back to life and have a new home online. I'm talking about the daytime dramas, All My Children and One Life to Live.
When ABC Television cancelled the two longtime sudsers about a year and a half ago, it looked like that was it. The lights were going out in Pine Valley and Llanview. But no! A new production company called Prospect Park bought the rights to the two shows and after an agonizing year or so, finally were able to bring the shows back together for presentation on the internet--where many are already viewing their favorite shows. If this is successful, television networks better watch out. There's new competition in town and they don't have to play by the FCC rules.
This week when All My Children re-premiered, I had to watch. I'll admit that I didn't have very high expectations. I envisioned choppy camera work, subpar writing, bad lighting--all the things that usually come from doing something on a low budget. Boy, was I surprised. Prospect Park was able to capture the look that was All My Children. The sets are great. The actors are great. The writing is crisp and it has a faster, more edgy pace. And guess what? They aren't playing by the same FCC rules. Several characters said words they can't say on tv. The most shocking was Angie Hubbard, played expertly by Debbie Morgan, saying "shit." Now when she drops the F-bomb, I'll piss my pants (and they can say that now too).
Aside from the new life for AMC, independent film makers, and musicians, are finding YouTube to be a great place to produce a web series, show their films, or get their music heard. Just as Amazon.com and Barnes & Noble are giving writers the tools to produce their work in ebook, or standard print form, and the opportunity to sell their work. Sure, some of it might not be good, but the rules have all changed. Finally, the little guy can put something out without the big publishers censorship or marketing analysis telling us what we want to read. We know what we want to read, and finally we're able to get that sent right to our Kindles.
I have to say I like this new era. It kindles that entrepreneurial spirit in me. That one that invokes the original American dream--if you work hard, you can enjoy the fruits of your success. I've never been afraid of hard work, but I want to control my destiny, not some corporate big wig who only sees me as a number. Why should I be making him rich when I could be doing the same for me?
Friday, May 3, 2013
Making the Write Decisions
Writing fiction, like life, is in the choices we make. We want to make the "right" decisions and hopefully things will play out in a manner we find pleasing and comfortable, but that isn't always the case. Sometimes we make the "wrong" decisions, but we end up with a better story. Making the decisions is the first step.
If you've been reading this for any amount of time, you'll know I've been working on a novel. I finished the first draft a few years ago now, and I've been working on revising and editing ever since. I've done draft after draft. Cutting characters. Adding characters. Changing timelines. Upping the stakes. More description; less description. More dialogue; less dialogue. I've had beta readers read it. I've solicited feedback and got it. I've done more revising. I've done everything except finish the damned thing. Why? Because a voice inside my head tells me it's not perfect.
What if I publish it and not everyone loves it? What if it doesn't become a runaway best seller and outsell The Fifty Shades of Grey, or Harry Potter? What if a reviewer says, "it's okay for a first novel." These are all things I'm very likely going to have to face. The odds are not in my favor that I will outsell those hits. Odds are a reviewer won't think it's the next great american novel, but maybe someone will.
The point is, as some of my non-writer friends have pointed out, I'll never know if I don't put it out there. Flaws and all.
I can sit here and continue editing it until I'm dead. There will always be another way of telling the story. Another author, or even me in three months, will always have an idea how this scene could have gone, or that character should have been. The story will continue changing as the writer's life changes, day by day. At some point we (I) have to stop procrastinating in the name of perfection, and let it go.
There's always a chance the second novel will be the new great american novel. I'll never know until I stop tinkering with the first.
If you've been reading this for any amount of time, you'll know I've been working on a novel. I finished the first draft a few years ago now, and I've been working on revising and editing ever since. I've done draft after draft. Cutting characters. Adding characters. Changing timelines. Upping the stakes. More description; less description. More dialogue; less dialogue. I've had beta readers read it. I've solicited feedback and got it. I've done more revising. I've done everything except finish the damned thing. Why? Because a voice inside my head tells me it's not perfect.
What if I publish it and not everyone loves it? What if it doesn't become a runaway best seller and outsell The Fifty Shades of Grey, or Harry Potter? What if a reviewer says, "it's okay for a first novel." These are all things I'm very likely going to have to face. The odds are not in my favor that I will outsell those hits. Odds are a reviewer won't think it's the next great american novel, but maybe someone will.
The point is, as some of my non-writer friends have pointed out, I'll never know if I don't put it out there. Flaws and all.
I can sit here and continue editing it until I'm dead. There will always be another way of telling the story. Another author, or even me in three months, will always have an idea how this scene could have gone, or that character should have been. The story will continue changing as the writer's life changes, day by day. At some point we (I) have to stop procrastinating in the name of perfection, and let it go.
There's always a chance the second novel will be the new great american novel. I'll never know until I stop tinkering with the first.
Sunday, April 21, 2013
The Morning After
So, yeah, I was working through some stuff yesterday, and as usual I broadcast my neuroses to the world, or at least to the eighteen people who read it.
