Moving on Over

So it won't be long now. I'm going over to Wordpress. The blog will again be on my site (yay). The only thing I need to do now is pick out the right theme (soooo many to choose from).

Just a short note. Oh, I uploaded a mess of pictures to my Flickr account, too. Busy on an overcast day! Find them here.

Fiction is a Hungry Beast

photo courtesy of A List Apart

So I'm writing this story set on a small gentleman's farm very similar to one that my friend Andy worked at when we were in high school. There were many stories about that place: Andy and I coy dog hunting (I'm quite sure that that, too, will make it into a story at some point), swimming with friends in their man-made pond, feeding the hungry trout in said pond, ogling female friends in their bikinis (scandalous for the '80's) while we were swimming, tending to the livestock (they had cows and horses), and drinking in their front pasture (it had a heck of a view of the Albany skyline). But, of all these really fond memories, the one I'll never forget is the story he told about the day they castrated the bull. He went into great gory detail about the procedure, and I remember thinking to myself how incredibly gross and yet fascinating at the same time.

I mean, the bull was reportedly standing placidly in the pasture not fifteen minutes after the procedure (they cut him). What was he thinking? Was he ruminating on how from that point on all he was good for was some steaks and rump roasts? Was he sad over the fact that the cows just wouldn't look the same to him anymore? That all of the action in his life was completely behind him?

Fast forward twenty four years and here I am thinking about this story, this story that has really nothing to do with bull castration at all, when it comes back to me. It comes back to me so vividly that I have to start writing it down. And I have to place it in the story somewhere. It is, after all, one hell of a metaphor. It 'll all be in the story.

Which brings me to my point: fiction is a hungry beast. The blank page is a sponge for all of the weird, eccentric details that make up our lives. Whether it's bull castration or bikini ogling ( a nice juxtaposition of images, no?), all have a place somewhere in a story. So write all of the stuff down that you can; you'll never know when it will come in handy.

And as for the researching of bull castration on the web, suffice it to say that I chose the text only versions. I just didn't want to see any pictures or videos.

August and all that...

Well, another vacation down. The Cape was a blast (check out my pics on Flickr), with its share of laughs and joys and family satisfactions, but now, inevitably, it's time to roll up the sleeves and get back to work.

I'm doing a couple of summer curriculum weeks here at school, contemplating retooling my web site so I can actually have a blog on the site (thank you Blogger- see previous entries), toying with a story idea, staining my deck, staining the cedar shakes on my house, fixing a leaky toilet, reading for school, managing my social life, managing my family life, replying to emails and Facebook messages, exercising, and generally trying to end the summer in a positive way.

All the norm, but I'm in such a positive place in my life that it doesn't even bother me. Quite the switch. Now let's get to the writing...

The Writing Life

The writing life is truly a lonely one. No devastating breakthroughs there, but true nonetheless. I guess that I will continue here, although it seems kind of silly. Not sure anyone is out there reading it, anyways.

Now that's pathetic...I should know better.

Know Thyself

I think that "Know Thyself" is some of the best advice ever written. Gotta love the Greeks. It makes me sad when people don't really know themselves. A friend once told me that she wanted to stop living like a zombie, wanted to stop living alone, riding her bike alone, running alone, and then when she got what she wanted she ran from it. Really didn't know herself, I think.

And of course the problem is that there is collateral damage when you stumble and have to retract all that was said. She did it, too--neatly, quickly, and unequivocally final. No crystal balls, no commitments, just a resolve to abandon all that was made (apparently made on shaky foundation-- of course that wasn't the feeling at the time). It makes me sad, primarily because I'm the collateral damage.

But enough whining and airing of dirty laundry. It's only life after all. I'll live.

I know myself.

42

As a birthday thought, these lines that close Richard Ford's The Sportswriter:

"...one natural effect of life is to cover you in a thin layer of...what? A film? A residue or skin of all the things you've done and been and said and erred at? I'm not sure. But you are under it, and for a long time, and only rarely do you know it, except that for some unexpected reason or opportunity you come out --for an hour or for even a moment-- and you suddenly feel pretty good. And in that magical instant you realize how long it's been since you felt just that way. Have you been ill, you ask. Is life an illness or a syndrome? Who knows? We've all felt that way, I'm confident, since there's no way that I could feel hundreds of millions of other citizens haven't.

Only suddenly, then, you are out of it-- that film, that skin of life-- as when you were a kid. And you think: this must've been the way it was once in my life, though you didn't know it then, and don't really even remember it-- a feeling of wind on your cheeks and your arms, of being released, let loose, of being the light-floater. And since that is not how it has been for a long time, you want, this time, to make it last, this glistening one moment, this cool air, this new living, so that you can preserve a feeling of it, inasmuch as when it comes again it may just be too late. You may just be too old. And in truth, of course, this may be the last time that you will ever feel this way again."

Yeah, that's where I am. 42 is really an odd age after all- not bad, just odd.

Birthday Gifts

Sometimes the best birthday gifts are the ones that are given freely. Thanks, Yanks. We can use all the help we can get.

Last Post, for now...

So the Blogger deadline is upon me, and, as usual, I have no idea what to do. Should I just live with the blog being hosted on Blogger, install WordPress on my server and generate the blog from there, or find some free PHP script that allows me to customize the blog's appearance while still maintaining some form of independence?

Whatever the answer, I now that this will probably be the last update for a moment or two. Who knows, when you see me next I may be new and improved.

Or I could really look crappy. It's a toss up.

Bye, for now...