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Energy and Trust

My internal landscape has experienced a great change in the weather lately.  I try not to let too many things affect me, but in this case, I think I need to let it. 

I've always been pretty well-grounded.  I've always had a certain way of seeing things.  I'm extremely open-minded, but I always take what I hear and see along with my perception of the world as it has always been.  In other words, I take everything into account as long as it jives with what I know.  Which is pretty much the case with everyone, but I allow more leeway probably than most.  I allow more space for the metaphysical and unexplainable. 

But these new things, this new person:  they've rocked me to the very core.  I'm as I've always been.  Nothing about my personality or my beliefs has changed.  It's just the way everything relates in my head.  The way I look at the world. 

I've always been self-conscious to a fault, even self-centered.  Really, the better word is probably "self-contained."  I live my life in my head.  Not much makes it out.  As I've gotten older, I've learned to trust what goes on in there a little more and therefore I allow more out than I used to.  But I still have a problem letting myself out to play with the other kids.  There's a wall there that's hard to get over.  The metaphor I used with C was that the walls in my head have chinks in them that allow me in as mist, but nothing more.  Just enough to see a little bit of what's there, but not enough to do anything with it.  This metaphor came about when C told me he felt like he'd broken down several walls in his mind.  The way he did this was with energy.

The energy concept is one I took with a  grain of salt when C first mentioned it to me.  I didn't dismiss it, I just wasn't sure what to do with it.  So I sat back and listened.  The idea is that the body is full of energy and this energy can be controlled, manipulated, and put to good use on oneself, objects, and even other people.  As I understand it, it's used in martial arts, massage therapy, and numerous Eastern disciplines.  For a while, I just watched and learned, not sure if this sensation I was feeling was actually energy or if my mind was playing tricks on me. 

But that's just the point.  It is the mind.  But it's not a trick.  I didn't fully accept this until the other night when C talked me through an exercise.  I can't explain it, but it was a feeling I was familiar with.  It's the trill of panic when you're scared, the flush of warmth when you see someone you're attracted to, the movement of thoughts when you're concentrating.  It's all that.  Once I learned how to focus it, I could visualize what I wanted to do with it and make it work.  Granted, all I can do so far is feel it and move it.  But I'm getting better.  Last night, I learned how to produce warm energy.  It was all in my head.  But it was real, and C felt it on his skin.  It was real because we both let it be real. 

It's common knowledge that humans only use 10% of our brains.  Like the line from "Contact," "seems like an awful waste of space."  You can't tell me the other 90% is useless tissue.  It's full of neurons and electricity.  Full of energy.  This is about learning how to use it.  Physically, mentally, and emotionally.  It's what makes us human. 

And it has taught me how to trust myself.  More and more, I've allowed the external in and let myself out.  I'm not all the way there.  I'm still struggling with the fears and worries that hold me inside myself.  That seems to be the rub to everyone learning about energy.  And everyone who doesn't know or even accept its power.

The challenge is no greater than with everything I feel for C himself.  He's subtle, very even-tempered.  It's hard to see where his heart is.  I know it's gigantic and solid gold, but I just can't find it.  At least so far I can't.  I've spent all morning considering where I should look.  I've seen glimpses of it in smiles, glances, his touch, his embrace.  But only glimpses.  He keeps it guarded and relies on his mind to govern it, I think.  When he trusts himself with it, then he may open a window.  Whereas my instinct is to hold it out for anyone to see until I realize maybe they're frightened by the bloody spectacle and quickly put it away.  Through experience, I've learned to resist my instinct.  I still wonder if I should.  Maybe what I need to learn is how to follow my instinct without blurting it out.  Maybe I should wordlessly tap him on the shoulder and invite him to peek through the window, rather than pull the whole organ straight out of my chest and wave it under his nose yelling, "See what I got!" 

I depend too much on the spoken word for confirmation.   Sometimes words drain energy.  They cancel it out or distract from it.  Through all my considering this morning, I've decided I need to relax and shut the hell up.  That's the source of most of my problems with people.  I just don't know how to relax with them around.  I'm too worried about how much I like or dislike them and don't know how to deal with it when they like or dislike me.  That's not what's important.  What's important is what you learn, give, and receive. 

Negative or positive, it's all just energy.  And energy penetrates every word.  Sometimes the energy is too great and renders the word useless.  Sometimes the word solidifies the energy, makes it concrete. 

