Looking Back on #Unveiled
A month ago, my friend Mehnaz Thawer came up with an idea; everyday for the month of September she would post a short sentence or concept about herself that people generally don’t know. Twitter hashtag use was perfect for a project like this, but she also elaborated on her answers each day on her blog. She encouraged others to join in the idea. I did so. While she kept a running commentary each day on her unveiled fact, I simply tweeted my choice each day, and am posting an overview of what I put here, on the final day of the project.
I know I have not mentioned some of these truths about me before. Others I have mentioned in passing or only under specific circumstances. In any case, I may not have explored or broadcast much of this before. So if you know me only a little, or think you know me well, there’s something for you here.
So, here are thirty truths about me. One for each day in September.
-Despite having dated and been intimate with several women in my life, I only ever asked one to dance. She said “no”. I was about 16, and at a high school dance. I had been given the impression that the girl in question at least liked me as a person. I didn’t have any impression that some hot romance was on the wing, but from what I’d gathered about her, and what she thought of me, I figured we might both enjoy a dance, and at least get to know one another. She rejected the notion so quickly and with such amusement that I was more hurt than embarrassed. Since that day, I’ve literally had more sexual encounters than I have dancing with a woman, so difficult is that memory. I never asked anyone again.
-Due in part to time I spent as a younger person in a radical Christian School, I have an aversion to the number six to this day. My mother didn’t know it was that kind of Christian school at the time. Though eventually spent a great deal of energy trying to explain to her how hateful the place was, she seems not to have understood, as I spent the next two years there. (7th and 8th grade.) Eventually she did understand, and I chose not to attend high school there. But in addition to tirades against gays, video games, Progressive values, and other religions, (and that was just in the math text book), the Number of the Beast was beaten into our heads pretty regularly. I’ve sense learned from more reputable scholarship that that number is not necessarily “666” as such people understand it literally. Nevertheless, I don’t like there to be 6 of anything. I have other problems I developed from that school, but that’s the easiest to explain. (Also, I’m a little OCD probably.)
-Excluding family, only two people in my ENTIRE life have ever apologized for deeply hurting/offended me. Two. (And half the time, not even family.) But in this case I am not talking about bumping into me and spilling my drink. I am talking about when the actions of the other person have obviously hurt me. (Often because I explain to them that they were hurtful.) In all but TWO cases, I am still waiting for the apology from those that inflicted the most pain on me. They will almost certainly never come, because it takes a bigness of spirit to do so. Many of the enthusiastic Christians I know have hurt me deeply, and none of apologized. The two I mentioned with the courage to acknowledge my pain/offense were an Athiest, and someone of undefined spiritual orientation. (At least at the time.) I consider both people among the most important people in my life, due in no small part to the fact that they had the decency to apologize. It’s a big deal, folks.
-I rarely throw parties because almost nobody ever comes to them. It’s true that I live in a somewhat rural area that would take a bit of driving for some of my friends/former friends to get to. Plus my house is small. But in the last ten years, before I parted ways with a lot of local people, I literally made the drive scores of times to attend the parties of other people. It has never been reciprocated. Few things are as humiliating as planning a party that nobody comes to attend. I was even house sitting a large country home with free food and everything and only two people showed up briefly. I invited at least a dozen. It’s hurtful to me, because it is like a chorus of “friends” saying, “you are not worth the time it takes to plan, or the gas money it takes to get to where you are.”
-When I speak, I feel that people are only truly listening to/understand me about 50% of the time. So I write. People wonder why I end up semi-shouting when I have an important point to make to a room. Usually it is because I’ve been looking right at people as I talk, and they look away or start talking to someone else. Maybe my voice is softer than I think, but that sort of “May I have your attention please?” approach gets exhausting. So I keep this blog, write messages to people, and pursue my fiction. I can’t guarantee anybody will read my stuff, of course. But I can at least be assured that my entire thought will be presented without interruption, and that seems rare when a group of people try to speak to one another about something important.
