The Call of the Dead and the Living

     Have you ever received messages from The Dead and the Living?

     I notice patterns, particularly those that parallel the very words spoken by people from my past.

     The late Loften Mitchell was a Professor of Theatre at Binghamton University and was head of the Playwrights Program.  Best known for writing the book to the musical BUBBLIN BROWN SUGAR, his writing covers original play scripts, librettos, short fiction and history.  As a Harlem native, he knew writers such as John Oliver Killens and Langston Hughes.  In fact, his oft repeated observation about the latter was that Mr. Hughes always seemed to be writing something, even as he sat in restaurants and bars.

     A student (not me) once asked "How do you deal with writer's block?"

     Mr.  Mitchell plainly answered "There's no such thing as Writer's Block.  There's only Time Block."  From there, he explained that there will be things that pull one away from writing.  He was emphatic about staying away from people who waste time.  "All that matters is you and your typewriter" he said.

    A few years later I was studying under yet another mentor, the late Stuart M. Kaminsky.  In a brief exchange, I apologized for also working on a play script (I had barely made his deadline for a screenplay).  He merely shrugged and said "Writing is Writing."

    Last week during Morning Edition on NPR, I heard an interview with an award winning Florida State University professor.  The author attributed his success to the "B.I.C. Method", which stands for "Butt In Chair."

     More recently, I attended a workshop with the Tallahassee Author's Guild.  A local author, Marilyn Griffith, conducted a 15 minute writing exercise which proved the very same thesis.

     My challenges usually involve words on a page.  Yours may involve other endeavors.  I contend that we all receive messages from the past and messages from the present.  Messages from both the dead and the living.   They are nothing more than simple reminders of what we need to do.

      The question is:  Are we listening?

     Always B Positive

The Coming Purge

     A while back, my wife commented that it would be nice to be able to fit her car in the garage.  I asked her the most logical question:

     "Where did you get the idea that garages were meant to hold cars?"

     As usual, with a sense of humor that ranges between Ben Stein and an EKG flatline, she plainly answered "There's too much junk in here."

    I have written many times before about clearing out the clutter in our lives.  Whether it be bad habits, toxic people or "stank" attitudes, we each have the responsibility to cleanse ourselves of that which hinders us.  Yet there is always the coming Purge, or the Sniper, as a former supervisor described it, wherein we will be forced to expel our toxins.

     "Always look out for the Sniper" he would warn, speaking of the one person who can ruin an organization, wreck a plan, or destroy your life.

     For our purposes today, the Sniper also controls the Purge valve, the piece of equipment that will force us to eliminate that which is unnecessary.  On the most basic level, it might literally be the food poisoning that forces us to eliminate the food that we shouldn't have eaten in the first place.  On a larger scale it might be the death of a loved one or even our own demise, either of which will force us to let go of the very essense of life.  In between are all of the other accumulations, foibles and boat anchors easily pocketed or stored in the garages of our mind.

      Personally, I don't like to wait until it "just happens"; I'd rather direct The Purge myself.  The Sniper is within my crosshairs right now; once I dispatch him, I will wrest the Purge valve from his cold, dead hands, and will aim this weapon at myself.  Then I will slowly turn the knob and will ride the torrent that will inevitably rush downstream.

      In other words...I will have to make at least three trips to the junkyard!

      Always B Positive!

Prized Consolation

Today is the meeting of a local writers group, an assemblage of people with whom I have little in common.  We hail from various backgrounds and geographical locations, and we have one objective:  To motivate, encourage, hound, harrass and shame each other into finishing our respective works.  Talk is cheap, and there are dozens of other writer groups that are filled with socialites, dowagers, Miss Daisies and pretenders.  No, we try to be serious about our work.

A fateful phone call derailed my plans.  On the other end was "the job".  End of story; money is money.  In this economy we hear:  "Well, be thankful you have a job!" - and whoever says that is right.  Yet I wonder if it is sensible to be thankful for the consolation prize.

The consolation prize is the lure of a reliable paycheck, instead of fulfilling the omnipresent dream.

The consolation prize is the item on sale - last years' model or last one in the bin - which is perfectly fine but not exactly what you need.

The consolation prize is settling down with someone who is "nice enough"; after all, he or she isn't a [fill in the blank________________:  Abuser, druggie, alcoholic, cheater, murderer, etc.].

Society has taught us to be unrealistic, selfish and lazy.  Life is work and anything worthwhile comes with a price.  There is nothing wrong with choosing the consolation prize, as long as one seeks counsel and intelligently weighs the options.  But as we continuously work out our tasks ranging from the mundane to the monumental, from the simple to Salvation, let us make sure that we are not simply settling due to lack of effort.