I get the feeling that once I've learned to trust myself, I'll know exactly when the word is needed and when the energy is enough.

The Shift

Starting on New Year's Eve, I've sensed a shift in the vapors that make the world mysterious.  It could just be a shift in myself, but it seems like it's affected everything in some ways.  Haven't decided about that part yet. 

It started for me when I was in line for the Jason Isbell gig at The Honest Pint in Chattanooga on New Year's Eve.  The folks in front of me hadn't gotten their tickets yet, so I offered my extra to one of them.  In their gratitude, they bought me a beer.  Nice.  Afterward, I felt a great surge of helpfulness.  I offered extra chairs at my table to strangers, helped people find ashtrays and tipped my server as well as I could.  The show was incredible too.  It felt good to be helpful and everyone was in a great mood.  I mean EVERYONE in the bar.  Even Isbell and his band.

Since then, I've continued to try to be a little more friendly to folk.  By nature, I'm taciturn and even a tad antisocial because I'm reserved and rarely find compelling conversation to be had.  But I've found folks to be a little more easy-going so far this year.  Again, it may just be me.  I've had lovely conversations with a lot of different people, new and old.  It's like some wall has been dropped or the mysterious vapors have thinned.  I've discovered a new well of confidence in myself and I feel better than I have in years.  I don't feel as isolated.  Every time I go out, I see friends to talk to or someone willing to play a game of chess.  That's probably always been the case, but I suppose I'm more willing to approach them now.  

I'm still broke most of the time, but it doesn't get to me like it used to.  I've learned to conserve better and to deal with what I've got instead of fretting over what I don't.  

And it's paid off.  I just worry that everything will crash down again.  It's been a long time since I had any measurable confidence in myself.  I just have to learn to roll with it better than I have, I reckon. 

I just feel different for some reason.  Freer maybe.  I had a dream a couple nights ago that really cemented that.  All it involved was a door opened suddenly into a blue night with forest and maybe mountains beyond.  It opened so quickly, it startled me awake.  But it didn't scare me.  I went back to sleep feeling more at ease.  I slept very well that night.  I always sleep well, but I slept VERY well after that. 

And I've slept well every night since. 

Having One of Those Moments

Years ago, after I broke up with a horrible ex, he screamed and yelled at me and cursed me.  Literally.  His words were, "I curse you!  I hope you'll never be happy!"

A horrible thing to wish on someone whether you believe in curses or not.  I'm not sure if I do believe in curses, but sometimes I worry that his had some power behind it.  Because I can't seem to satisfy myself with anything lately.  Christmas is looking rather gray because I'm broke and I can't do what I'd like for my family and friends.  And my future is just so uncertain.  There are so many things I want to do, but they all require money, which is something I've never been blessed with.  I wouldn't care anything about it if it wasn't required for EVERYTHING.  I can't even go visit friends or family out of state without worrying about how I'm going to pay for the gas to get there. 

Beyond that, I want to go back to school, travel, enjoy a concert every once in a while, spend all day in a museum.  These things should be so simple, but seem incredibly far away to me right now.  I work hard and try to entertain myself, give myself projects to keep me sane, hang out with friends and enjoy occasional company, but nothing contents me anymore.  I'm restless and I feel useless. 

Then comes the part when I tell myself it's all my own fault.  If I was braver or more willing to give up the things that give me comfort, maybe I'd be closer to where I feel I should be at this age.  Then I worry about getting older and becoming the ridiculous old woman at the bar who everybody thinks is crazy because she drove away the ones who loved her and the ones she loved never loved her back.  I sometimes see myself as that old lady that younger poets write about and that makes people thankful for what they have. 

I am thankful for what I have, but this little part of me that I wish I could switch off can't stop thinking about the things I don't.  I know I have to learn to roll with it and not worry about it or I have to figure out a way to earn those things I don't have.  I just don't know where to start or what path would lead me there.  I used to comfort myself with the thought that "I'll figure it out someday."  But now I'm getting too old for that.  Maybe that's what has kept me from the success (or at least the CONTENTMENT) I always imagined.  That procrastination.  That "I'll figure it out eventually" mindset.