-I was psychologically bullied on a consistent basis in three consecutive schools. Little was done about it. My mother tried to do things about it, but telling me how I could handle it, and such. Eventually she put me in different schools. More than once. But despite making a few friends along the way, (who never stood up for me during the bullying, however), I had to deal with near constant, mean spirited teasing from 4th grade until most of 9th. In 9th I told the high school athletes to fuck off under no uncertain terms, and though they laughed as I did it, they did, basically quit after that. But that was due to my actions, and in 9th grade I was ready to make them. Before that, no effort was made by the authorities at any of my schools. In a few cases, the teachers actually joined in, and tried to convince me it was all in fun. (You read it correctly…in a few cases the teachers joined in.)
-From adolescence on, my closest friends have tended to be female. This requires no elaboration. It’s straightforward. Though I am not sure why it is true, exactly. Maybe it’s an introvert thing in reality, and I just know more introverted women than men. But I suspect part of it is that i was raised in a household, (after my father died) with two women, and had no male role models at any point in my life. I had a brother, but he was not in general bothered with me, as he was an adult. No other men stepped up when they had the chance. So, I got used to women, and the way they think and act, I suppose. An interesting note, many of my female best friends over the years have said that they relate better to men, and always have.
-I wish all meetings were conducted by Roberts Rules of Order. Not the most potent or personal #unveiled that I shared, but it is very much part of who I am. There is zero excuse for meetings to be chaotic. Yet almost without fail people say, “we’ll just make it informal, and get it over with.” Guess what? The more important the task at hand, the less likely a group is to get something done “informally”. Plus, with any group of people somebody will want to talk more, and others less. Remember I mentioned that I don’t think people are listening to me half the time? When everyone gets to talk in their turn for a specified amount of time, everyone gets to speak, if they want to. This isn’t hard, and it shows a professionalism and commitment to what you are doing. I HATE meetings otherwise.
-I hate coming of age stories. I don’t find a young person’s first love or first sexual experience dramatic. It’s fake drama. Part of this dislike is due to how often writers and move makers dip into this same well. Enough already. A lot of it also has to do with the fact that my “coming of age” was not typical, and I resent the notion that fairy tale novels and books support of an ideal for that milestone. And while I know “coming of age” doesn’t have to mean romance/sex, in the context of fiction it almost always does, and that just doesn’t interest me. Why is the first time Sue has sex, or the first time John sees a girls breast in person interesting? I enjoy seeing naked women, and I enjoy being with them. But it doesn’t make interesting fiction. And to be honest, the first time those things happened to me, I didn’t feel the earth was changing, and I didn’t hear a choir sing. It was just time to do something the first time, and it happened. It quite honestly didn’t change my life. Who cares who is boinking who for the first time?
-At age 7, I rammed my head into a parked car, so I’d have an “excuse” to cry at my father’s wake. I didn’t think I should cry. I don’t have an explanation as to why I felt this way. Nor can I tell you how it should come to pass that a seven year old child is able to think in such a layered fashion. But I felt what I felt, and did what I did. For understandable reasons, I don’t really want to delve much more into this one today, or you know, ever.
-I despise only one ex. She cheated on me, broke up with me in a heartless manner, and I sincerely think is a clinical psychopath. She would deny it if ever asked, of course she would. But we had plans to be married. That’s because nobody before or since this woman felt as initially tuned into what I am, and what I need. It quickly changed after a while, and she became a totally different person. She was often whatever she needed to be to get what she wanted at any given moment, I eventually noticed, and she never regretted it. “Deal” is what she would usually say when I was confused or hurt by something. I should have broken up with her when I knew what was going on. When I knew she had simply thought she wanted me for a time, morphed into what she had to to get me, and when I was dismissed, morphed into something else, and damn the pain it caused anyone. That’s a psychopath. Most of them are actually not violent, and she was not. She’s married with children now, (with the guy she cheated on me with), and I don’t think she does evil things to her kids. But she never showed much empathy for anyone but herself and she nearly destroyed me. Many of my friends are still friends with her to this day, and that bothers me. They didn’t comfort me in the pain I was in at the time. I’ve forgiven most of them for that, but I will never understand why they like a psychopath.
-I own more than a dozen decks of cards. Sometimes to focus or relax I will put each of them in order, only to shuffle them again. Just a little thing I do. Especially as I listen to audio books. It started with one deck, but as I got different decks for Christmas or birthdays, I’d add them to the procedure. It’s almost a sort of collection now. You don’t need a lot of decks to do it, though. Try it sometime. It’s more relaxing than you think.