Sometimes I think I should keep this shit to myself, but then I think that's part of the problem. In my head, and unspoken, it festers and it becomes bigger than it really is. When I write about it, I realize it's not as big and scary as I think it is. Maybe that's why I write. I'm working shit out. Should I put it out there for public consumption? I'm not sure. Some people say I write what they're thinking. If that's true, great.
I really do want to live a more positive life. Some days are wonderful and the stars are in alignment. Other days, I'm a rocket about to go off. We're all surrounded by negativity and struggle with this, I'm sure. Actually, if you're always happy and smiling, I'm suspicious of you anyway. You're either high, in denial, or struggling with something far darker and deeper than I am. My shit is right up front. No offense.
Something I realized last night when I worked with a pretty positive group of people, was that I was also more positive. I was lighter. I was the true me.
As I had earlier conversations in the day, I became aware of how heavy I felt. How drained. Like I was being pushed down and my energy was being sucked out of me. Ah ha! Could it be as simple as the company I keep? The stuff I'm absorbing? What a concept!
I just deleted two paragraphs that were right here. I decided maybe I'd keep those thoughts to myself. After all, you aren't interested in every minute of my journey. You've got your own. I'll report back if I learn anything significant.
So long, for now!
Sometimes I think I should keep this shit to myself, but then I think that's part of the problem. In my head, and unspoken, it festers and it becomes bigger than it really is. When I write about it, I realize it's not as big and scary as I think it is. Maybe that's why I write. I'm working shit out. Should I put it out there for public consumption? I'm not sure. Some people say I write what they're thinking. If that's true, great.
I really do want to live a more positive life. Some days are wonderful and the stars are in alignment. Other days, I'm a rocket about to go off. We're all surrounded by negativity and struggle with this, I'm sure. Actually, if you're always happy and smiling, I'm suspicious of you anyway. You're either high, in denial, or struggling with something far darker and deeper than I am. My shit is right up front. No offense.
Something I realized last night when I worked with a pretty positive group of people, was that I was also more positive. I was lighter. I was the true me.
As I had earlier conversations in the day, I became aware of how heavy I felt. How drained. Like I was being pushed down and my energy was being sucked out of me. Ah ha! Could it be as simple as the company I keep? The stuff I'm absorbing? What a concept!
I just deleted two paragraphs that were right here. I decided maybe I'd keep those thoughts to myself. After all, you aren't interested in every minute of my journey. You've got your own. I'll report back if I learn anything significant.
So long, for now!
Saturday, April 20, 2013
Snap, Crackle, POP!
Some days I really don't like me.
I know we're not supposed to say that. We're supposed to love ourselves and all that. Some days I do. There are parts of me I adore. Much of the time.
But some days...
Some days I'm all bound up with anger, worry and fear. Can I put off an overdue oil change for another week because I can't afford it this week? Should I pay rent first or the car payment? If I pay both, I might not have enough money for the water bill. What's going on with the government this week? Is there going to be Social Security when I need it? I can't put anymore money in my 403b without going deeper in debt now. Will any of it matter with North Korea on the brink of insanity? Are the terrorists winning? How in the hell can I get out of bed and face another day at work?
Work! I spend ninety percent of my work day listening to people bitch to me about something, bitch at me about something, bitch about me. I'm supposed to have all the answers, make everyone happy, and fix it all with a smile on my face. I do the job of two people since the last round of budget cuts and I'm tired. Of course I can't say anything or admit I need help or I'll end up a casualty of the next budget cuts. Been there, done that.
Home. Home is good. It's my comfort, my oasis, my barricade against the crazy world outside the door. I like home too much. I don't want to leave. I have anxiety attacks over taking a vacation because it's going to put me out of my home for a week. That terrifies me. As much as I need the vacation, I'm stressing over it. Do I have enough money to really relax? Will a vacation even help when eventually I'll have to catch up on everything I missed during the week?
Usually, I like myself. But when all these things are swirling through my brain and getting out of bed seems like a hopeless, and most likely, unnecessary prospect, I long for the happy me. The one who knows life is short and every day should be cherished. The one who laughs easily. The one who doesn't yell at the dogs for being dogs. The one who enjoys his time at home, rather than worrying about everything else. The one who goes to birthday parties and cookouts. The one who has dinner with friends. The one who writes and acts in plays. The one who is kind and believes good will win over evil. The one who isn't so stressed and bent out of shape he's in danger of snapping completely.
Yeah, I really need to learn to let this shit go before the men in white coats come and get me or I end up as the lead story on CNN. If a reporter calls to interview you about me, please be kind. I had the best intentions.
I know we're not supposed to say that. We're supposed to love ourselves and all that. Some days I do. There are parts of me I adore. Much of the time.
But some days...
Some days I'm all bound up with anger, worry and fear. Can I put off an overdue oil change for another week because I can't afford it this week? Should I pay rent first or the car payment? If I pay both, I might not have enough money for the water bill. What's going on with the government this week? Is there going to be Social Security when I need it? I can't put anymore money in my 403b without going deeper in debt now. Will any of it matter with North Korea on the brink of insanity? Are the terrorists winning? How in the hell can I get out of bed and face another day at work?