But how do you get out of that?  I've made so many weird plans that never happened because something else got in the way.  Maybe I've been too busy looking for an easier path to see the one I really want to follow.  But after so long, how do you start over with no resources.  I've been wandering the woods too long.  I've run out of food and water and my clothes are threadbare.  I'm afraid now I'd never survive that rougher path. 

Sorry for the despair, folks.  Just having one of those moments.  I'll get over it and reset myself.  I've done it plenty of times.  I'll reset myself and start looking around for that path I probably didn't see before.  Retrace my steps.  Maybe I won't end up back here again.

8497 - Way Behind

So I'm over my fit and I realize I really need to get cracking.  This one part is taking me way too long to write, but it's winding down and hopefully from there it will get quicker. 

Micah and I had to properly prepare for the new Harry Potter movie by indulging our mutual laziness with a years 1-6 marathon.  Was totally worth lounging around all weekend, but the time has come for action. 

I've come near to admitting that this nanowrimo challenge is not meant for writers like me, but I accepted this personal challenge, so I have to at least attempt to see it through.  Hopefully I'll find myself in a proper place to bust out 10,000 words in a couple days.  I've done it before and I'm perfectly capable of doing it again.  Now I just have to get my mind right and steamroll through the rest of this long and arduous section of the novel. 

It's rainy and gross here today, which tends to be prime writing conditions.  Bring me the magic, O Muse.

Thoughts on Nanowrimo from 6026.

True I haven't gotten as far as I'd hoped.  True I've been attempting to maintain a life during all of this.  True my novel is going to need some editing.

But please forgive me nanowrimo folks, if I do not share your enthusiasm for word wars.  I know the point of this is to get as much down as possible, but at the cost your work's integrity? 

I'm sorry, but even if I am going to attempt 50,000 words in one month, they're going to be decent words that make sense and tell the story the way I want it told.  And maybe some of you are capable of the word counts past 50,000 that I often see the second week of November.  And hats off you are capable of that many words that quickly that do tell a good and engaging story.  But how many writers are REALLY capable of a novel full of turns and twists and character development and their own blood, sweat, and tears and some kernel of a truth that they want to communicate that's past 50,000 words after two weeks? 

How long did it take Jane Austen to write Pride and Prejudice?  How long did J.D. Salinger spend on Cather in the Rye or did Melville spend on Moby Dick?  It's true we're not Austens, Salingers and Melvilles.  I'm very aware of that.  But really.  50,000 words in two weeks?

And I'm sorry I am slow, nano group.  But my slowness means you don't even want to allow me to share what I had written during that 10 minutes when you were all racing each other to see who could spill their soul the quickest?  Because I'm not fast I don't count?  Really?  Maybe I don't in this particular exercise.  Maybe I'm missing the point of this.

Nonetheless, I will continue to slowly climb my way toward 50,000.  And hopefully I'll be pleased with them all when I earn the privilege of a bound copy.  It'll take me longer and I'll probably continue to say odd things that don't matter to the speed writers, but by God I'm doing this my way.  Are you?

So It Begins

Now it's November and the enormity of 50,000 words before December has hit home.  That's a lot of damn words.  But I suppose I got off to a good start.  I haven't done my writing for the day, but last night (after midnight, so I'm counting it, kids) I wrote about seven half pages worth of a scene further down the line.  I'll probably rewrite it when I get to it again (I'm going to attempt to stay in order), but the idea wouldn't leave me alone, so I had to write it last night.  That's how it has to be done lest I forget everything.

I haven't counted the words.  I'll save that for when I type it later.  I always handwrite first, then type and edit the first draft at the same time.  It's easier to concentrate with a pen in hand and it's easier to be brutal to your writing when you're typing and have all the powers of cut and paste at your fingertips.

I suspect the cigar bar will see a great deal of me this month since my brand new desk top will be away having its integrated video card replaced (this has caused much pulling of hair and gnashing of teeth, but I'm over it now - kind of).  I love to write in public places simply because it gives you enough distraction to keep yourself sane, but not so much that you can't plug in your headphones and ignore the mess around you.  Plus the mess can sometimes serve as excellent inspiration.  Lots of brainwaves flying around helps too, I think. 

50,000 words, I shall write you and make you my bitch.  That's a promise.