-I’m a writer. But sometimes just before I sit down to write something I feel apprehensive and maybe the slightest bit ill. That is probably just fear. Of what? Ask all the other writers you’ve ever known. They won’t be able to answer it any better than I can. But they will know what I’m talking about…
-I rarely drive on highways and freeways. In fact almost never. They make me very tense and nervous. I’ve paid a price. Yes, my social life and job prospects over the years have suffered from this. But what can I say? I tense up and get nervous. I feel like there is a target on my back when I am on certain highways. Could I get over it someday? Not without training/help. So it’s back roads for me.
-Though I am not one myself, I have always had a certain affinity for the Jewish. If past lives are real, (I think it is possible) I think I must have been Jewish in one of mine. Even if not, I have for a long time been drawn to Jewish things. I am not a scholar on them. (Though, I do already know most of the things on lists called, “Things You Never Knew About Jewish People”. ) I think part of it is that Jewish people, at least the religious leaders among them, are in generally not afraid of intellect. They will wrestle with God and the Scriptures to figure out what is going on. They will disagree on the outcomes among one another, but still each other Jewish. I saw a movie once called the Disputation. In it, a Rabbi and a Christian in the Middle Ages are debating the merits of their respective faiths. At one point the Rabbi says about his people something along the lines of, “He is not afraid to look even God in the face and ask questions.” That to me is a big part of being Jewish. As is long suffering. They have been the world’s scapegoat and underdogs, unjustly, for thousands of years in one way or the other. I do not know if in my heart I believe they are specifically chosen by God himself or not. But I firmly believe that few peoples in the history of this planet have been more significant over longer periods of time than those of Judaism.
-As a kid I had several audio plays on cassette about American historical figures. I sometimes still listen to them. They helped a restless kid focus on something and sleep. They also allowed him to spent “time” with the historical figures he thought about so much. Cassette tapes were easy to put in and play for someone who was not especially coordinated as a child. And, though I didn’t recognize it as such then, it was theatre. The tapes, (now converted to CDs to preserve them) are not the finest quality productions ever. But they are an intrinsic part of me. And I still use them to help me sleep some nights. I still want to make an audio play like that myself someday. Maybe some restless kid will listen to it on his ipod or something.
-I have a general dislike of motorcycles and their culture. Controversial I know, but oh well. The vast majority of people on motorcycles simply don’t seem to care about any community or laws but their own. Not the ones I encounter every day, anyway. They alter their engines specifically to make window-shaking noise as they pass through towns. When they travel in groups, they block me from entering the road even when it’s a green light, so their entire group can pass through the red light at one time and not get split up. They weave in and out of traffic as though laws for motor vehicles are only suggestions for them. And then they have the nerve to launch public service campaigns about, “Be aware of motorcycles! Safety First!” I’m quite aware of them, because they are an obnoxious pain in my ass. And perhaps, just perhaps, the higher death rate for their drivers is due to what I have mentioned, and not because the rest of the world isn’t going out of it’s way to remember them.
-I was an adult before I realized that my memory of events, (tiny details, nuanced feelings) is far more potent than most. For the longest time, I thought all people remembered the phrases they uttered and what car we were in driving passed what building on what road when that thing happened 15 years ago. But they don’t. They remember the big strokes. Weddings, graduations, plays, their favorite moments from me and others when we were together. The “greatest hits”. But most people don’t recall the everyday nuance of a time gone by. Sometimes this keen memory of mine is a blessing; people love to be reminded, or informed of the little moments in their lives that meant something to me. (Funny moments are always easiest to remember.) Other times it is a curse…when people opt to cut you out of their lives, I remember every slight feeling from when we would hang out in said environment. So much so, that it sometimes take a few years before I will go back to a restaurant I last entered with someone who had abandoned me.
-I usually buy my clothes a size or two larger than I would need, because I hate tight clothing. I just don’t like constricting clothing. I know ideally people look best when clothes are tailored to them. I only have that done when I am in a play, and even then, when the numbers say that a given alteration will have the ideal fit, it usually feels at least a bit tight than I prefer. Especially near my neck.
-If you aren’t out of town, or in the midst of an emergency, it kind of hurts my feelings when you don’t return my messages. People get busy, I get it. But in this world of instant communication, where i can literally press a button and send a message in a matter of seconds to someone on the other side of this continent, being busy just seems like a lame excuse to me. Once in a while is one thing, but when you only reply to my messages on occasion, and even then after considerable delay (days)…well, I often feel like you can’t be bothered with me.