Work! I spend ninety percent of my work day listening to people bitch to me about something, bitch at me about something, bitch about me. I'm supposed to have all the answers, make everyone happy, and fix it all with a smile on my face. I do the job of two people since the last round of budget cuts and I'm tired. Of course I can't say anything or admit I need help or I'll end up a casualty of the next budget cuts. Been there, done that.
Home. Home is good. It's my comfort, my oasis, my barricade against the crazy world outside the door. I like home too much. I don't want to leave. I have anxiety attacks over taking a vacation because it's going to put me out of my home for a week. That terrifies me. As much as I need the vacation, I'm stressing over it. Do I have enough money to really relax? Will a vacation even help when eventually I'll have to catch up on everything I missed during the week?
Usually, I like myself. But when all these things are swirling through my brain and getting out of bed seems like a hopeless, and most likely, unnecessary prospect, I long for the happy me. The one who knows life is short and every day should be cherished. The one who laughs easily. The one who doesn't yell at the dogs for being dogs. The one who enjoys his time at home, rather than worrying about everything else. The one who goes to birthday parties and cookouts. The one who has dinner with friends. The one who writes and acts in plays. The one who is kind and believes good will win over evil. The one who isn't so stressed and bent out of shape he's in danger of snapping completely.
Yeah, I really need to learn to let this shit go before the men in white coats come and get me or I end up as the lead story on CNN. If a reporter calls to interview you about me, please be kind. I had the best intentions.
Tuesday, April 16, 2013
There is a New Shade of Yellow for Today's Journalism
I never wanted to be an astronaut. Isn't that one of the things little boys say when they're asked what they wanted to be when they grow up? That one never appealed to me. I wanted to do other things. I wanted to be an actor, a writer, a cop, or a reporter. Even at a young age, I had an ingrained desire to tell the truth, uncover lies and help bring justice. It's probably why I never had much confidence in authority figures as well. They were the ones who seemed to be doing the most lying. I lived in the Watergate era.
Somewhere around junior high, I decided I would be a journalist, so I took journalism in high school. Yearbook. Newspaper. I even changed schools in the afternoon so I could attend magnet classes in broadcast journalism. I was never a fan of on camera work, but I loved to write the news, or report it on the local radio station the school ran. I wanted to be the next Lou Grant or Woodward and Bernstein. I wanted to go undercover and break the news. I'm sure I had a pretty glamorous vision of it, but it was what I wanted to do. The plan was to attend Ball State University, as they had an excellent Journalism program, and there was no way I could afford Columbia.
And then it all changed. I don't remember if there was a specific incident, or what, but suddenly journalism seemed to be taking an ugly turn. It was becoming less about telling the truth and more about getting the ratings, or readership. That's back in the day when the newspaper was the primary source of news.
Fast forward far too many years later and look at the shape of the media today. We have conservative news outlets selling their slant. Liberal outlets selling theirs. It seems there's no middle of the ground, "just the facts," news anymore. The five W's and H. Everyone has an agenda, parent companies to protect, or some slant that makes them biased. We might as well be the Soviet Union, circa 1980, when the government controls the news. Our controllers are corporations and lobbyists
I'm sure there are still good journalists out there who haven't thrown up their hands in defeat and have taken up writing stereo instructions as a living, but they can't get heard. The editors push for more blood, more guts, more sensationalism. "Go ask that parent of the child murdered how they feel," is their new assignment. "Get more pictures of the mangled bodies," the photographers are told.
I don't completely blame the media for the downfall of humanity, but it does make for great ratings.
Somewhere around junior high, I decided I would be a journalist, so I took journalism in high school. Yearbook. Newspaper. I even changed schools in the afternoon so I could attend magnet classes in broadcast journalism. I was never a fan of on camera work, but I loved to write the news, or report it on the local radio station the school ran. I wanted to be the next Lou Grant or Woodward and Bernstein. I wanted to go undercover and break the news. I'm sure I had a pretty glamorous vision of it, but it was what I wanted to do. The plan was to attend Ball State University, as they had an excellent Journalism program, and there was no way I could afford Columbia.
And then it all changed. I don't remember if there was a specific incident, or what, but suddenly journalism seemed to be taking an ugly turn. It was becoming less about telling the truth and more about getting the ratings, or readership. That's back in the day when the newspaper was the primary source of news.
Fast forward far too many years later and look at the shape of the media today. We have conservative news outlets selling their slant. Liberal outlets selling theirs. It seems there's no middle of the ground, "just the facts," news anymore. The five W's and H. Everyone has an agenda, parent companies to protect, or some slant that makes them biased. We might as well be the Soviet Union, circa 1980, when the government controls the news. Our controllers are corporations and lobbyists
I'm sure there are still good journalists out there who haven't thrown up their hands in defeat and have taken up writing stereo instructions as a living, but they can't get heard. The editors push for more blood, more guts, more sensationalism. "Go ask that parent of the child murdered how they feel," is their new assignment. "Get more pictures of the mangled bodies," the photographers are told.
I don't completely blame the media for the downfall of humanity, but it does make for great ratings.
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