Phase II

Finally finished going through the parts I'd already written and on to phase II of the planning stage.  That would be answering the questions I asked myself about each part of the novel.  I make something like a worksheet for this.  I included a quick summary of the scene/chapter/section and pinpoint problems with it, things to avoid when writing it, and of course I ask myself questions.  Like "How does she feel about ______?" and "How does she react to _______?" and "Why doesn't he ask her about _______?"  This helps me to figure out what I need to accomplish in the scene.

The worksheet looks like this:

and is about thirty pages long.  (I don't half-ass anything when it comes to the novels.)


Before I attempt this, however, I've got a scene I probably need to get down before I forget it. I'm not even sure if I'll use it in the finished product, but that's why I need to write it.  If it looks like it'll work it'll go in.  If it looks like it'll suck or drag the story, it will be unceremoniously flushed.

It's a brutal business.

Nanowrimo

I attempted nanowrimo last year and failed miserably, clocking in barely 2000 words.  Somewhere around the second week, I decided that I'm not meant to write 50,000 words in a month because I'm deliberate (I refuse to concede that I'm slow).  But that excuse seems rather pale, so I figured I might as well give it another shot.

This year, instead of forcing myself to work on the novel I feel like I should work on, I'm working on the one I want to work on.  The one I keep getting ideas for even though it's kind of more of a silly/fun thing.  And I'll be more prepared this time.  I have one big Circa notebook dedicated to this.  I put notes, worksheets, and existing parts in the notebook along with plenty of clean paper.  At the moment, I'm reading over the parts I've written and making notes on them.  Next, I'll be supplying myself with a few visual aids to help out.  The main things will be floor plans for all of the important rooms and homes, etc.  For some reason with this one, I'm having a really hard time visualizing the settings.  Hopefully this will help.

Right now everything is looking like this:

and this:

In any case, kids, Happy Nano.

For once I'm going to attempt to document this process just because... well... I'm not sure why.  Just seems like the thing to do.

A Word on Words

Hey kids.  I've been rather preoccupied with the passive insanity (or is that inanity?) of my mental landscape, which appears to have experienced a little bit of a tectonic shift. 

Poverty has forced me inward which is the last thing I need, truth be told.  But with no options for diversion, I'm hoping I'll get bored enough to finish washing the dishes that are still packed in boxes (since April) and finish setting up my apartment.  It's starting to get on my nerves (yes, it takes me four months to be oppressed by a mess). 

But that's not why I felt like blogging today.

As some of y'all know, I'm a legal assistant.  Lately my job has been making it more and more difficult for me feel in any way important.   I had one of my impatient days yesterday and I REALLY had to watch myself.  Everything pissed me off.  So in an attempt to vent some of this dissatisfaction, I tried to wrap my head around why my job was making me so angry.

Then it came to me.  It's the use of words.  Words are EXTRAORDINARILY precious and interesting to me, so I have a very pronounced reverence for the way they're used.  It just occurred to me HOW differently they're used in varying pursuits.

I decided that lawyers EXPLOIT words.  A lawyer's use of words is crucial to his job, which is why a lot of lawyers get their undergrad in English or Linguistics.  It's crucial because they have to be able to twist a word around and make it work for them - to wrench a version of the truth from it - the version that serves their purpose the best.

Writers/novelists EXALT words (at least some of us try to - admittedly not all accomplish this).  A writer looks a word from every angle, caresses it, gets to know it, and dresses it up.  Different authors have different senses of style of course.  Some prefer a simple summer dress while others want to put their words into showy frocks.  Some writers have no fashion sense - at all.  (I just finished reading the Twilight series - laugh all you want - and while the characters are good and the story is addictive, the language is DREADFUL.  In Meyer's case I think the words were just a means to an end - "well hell, I reckon my words can't go out naked, so I'll dress them in whatever smells the cleanest.") 

Media EXPLOITS, USES, and NEGATES words.  In other words, media (admittedly not all) destroys their meanings and makes them mean something else.  I'm not attacking the media.  They can't help what they are.  They feel a need to either present the words naked, polish them to a nice shine, or splatter mud all over them.  This changes how the world views the word.  The media is where a perfectly healthy and appealing word goes to die.

Scholars and academia try to EXPLAIN them. I kind of fit into this category as well as the writer's category.  Scholars have to understand the words.  Scholars make an attempt to work against the media to bring the dead word back to life or to change it into something more useful than the mangled mess that was left.  Scholars know where and how the word was born, and they try to reflect that.
 