-I proceed slower in sexual matters than most men, (and some women.) Men aren’t supposed to admit that, but, I just did. Again, I enjoy sexual activity. But it just isn’t the motivating force for what I do every day. Plus, I have found that if two people take the time to be intimate for a while in other areas, being sexual is more enjoyable. I don’t even mean that all sex need be with someone you intend to spend the rest of your life with. But even people who just want to eliminate some loneliness and have some fun for a few months don’t have get started right away on having sex. I mean if that’s your thing, I am fine with it. But it is not usually my thing. I don’t like prudish people, I will admit. But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to take a bit of time with things first. A few weeks, maybe, in the least? It really is better for me when I can explore a person before I “explore” a person.
-In my country, I think patriotism sometimes goes too far. Again, controversial. But when someone hides behind their own flag in order to grant themselves infallibility, it’s too far. No country is infallible. No country is never wrong. My own included. It is the best place on earth for me to live, and it is true for many. But I can’t love my country to the point that I assume other cultures are merely incomplete, waiting to join the United States. There are other people of different mindsets that feel their own country in the best on earth, and if I have to call them wrong in order to love my own country, that’s patriotism gone too far. So is having to express it all the time. I should not have to prove constantly that I am patriotic. I shouldn’t have to stand for any song that isn’t the national anthem, just because “America” is mentioned in it. When I am made to feel I must show my patriotism in order to be considered a good citizen, patriotism has gone too far. I think each of these things happens a lot in the United States, sadly.
-I need my time alone, but generally speaking, I am the loneliest person I know of. Often when I most need company. I don’t know why. Maybe I am just not pleasant company. Maybe it’s because I live in a rural area. Maybe everyone is busy at the exact same time all the time. Maybe none of these things, or all of them. I only know that just because I am introverted, that doesn’t mean I don’t ever want people around. Having somebody, anybody available on a regular basis just to talk would be a great comfort to me sometimes. At present, I don’t have anyone outside of family to fill such a position. (Even though I make myself available to others for same.)
-Soon I intend to find out officially if I have clinical anxiety. I have been forced to admit in the last year or so, it feels like I may have it. I see signs of sickness or danger for my loved ones all the time. So I am going to find out.
-I detest when people are late for something. Especially when it is habitual. People who are late every single time are saying to me, “whatever it is you are doing, it’s not important to me. You (or this project) are a low priority in my life, because no matter what happens, every single day there are many things more important than making a plan and putting in the extra effort to be somewhere when I said I was going to be.” It’s breaking your word when you do it all the time. To be unreliable is to be untrustworthy.
-I did not have imaginary friends as a child. Instead, I talked to American historical figures. The Founding Fathers, mostly. But sometimes it would be Lincoln or JFK.
-I want to lose 15 pounds, but I have not succeeded so far. I am not obese, but I am not totally satisfied with my weight. Most days I walk at least two miles at a brisk clip, and at least once a week I try to walk four miles at the same clip. I have cut out most white flour, don’t drink soda often. (Usually I just drink water.) Dessert is an occasional thing. But I am not losing the weight. I don’t know why.
-Without any sense of narcissism I sincerely believe that at one point at least two of my friends were latently in love with me. I don’t know if they were/are in love with me, and refuse to say so, thinking I don’t sense anything, or if I am sensing something they are not aware of. And of course, I could be dead wrong. But I read between the lines. I take note of when they contact me. I notice word choices and take inventory of their behavior. I’m not a wizard of romance, but I have instincts, and they tell me what they tell me.
-I feel obligated to applaud anyone’s performance, unless they are terrible, or it’s clear they aren’t trying. I have booed ONCE. I guess it’s the performer in me. If someone is trying, i know what it’s like to be up there. Which may be why when someone isn’t trying, I don’t clap, and in one case just hissed at what he was doing. It was abundantly clear to me he was up there just to have people look at him and listen to him. His jokes were terrible, his chemistry with the audience almost non-existent, and he was holding up the rest of the show. So I hissed his 10th shitty joke of the evening.