Square One and a Half

I have nothing to write.

Tuesday finds me at this "dumb screen" (my Luddite wife's term) trying to find a way to procrastinate.  I have other work to do:  Yard work and household chores.  I have washed the morning's dishes.  Later on this week I will go back to work, to tackle the never-ending paperwork that lines the halls of bureaucracy.

Yet the ceaseless job of the wordsmith remains.  I call this being back to square one and a half, wherein one has the resources, time and ability but no objective, no goal.  Every realm of existence has this dilemma.  Sometimes our tendency toward ritualism dulls us to the fact that our minds must be active, that our choices must be conscious, that our lives must be lived.

Between the last paragraph and current one, twenty four hours have passed.  I decided to wash the exterior of our house, finish this week's yard work, clean the gutters, apply bug poison, and wash and fold three loads of clothes.  Today will be easier.  I want to pick at least two buckets of blackberries from out back (which my family members love to eat, even though none of them will help me pick. They say they are afraid of the snakes, the lazy bums!)

But once I am in, the ongoing work will remain:  Drawing up a workshop syllabus;  editing something that I allegedy finished;  identifying my next project;  moving beyond Square One and a Half.

Next stop for me (and hopefully you):  Square Two!

Always B Positively Positive!

Pitch...while you still can

Satchel Paige was a pitcher who started with the old Negro League, who later pitched for the Cleveland Indians in the majors.  He was a colorful character, combining showmanship with a staggering arsenal of pitches.  Like so many pioneers, his achievements contrasted with his personal struggles in life.  Yet throughout it all, he worked as long as he could.

I used to play New York City stickball; unfortunately, that didn't translate very well into softball and baseball, as I later discovered.  Still, I can throw accurately.  For years, I was the one person who could dunk the guy in the booth at fairs and carnivals.  Unfortunately, a combination of bad typing habits, wrong keyboard heights, multiple bumps on the "elbow knob", laptop wrangling and sleep contortions have created a lasting, dull pain in my right arm.  Though fully functional, both forearm and shoulder silently scream with pain.  I can barely use a fly swatter.  Still, I continue to work.

I have a postcard featuring Satchel Paige.  In it, his characteristic high kick and his broad smile cement his image as the master showman that he was.  Across the top is the logo:  Making my pitch.

Despite our collective pains, both physical and mental, and whether in sports, in life and in our endeavors, we all need to do the same.  Lift that leg, swing that arm, aim for that strike zone.

Pitch.

Always B Positive

How does your frog taste?

Someone once said that "if you have to swallow a frog, don't stare at it."

Recently I have taken on more than I can chew.  I have ample time, but frankly, my heart is not into much of the volunteer work on my plate.  When added with the Summer doldrums, the juggling of family tasks and the never ending quest for dollars, I find myself in a place too familiar.

I have a frog to eat.

Years ago, my father was into eating frogs' legs.  These were disgusting looking drumsticks that were pre-cooked and propped up vertically under heat lamps in Brooklyn's Coney Island.  While chewing on our Nathan's hot dogs and french fries, we recoiled at his vile choices.  Years later I tried canned frogs' legs but never developed my father's penchant for amphibious appendages.  Still, I tried it.

I am still eating frogs' legs, particularly when dealing with life.  Only now, those legs have morphed into a large, living, warty beast that will spill its vile guts down my chin if I chew it slowly.  Furthermore, if I don't eat it, it will eat me.  Life will eat us if we don't choose to eat it first.

I choose to attack and enjoy life.

It is time to eat my frog.

How does your frog taste?

I hate commencements!

It is May, and our thoughts toward things endemic to this season (at least in this hemisphere):  Spring, new life, romance, vacations and the dreaded rite of passage, the commencement.

I hate commencements.  They are boring, hot, pointless exercises designed to satisfy friends and family.  I have endured more than my share, having suffered through multiple events as a student, teacher,  usher, volunteer or staff member at various schools.  As students file in with their ill-fitting robes, I wonder if this is training for the lemming-like regimentation that is de rigueur for humans.

Almost always, the speakers are interchangeable.  Their messages are usually the same.  There are musical interludes ranging from the dignified to simply awful.  Then there is the awarding or conferring of degrees, followed by the interminable handing out of diplomas.  As I stand in the back and watch the Principal or President or Dean shake 5,000 hands, I can't help but wonder:  How many of them used the toilet but afterward didn't wash?