All of the above are reasons why I have a Compact OED (and why it's one of my prized possessions), about 20 books on word origins, and a few dictionaries and thesauri.  I try to take the ill uses with a grain of salt until I can see the truth or the lie behind them.  I study their shape and color and decide what outfit would most become them.  I study it so I don't forget it.

I really wish more people cared about our sad little words.  Maybe they wouldn't be so easy to manipulate if they did.  And indirectly, the people caring wouldn't be so easy to manipulate either.

Have Come to a Decision

I'm going to Kennesaw State for the MA in Professional Writing.  I'm so tired of this constant state of stagnation.  I need to use my brain to the best of its abilities and I've missed learning new things for years now.  The plan is to pay for the GRE next month and schedule it within a month or two.  In October, I'm going to the Graduate Open House.  I'll apply either soon before or soon after that.  I hope to start in 2011 - maybe Spring.  I need to pay some credit cards and things off before I start.  Will also need a new car to make that drive every day.

The one thing that scares me is the whole money thing.  Work and supporting myself and paying rent and eating.  I know I won't be able to do all the classes at night.  I'm hoping my current office (or new one if I get a new job) will be flexible and let me work part time or come in at night or something.  I'll figure that out when I get to it.  But it's decided.  I have too much going on in my head to be wasting away like this.  It's incredibly frustrating.


Other Things:
- I don't know why, but music is hitting me harder lately.  Maybe this is a sign that the muse is starting to sing.

- I admit that I have seen two Twilight movies and read the first book recently.  I hate that I really enjoyed them.  But I did.  The writing is dreadful, the grammar atrocious.  But the characters are interesting and the plot sucks you in like all dreadful pop culture things most people consider a guilty pleasure.  It's an agonizing pleasure for me.   There's something fundamental in all the Bella/Edward stuff that appeals to some deep kernel of something in the heart of most women, I think.  This could just be me justifying my enjoyment.

- I reread the beginning of one of my novels last weekend.  I wrote it last year while I was unemployed.  The writing was slow and tedious as I recall.  I really took my time and took care to get everything just so, keeping in mind some new style rules I'd assigned myself.  The result is the first thing I've written that I don't want to completely rewrite.  There are a few changes I probably need to make, but nothing big.  Was very pleased with myself.  Now I just have to work on getting past the part where I'm stalled.  I'm ciphering about it and I think I may be close to solving the problem.

- I've been something of a recluse lately because I'm broke, but it's been good for me.  I think we all need those little spans of time.

Help me learn how to describe facial expressions.

I explain it all (rather inarticulately) in the video.  I figure I can't ask my readers to do something I won't do myself, thus the video.

Upcoming Blog

I got an idea from a friend of mine who had to do a speech for an online English class.  They had to record the speech and post it on youtube.

In any case, this gave me an idea for working on characterization.  More later when I get home from work.  I'm posting this teaser blog as a way to keep myself from being lazy and not doing it.  Now I have an obligation.  See how that works?  It's good to know your own mind and habits.

Lately

This has been an odd month.  In some ways it's been lovely and in others it's just been hectic. 

At the beginning of the month, I found myself restless and going out practically every night.  During that process, I did make a wonderful new friend although I'm afraid he seeks something more than friendship.  I hate having that talk with male friends.  The whole trite "I like you, but not in that way" thing sounds so ridiculous and childish, but I've yet to come up with anything better.  I also hate that men and women are so overwhelmed by our hormones these days that we can barely be friends.  Something more is always expected, then when one party doesn't want anything more, the second party gets pissed off or their feelings are hurt and you're no longer friends.  I hate that.  I get along with men much better than women, but I don't want to sleep with all of my male friends, so they get bored once they realize it ain't happening and then I lose yet another good friend.  Anyway, I'm hoping he'll understand and maybe we won't have to have the talk, but I ain't holding my breath.

A couple weeks ago, I went to Chattanooga to walk around, take pictures, and do a little research for one of my novels.  That was wonderful.  I love Chattanooga and if I ever manage to get enough stuff paid off and if I can get over my fear of uprooting, I want to move there.  I got a lot of great pictures and good ideas and clearer visions of the novel in question.  I plan to go back soon to get a little more done.  I went with my new friend mentioned above, and while wonderful fun, I didn't get as much work done as I'd like to have.  I think I'll stay overnight next time too.  I also plan to borrow my parents' new house (that they have furnished but haven't moved into yet) in the mountains (Northeast Georgia) to stay and do some research for another novel.  Really looking forward to that too.