-I sometimes have to put in a great deal of effort to not think of certain things that used to be. I usually lose that fight. I think the potent memory plays a role here. As does regret at things never quite being what I want in my life, and the various obstacles that have been thrown in my way by other people. The bad luck. Memories of better times. Vivid imagination. It’s all quite a fertile breeding ground for “What If?” or “Used to be”
-I pray each day, but I confess it doesn’t usually comfort me. In fact, it feels like an obligation I must keep or face consequences. Not sure what the consequences would be. I don’t think to think about it. This is due in part to my being a seeker, as well as being a bit obsessive over certain things I guess. Also, my time in the radical Christian school may account for this as well.
*
This was a fascinating at at times challenging project. I hope some of you that have read this far have learned something about me. Hopefully I have learned something about myself.
Why “Fangasm” Makes Me Angry. (And I’ve Never Seen It.)
A friend of mine recommended I watch a new show called “Fangasm“. I hadn’t heard of it before, but when I asked what it was, I got turned off pretty quickly. So much so that my friend felt I was being judgmental, and sort of apologized for even making the suggestion. She requested that we not even mention it anymore.
I don’t feel she owed me an apology for anything. And in my own defense, I don’t feel I was being judgmental about the show or its people. I will however confess that such a concept for a show did illicit strong, negative feelings inside of me. There are obvious reasons, and a few not so obvious ones that I thought I’d explore. I asked myself the question, “Why does this show anger me so much?”
Let’s start with the answers that are closest to the surface-the genre of the program, reality television.
Though I have over the years watched some reality shows, I watch fewer as time goes on. Today, basically none of it. Reality TV tends to anger me, because it asks me to believe that what is happening is indicative of how people actually behave. While I cannot deny that out there in this world there are people that behave the way people do on Fangasm or other such shows, it’s impossible for me to believe that they usually do. Science has taught us that the very act of studying something will, in some fashion, alter it. That could never be more true than it is with reality TV.
Reality TV takes any demographic and turns it into a collection of dancing bears. It doesn’t matter how innocent you think the group is, (there are even reality shows about the Amish, apparently), once it is on camera, it will not be true to life. Not 100%. That isn’t wrong per se, I suppose, but it gives a specific idea of a specific type of person. And then it seeps into society that if one is a member of said demographic, they must have something in common with Jane on Reality Show X. Not everyone is that stupid, (my friend isn’t) but I think reality TV is based around the fact that a lot of people are.
Secondly, as an actor and writer, I get pissed at the lack of creativity behind reality television. It’s cheap. It’s lazy. It’s not even junk food for the mind, as even junk food provides a small amount of nutrition for a moment. It’s actually gum. Maybe it’s even chewing tobacco-slowly rotting us from the inside. But mainly, it’s a ploy. I realize the point of show business is to make money, but should that money always be the easiest possible money, with minimum effort? Does nobody anywhere want to create quality drama, or explore intelligent humor? Fewer and fewer seem to want that every year, as formerly intelligent, educational, and useful networks such as The History Channel, National Geographic Channel and A&E morph into reality show repositories “History”, “NatGeo” and, well…still A&E, but it now stands for “Redneck Fetish Bait” instead of “Arts and Entertainment.”
Even the Weather Channel and Food Network are mostly reality TV. The quick way to make money without having to think.
Now, I have known a few people that work in reality television. They are smart people. But they acknowledge that such shows are basically cut together in a way that “suggests” the most dramatic story arc for any given episode. There are writers for such shows, but they are curators first.
So reality television as a whole is troubling and annoying to me. Yet I can’t swear there would never be a reality show again that I would watch, I suppose. Which brings me to the second part of my self-exploration on my feelings towards Fangasm; why does the concept of this particular show piss me off so much, when other reality shows might simply annoy me?
I will pretend for a moment that the nerds in this show are “real”. That is to say they are not, (as I actually suspect) actors that are geeking it up to make a “reality” show. So stipulated for the moment, your honor.
First and foremost, the show does for “geeks” what The Big Bang Theory does for them. (Another show I detest.) Both shows embrace this stereotype of geeks and nerds being pathetic, socially maladjusted goofs. Yet they somehow manage to have great lives. At least with Big Bang, they are written that way, as unrealistic as it may be. (A woman that hot dating that guy? Please.) But a show like Fangasm, exploits people who apparently actually are obsessive disciples of whatever. I wish “geeks” that were not eccentric buffoons would take a stand against shows like this more often. I’d do it myself, (actually I guess I am in a way) but I’m not sure if my fandom or knowledge for specific things qualifies as “geekdom” or not.