As a parent, I must attend yet another dreaded graduation.  But this time, I am going to claim it as my own.  Since I know exactly what the speakers will say, I will bring my pad and pen and pretend to take notes.  But in reality I will be planning.  Planning for my own future.  Writing down more goals.  Perhaps eavesdropping on a conversation between two of my characters in some yet to be written script or story.  Either way, I am going to use those wasted 90 minutes for something that I can put into action.

What about you?  What are you going to do during and after your next boring meeting, training seminar, ceremony or commencement?

B Positively Positive!

Why do we remember the past but not the future?

Why do we remember the past but not the future?

This question is a quote from Stephen Hawking's A BRIEF HISTORY OF TIME, a book that I have had the privilege of reading twice.

...and both times I didn't understand a word of it.

Actually, I have a strong interest in thinking about things that challenge me.  On this day - the Federally mandated Monday we use to celebrate Memorial Day - we must remember the people who sacrificed their lives in battle.  No amount of present day malaise - nor historical analysis of this country's missteps - can negate the fact that someone believed in the future enough to give their lives.

Do you believe in the promise of the future?  Are you taking steps to build your own future?  What are you doing right now that can move you closer to your dreams?  Are you surrounding yourself with people who encourage you?  Do you even have dreams?

Stephen Hawking was commenting on the forward-flowing nature of time.  Yet unintentionally he was issuing a challenge to us.  Specifically, what do you remember about the future you are about to create?

B Positively Positive!

The Twelfth Day

12 Days.

That is how long it has been since I decided to challenge myself.

In between then and now I have worked like a dog and tried to keep up with the extra  things I do.  One big casualty, however, was that I didn't reach my goal of 10 pages per day.  My other writer friends laughed under their breaths, saying "That's a lot of work."  They were right.

So what's my plan?  I'm going to get back to work again, writing.  After all, it is the 12th day.  I think there is something magical about the number 12 in history and numerology:  Twelve patriarchs, 12 tribes of Israel, 12 Apostles, 12 x 12 = 144,  the number of cents I have in my pocket...

So here's a question for you:  Since it's the 12th day, what are you going to do to get back on track?

Always B Positive!

Have you squeezed every drop out of your lemon?

I did the St. Patrick's Day Hustle yesterday, and it still isn't over yet.  Here's how it went:

Picked up oldest child from a theater set build at 12:30 AM.  Back home to sleep for 3 1/2 hours.  Got up at 4:15 AM to go in to work.  Returned just before 12 Noon and filed paperwork.  Went back to bed to sleep for another 2 or 3 hours.  At 5 PM went to work the St. Patrick's Day bash at Floyd's Music Store.  Was thankful that I brought earplugs.  Bash ended at 2 AM.  Drank a Red Bull.  Helped cleanup until 5 AM then went home.  Peeled off filthy clothes, took a shower.  Stayed up and filed paperwork.  Bid family goodbye (wife took kids to school at 7 AM).  Went to bed.  Got back up at Noon.  Following up on possible concert, demo and media gigs, one of which starts tonight.  Will run some errands...

So tell me...where do ten pages of writing fit in that picture?  Since yesterday was a bust,  I am behind.  But I'll find time.  I'm going to squeeze this figurative lemon rind until I get the last bit of juice.  Then I am going to figuratively chew it up.  In real life, although they are bitter, even lemon rinds have Vitamin C.

Have you squeezed every drop out of your lemon?

A 30 Day Challenge

I am issuing a 30 day challenge to anyone who wants to take it.

For the next 30 days I am going to follow an exact ritual of devotion, writing and consistency in other areas.  Some of this is Spiritual in nature.  Part of this is professional.  An even bigger part is fascination over the prospect of having a 300 page manuscript done in 30 days.  That's just ten pages per day.   I'll also commit to doing a daily entry here as well.

Yes, I know:  Life happens.   Accidents.  Sickness.  Overtime work.  Apathy.  But it's worth a try.

Is there something in your own life that deserves your attention for 30 solid days?

Positively Positive!

Create your own happiness!

I really have to stop these late night insomniac sessions. 

What usually happens is that I fall asleep by mid-evening.  By design (and choice), my family will just leave me snoozing.  Then I wake up and start writing for a couple of hours or watch the news.  Tonight I saw a barrage of bad news:  Egypt, The Economy, Rick Scott's cuts to the Florida budget, gas explosions, murder trials - you name it.  That's probably why my wife hates the news:  It's always negative. 

Yet there's always an antidote.  After viewing all of the doom and gloom I could stand, I remembered an old video by Blind Melon, featuring the little girl in the honeybee suit. 

Sometimes if things look bad, you just have to look in another direction.  Find you own happiness, and make it if you have to.  Here's a link to the video:  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3qVPNONdF58 .

Positively Positive!