Last week, I found myself getting incredibly annoyed with work.  Nothing major happened and I didn't get overstressed or anything.  I just lost my patience with every aspect of my job.  Because I know this isn't where I belong, and I know this isn't the best use of my time.  But I do have to pay my bills and the only way to do that is to keep slaving away like the drone I've become.  I can usually deal with it pretty well as long as I have other things to amuse me during my free time and as long as I can continue to write and live, but I have my moments when I just resent the day Man came up with the brilliant idea of currency.  I'm sure that innocent little cave-dweller had no idea it would one day rule the lives of his descendants. 

The past couple weeks, I've discovered a need to chill and to have some time to myself - enough to maybe get some things done.  But all through this, there have been invitations to hang out, good visits with Dodd, bad visits with Dodd, arguments with Dodd, and peals of laughter with Dodd.  Has left me little time to relax. 

Really needing a day off from everything and everybody except the pen and my characters.  I keep getting this feeling like the only way I will ever find any sense of contentment with my career/life is to finish and publish a novel.  I HAVE TO FINISH SOMETHING SOON!  That becomes a more and more prominent thought with every day that passes.  The problem is finding the time and balance of time to do it.  Being more a "marathon" person, I have a difficult time stealing 15 minutes or even an hour a day for writing.  I need at least three hours if I really want to accomplish something.  Granted, that could be my problem.  But no matter what I try or what method I try to figure out, my writing suffers from cursory sessions.  So what's a girl to do? 

ESCAPE could be my only recourse.  Mountains, I'll see you soon.

Poem

the leaves having seen the sun
fall in love with it madly
while the root hides in darkness
lest the whole die
the root hears the whispers of the leaves
depends on their stories for hope
while the leaves scowl and smile below
knowing the root makes them live
but keeps them from the sun

 

copyright 2010

This is What's Wrong with the World

So of course last week I posted a link to bloginterviewer.com so that folks might vote for  my blog and perhaps draw more readers.

Since then, my simple little blog has been bombarded by spam comments.  This irks me to no end.  It's amazing to me how opportunistic punks will do their best to penetrate the smallest chink to try to get you to buy their service, their crap, their whatever.  I know it's just the way of things and I'm used to this kind of bullshit, but the fact that it exists just sometimes makes me want to scream.

I'm not trying to make any money off anything.  If I do anything, I'll monetize for a few cents to keep my bank account for getting overdrawn.  I have no dream that blogging could make me rich.  I don't even want to be rich.  I just want to be comfortable and have some fun sometimes. 

It just hurts me very deeply that my silly little ramblings have been thus polluted just when it starts to get a small following.  It makes the satisfaction less enjoyable. 

So, thanks to the bots and spammers, I've changed my comment settings.  You'll have to punch in the code and I have to approve them all.  I hope this doesn't deter anyone (a REAL person who might actually want to read my blog) from commenting.  I do enjoy comments. 

Much luck in your own blogging endeavors.  Maybe together somehow we can fight these blood-sucking leeches who prowl the blogsphere.

I Feel So Very Special

http://bloginterviewer.com/music/the-cereal-bowl-jennifer

One of my wonderful readers apparently recommended my blog to bloginterviewer and the interview is now up on the site.  I am truly flattered that someone thinks my babbling is interesting enough for such a recommendation.

If you like what I do here, please vote for my blog.  I like prizes.  :^)

One of the Good Ones

As I may have mentioned before, I'm a gigantic music nerd.  I have entire novels I've revamped because of one or two songs. 

This is one of them:
"Danko/Manuel" - The Drive By Truckers (or in this case, Jason Isbell & The 400 Unit).


Which brings us to my subject today. 

Jason Isbell is in my top five favorite musicians.  Why?  Because he's close to home.  He's from Muscle Shoals, Alabama, and he's got the accent and the history to prove it.  He's well-educated too.  A fellow English major.

But above all, the man has a poet's soul.  A poet's soul and a Southern accent are enough to make me a fan for life, but on top of this, he's got that power of observation that is so rare in musicians these days, but should be a requirement for them.  Just like writers, musicians have to know the pulse of the world.  Have to see the problems and savor the perfections.  Isbell is one of the few. 