Let’s say I do qualify as a geek for a moment, though. A theatre geek maybe. A Shakespeare geek more specifically, if you like. You wouldn’t know it on any given day. I don’t wear my hair like Shakespeare did, nor do I dress like him when I attend his plays. I do have a shirt with him on it. (A shirt) but I am not likely to wear it every day, and certainly not to a formal affair. If you came into my room, you’d have to actually look for signs of Shakespeare. (The third shelf of my bookcase if you’re curious.)
In short, I love his plays, and I love performing them. I love talking about them with people who know them. I’d be in one per year if I could. I’m even writing a play based on his plays. Furthermore, I don’t embrace many social norms. I can be a hard to read pain in the ass. So where’s my tv show? Where is my free meal ticket? I guess my passions aren’t interesting to TV producers, because I don’t make a pretty constant ass of myself over my fandom. I am not obsessed. So, I don’t get a show.
If your very identity is tied up in what you are a fan of, whether that be Stan Lee, or Star Wars or differential calculus, you’ve crossed a line in my world. That isn’t to say that people don’t have the right to be this way. They do. I support their human and legal rights as much as I support anybody else’s. People have the right to be obsessed geeks. Just as people have the right to never bathe, and to fart with vigor in the seat across from me on the bus. That doesn’t mean I find such people personally appealing or acceptable company.
There are people I do admire. People who have achieved good things in fields I pursue. I’d enjoy meeting some of them. I like to think I’d be dignified if I did. While I can’t predict with 100% accuracy how I would behave if I met some of the people I admired, I feel comfortable in telling you I would not reach up and rub their face.
You see, I couldn’t get away with that. Nor would I want to. If I did so like the jack ass in that commercial did, I’d be rightly seen as a creepy, obsessive loony tune. But if a geek does it, and it’s George Takei’s face? Well that’s just great television! It’s passionate and ever so geeky, right? No, it’s criminally sycophantic in the real world. But who cares? Geeks! (If Takei had shoved that loser, I’d have given him a standing ovation. But that’s not Takei.)
Same goes for a hot woman in an R2-D2 cocktail dress. Did you notice how every single female “geek” in that commercial for Fangasm is hot? That’s true geekhood there…find the hottest women, and put them on television, and make them talk about the fact they love comic books or something. Where are the homely geeks? The overweight ones? The ones with imperfect skin? Oh yes, this is reality TV, and unless the show is, “Ugly People Wars”, we don’t want them on our show. Sorry but if you aren’t a pretty female geek, you don’t get to work with Stan Lee.
The guys, as far as looks, may be a bit more “average” looking… so an average looking guy might be worthy of working for Stan Lee. But then again the guys play into the plaid wearing, unshaven, crazy hairdo stereotype, so that works. They are so passionate about what they love, they can’t find the shampoo. It’s endearing, I suppose? If a comic book genius wore a suit and tie all day and drove a Volvo, would he be less qualified to work with Stan Lee? No. Would he fit into this 3-ring geek circus? No.
So I suppose if I had to sum up, shows like Fangasm anger me because I see them as yet more lazy, fake television productions. I suspect that the “geeks” are not real, and I am somewhat insulted that I am asked by SyFy to believe that they are. It pulls on the heartstrings of people who think, “Gee, I’m just a geek too…there’s hope for me!” Except there isn’t in this context. First, it isn’t geek if it goes mainstream, and that’s what all these shows are doing. Secondly, they are looking for performers, not geeks.
I actually prefer to believe it is all staged and fake, because the alternative is even more unsavory to me. The idea that such people allow themselves to act like this, and then get rewarded for it by a television network, while I sit here in my room, just as passionate and just as weird (but hopefully more socially adjusted) as any of them, but without a TV show is sickening. I get told I need to straighten up and behave as the world expects. These fools get to be as childish as they want to be, and get paid for it.
I prefer one standard. Either everybody, everywhere gets to be true to themselves, and reap the benefits, or nobody does.
Have you seen the show, or shows like it? Are you a geek? What do you think?
Enter the Ritual
Many writers have rituals they go through before they begin to write, or while in the midst of doing so. Despite my being a creature of habit to a large extent, I don’t generally go through any writing rituals.
I have a few rituals for when I am performing on stage. I don’t do anything complicated or disruptive. I like a few minutes in quiet solitude. When there is room I like to pace quite a bit. There’s a specific penny I play with for a while before taping it to my foot for the duration of the performance. That’s about it. But I have nothing even so simple as that to enter the writing frame of mind. However, I’ve thought recently that it’s time for me to establish some sort of ritual or habit for my writing times.
As it stands now, I do in fact do most of my writing in the first segment of my day. Not right when I get out of bed, and not at the exact same time every day, but within a range. If I may say so myself, I’ve gotten a decent amount of writing done this year, even though at times it’s like digging a ditch with an ice cream scoop.
But for the last few months or so, I have felt just a bit distant from my writing. I agree that a writer can’t wait for transcendent inspiration each day before he starts writing. Little gets completed that way. At the same time I do believe that a writer should feel a certain degree of connection to his material and his process. A comfort or motivation that more often than not I have been somewhat lacking for most of 2013.
There are probably several reasons for why this has been happening. I’ve addressed some of them. (The last week or so, I write earlier in the day than I had been. I’ve worked on all of my writings in a row, instead of spreading them throughout the day.) I’ve also tried to eliminate certain stresses in my life with varied results. More remains to be done as I explore this certain sluggishness of spirit; my goal is to become more engaged in my writing again. (Small signs are it is slowly working thus far.) Enter the ritual.
By ritual I don’t just mean writing at the same time each day. Truth be told I don’t think i could adjust to that one. But like the things mentioned in that link at the top of this article. I don’t intend to climb inside a coffin and write, (that’s really troubling to me…), but I do plan to establish some kind of habit(s) which will specifically dictate that I am about to enter the “writing state” as it were.
As for the more practical ideas, I don’t have much room in my home, so I can’t comfortably establish a separate office for just my writing, as is recommended by many. Though it goes somewhat against my grain, I might revisit the idea of doing some of my writing in a coffee shop once in a while. Once in a while, I do play with the billiards 8-Ball I have sitting on my desk as I write, but not regularly. But what I’m really thinking of right now is clothing.
I think I’m going to look for an article of clothing that I will wear only when writing or am about to do so. Something that can remain dormant, and waiting for me in the same place each day, which, when donned, opens my mind more fully to the specific experience of writing. Something that I will never wear for any other reason. In theory, much like the separate office, the coffee shop or the coffin, (again, creepy), my mind will with time learn to associate that clothing with the act of writing-hopefully to the point that I will be more ready to do so just by putting it on.
I don’t mean that a piece of clothing will give me all of my ideas, and fix the problems with a manuscript for me. But I need something ritualistic to get me into the right frame of mind to engage with my own writing, and I think this may be an inexpensive and simple way of pursuing that end.
Though I already have an idea of what I’m looking for in this regard, I’m reluctant to share more of anything about it here. Not yet, anyway. I don’t want finding it to be a crusade or a mission in its own right. I don’t want to associate the article with other stresses or significant thoughts. It needs to be associated with my sitting down to write and nothing more. If I find something and try it out for a bit and if it works, then MAYBE, if you’re good, I will tell you about it in more detail.
I can say I will begin my search this very day, and that it shouldn’t be particularly difficult to find.
Do you have any rituals for establishing the writing mindset? Tell me about them. (Unless it’s the coffin thing…I don’t think thinking about the coffin thing.)
(Don’t) Make Them Pay
When I was in the planning stages of starting my local Introverts Meetup, some suggested I require a nominal fee to attend the meetings. The argument was that nobody who signed up for the group would feel obligated to honor their “yes” RSVPs if they didn’t have a financial investment in the group.
When I do community theatre productions, a similar rationale is made, in reverse. There is often at least one or two people that figure they are volunteers, and that if they need to drop out of a rehearsal or two any given day when something better comes along, that’s their prerogative.
On the other side of the performance fence, there is often a reluctance to schedule free performances of certain plays. One the theatre side, the fear is that the audience won’t be motivated to keep quiet during the show and watch respectfully if they haven’t had to pay for the seat they’re taking up. Again, financial investment, so goes the logic, is a prerequisite if we are to have any expectation of courtesy. A fair number of people in a free audience may think the same thing…that if they didn’t pay for this show, they might as well treat it casually as a place to get out of the rain for a while.