He used to be in a band called the Drive-By Truckers.  I was already a gigantic fan of theirs because they tell the truth - the gritty, dirty truth.  But they tell it with reverence.  There's an air of veneration in even the darkest of their songs.  Veneration for the South, for past generations, and for the truth.  It's downright unbelievable. 

Perfect example:  "Outfit" (one of Isbell's from his Truckers period.)


Isbell left the Truckers a couple years ago, but neither he nor the Truckers have lost any of their edge or appeal.  Although granted, I do miss Isbell's influence on the rest of the Truckers and vice versa.

To the point, I love Isbell because he's the perfect representative for folks like me and my friends and my family.  Folks in this area have precious little to represent us, and to have a gift like Isbell pop up out of the blue maybe eight years ago is a downright blessing.  He takes the stereotype of a hillbilly/redneck and both destroys and explains it in his music, his lyrics, and even interviews. 

Like this one - I just saw this interview today when I was bored at work and surfing youtube.  Tell me you don't love a phrase like "blatent escapism" delivered in a North Alabama accent:
(sorry about the ad at the beginning)


Besides that, though, the man has a soul.  He's one of the most personable people I've ever seen on a stage, and you know he's got a story to tell.

He's one of those people who you just want to talk to.  If I ever meet him (after I get over the daze of actually meeting him), I won't gush and tell him how great he is.  I want to ask him where he came up with his outright dark, sinister story songs like "Decoration Day."

And how in the world the same mind (along with his brain trust, the 400 Unit) came up with something as personal and real as "Streetlights."

So just a suggestion.  If you're bored with the music you're hearing and wanting to try something new; if you're from the rural South and wonder why nobody has the balls to tell its story; or if you want to know what it's like to be from the rural South, download some Drive-By Truckers (I recommend The Dirty South or Decoration Day to start) or some Jason Isbell (all of his - download it now). 

Sorry to regale my loyal readers with so much fangirl geekery, but sometimes, it's just got to be done. 

I Wrote this little bit Saturday night

I think/hope the person it's about (the last part anyway) reads this blog.  If you still do, you know who you are.  :^)

She and this girl had come to the same conclusion at the same time.  I'm better than this...but I won't pretend I'm not going to visit from time to time. 

It wasn't about where she lived anymore, but where she was.  And this young girl knew it too.  But at least she has time to enjoy and hate the lessons learned.  Time to allow it to mold who she really is. 

I've already been there.

Done that.

Time to take her place where she belonged.  With someone who already knew and cared what she wanted and what she was.  The throwback.  Throwback being such a harsh term, she didn't like it.  Because he was better than a throwback.

Four years and two miserable wake-up calls later, maybe they were both ready to grow up.  Together this time.  They would never allow each other to sell out in the process of grabbing hold of their lives.  They'll pick out the most colorful pieces and weave them together with their baby blankets and prom pieces.  That vital self-knowledge that comes with age will serve them as long as they pay it heed.

Why stay so young when you know you'll never allow yourself to fade away?

So she said goodbye and I'll see you sincerely.  But she carried away a much lighter heart.

(copyright 2010)

What do y'all think?

My Writing Journal's Dust Layer Shall Be No More

I was outside smoking a cigarette this afternoon watching the tiny blossoms fall from the Bradford pears flanking the parking lot of my office building. I love things like that. Nature at its most graceful. I wanted to write down the description, but I stopped bringing my writing journal with me everywhere.

I figured out why as I enjoyed the cool breeze on this gorgeous spring day, feeling the writer in me come back to life. I don't know if it was the season, the house I was living in (I moved last weekend - YAY!), or just my general state of mind; but none of these things was right. None of them made me content. As a matter of fact, I've been in a darkness for quite some time, and I'm just coming out of it.

I'm not going to go all emo on you and say I was in the depths of despair because I simply wasn't. My mind was dusty. It needed the spit and shine of a new house, a new season, and a new view of the world. These things are so important for a person's sanity. Things come in stages and every time one of these things changes, a new stage starts. When they change all at the same time, it could be a life-altering one. I think that's where I am.

I unpacked the journal last night, but it didn't occur to me that I need to start toting it again until today. So welcome back you wonderful little Classic size "Cafe Terrace at Night" covered wonder. I missed you. I think you missed me too.

Happy Spring kids.