These positions, to me, all represent essentially the same basic belief: that personal respect and responsibility can only be bought. That the one true motivation to do or be anything in society is to move money around. This is a sad, if not pathetic approach to take to all of our endeavors.
You may not like it, but that’s the way the world is. That old excuse for not putting an effort into anything at all is what some have told me about all of this. And while I certainly accept that there are some things about the world that cannot be changed, personal responsibility and respect are not among those things. Those things, which give us true value as individuals outside of our wallets, are in fact within the personal control of each and every one of us.
An honorable person does the right thing, even when it is not convenient. That is what makes them honorable. They choose to honor their commitments, their obligations, their agreements. They do so because they value their name. Those that behave in such ways only when there is a financial stake in the matter are unconcerned about the value of their name. And if they do not even value themselves enough to do what they say they are going to do, how much value can they really see in other people?
Now, I can’t control whether or not everybody else shows me respect and courtesy. I can, however, control my emotional investment in such people. I have the ability and the right to decide that if Jake Smith doesn’t honor commitments without financial benefit, I will not work with him anymore. He is not welcome to take part in my endeavors. And while that may in the short run drain my talent pool of the Jake Smiths, is that really a bad thing in the long run? If I behave in such a way as to insist I go into business or friendship only with honorable people, eventually honorable people will make up the majority of those with whom I associate.
Nobody can make you volunteer for anything. The moment they can force your hand it is obviously no longer volunteering. Volunteering is a choice, whether it’s at a soup kitchen, in an amateur theatre production, or to meet someone for brunch. Your name and reputation are based not upon what you are paid to do, but on what you choose to do. What does it say about you when you never choose to do what you agree to do? What does it say about me if I expect you to give me money of some kind before I allow you to associate with me and what I do?
Business is business, and there are contracts for that. People in business should not give away their products and services. Customers should not expect free stuff. But if the only contract you are willing to honor is the one signed in ink, which can lead you to the courthouse if you ignore it, I think it is best that I ignore you.
Financial investments are an aspect of life. They don’t define it. At least they shouldn’t. They certainly don’t for me. And if that’s the way the world is, it’s time each of us as people accept some personal responsibility, and insist on something better from one another.
What I Know About the Navy Yard Shooting
Sometimes you go numb, and sometimes you get pissed off. Maybe it’s because this Navy Yard shooting is so close to home for me, or maybe it was just time for me to be pissed, but pissed I am.
I don’t know anymore about what happened than anybody outside of authorities knows at this point. I know that it is yet another example of “good guys with guns” not being enough to prevent this from happening. I know victims families couldn’t care less about political squabbling over the issue. I know that the NRA will use this latest rash of murders to further their corporate agenda, and that as a society we will barely blink at the audacity of them doing so. I know that this society is sliding into some sort of undefined oblivion, the consequences of which are at best the slow decay of our collective humanity and at worse the first stage in our own extinction.
I know civilized societies experience tragedies, but I also know that civilized societies should not be experiencing them multiple times a year, such as this country has done recently. I know that while I may not have the answer to what to do about all of this, an answer from society as a whole is as urgent as it is elusive. Perhaps it is urgent because it is elusive.
I know a year from now somebody somewhere will lay a wreath near a plaque of some kind at the Navy Yard, and words and prayers will be spoken and broadcast. It will all pass into the lore and legends of the District of Columbia even as more tragedies, (many if not most involving shootings) will rise up into our collective, diminished attention span in a seemingly perpetual ebb and flow of broadcast mayhem de jour.
I also know there are still good people. Heroes. Kind, brave and generous people. I try to be one myself, (though I don’t know how successful I have been.) But despite my knowledge of such people being out there, I know that if something doesn’t change pretty fucking quick in this society, and people having lunch at a military installation, or seeing a movie in Colorado, or going to fucking elementary school continue to be vulnerable on a regular basis, the good, honest, brave, kind people are going to lose the battle. It’s only a matter of time, if the deepest aspects of the citizenry do not rouse themselves from the fat, ipad/smartphone/texting/short attention span complacency into which we are ever so gradually allowing ourselves to sink.
I know it.
Ty Unglebower 