Give me a second to provide a secondary dot before I get to the main point of this blog post.
Recently in class I was lecturing on writing traits before my students started writing their essays. When I came to the trait of Voice / Tone, I introduced it as the magical trait. Where the real heart of writing is expressed. On my slide for this it stated that this is the connection between writer and reader.
Then, I asked them to consider their favorite musical artist. We discussed the reasons they had for enjoying their music. One student said that the artist sang about things that she connected with. I smiled and pointed at my PowerPoint.
I learned of the passing of Duncan Sheik earlier today. He was 56.
I want to cry, but I have a full day of classes.
I was in a meeting when my mom texted me that Prince had passed away. I couldn’t cry then, either.
Macklemore wrote, “In fifty-something years, I won’t be here / There’ll be a kid with some headphones coverin’ his ears / Walkin’ ’round a hallway, dreamin’ of ideas / Find himself in the sound ’cause music is a mirror” (song, “Excavate”).
Today my mirror is darker because of Duncan Sheik’s death. There will be people who don’t cry because of this, but they didn’t have the same connection, and that is OK. I did not cry when Dolly Parton passed away last month. Not the same connection.
But we all cry for someone because of the connections. The magic of voice. A voice that I can still enjoy through Duncan Sheik’s music.
This song was number 23 on my top 100 songs of all time… If you take the time to listen, you may understand me better.
You may or may not have noticed I did not write a blog post yesterday. I had posted for 11 straight days. WordPress let me know each day what my streak was. And I was so tempted to just write something (I am considering doing a ‘5 I Can’t Live Without’ with books and movies) to keep my streak alive…
But I didn’t.
The streak is over. WordPress’s automated response was quiet yesterday.
Which brings me to a deeper question, why do I write?
At the moment I am at The Blue Moon with my favorite writing drink, a Bizarre Orange Encounter. I am supposed to be working on my novel, but I wrote a poem for the weekly Battle Born poetry challenge. Which I think turned out awesome! And now, I’m writing this blog post as I took a few minutes to watch the traffic inside and outside the coffee shop and started to ponder what I was doing with my writing life.
Part of the tension was my goal of working on my novel but spending time writing a poem. It’s not a bad thing to write the poem, I had the idea and even the poetic form I thought would work bouncing around in my head. The morning has been productive (plus a #blog post to share).
But I will be 110 years old soon (my dad joke, I double my age). In 5th grade I wanted to be a writer. I have been writing ever since, sometimes just to handle the pain in my soul, sometimes to share ideas and help other writers, but mostly whatever the muse hits me with.
Not the most efficient way to build a following for my blog, to complete a novel, or even produce poetry that people read or care about.
To be honest, one of the darker reasons I write is to feel a sense of validation. To be seen. To feel that I am worth, worth something. My psychologist side knows and understands this (for those who don’t know, my first degree is in psychology and I was in grad school to become a psychologist before I totally switched gears).
Last night as I was finishing the dishes thinking about just throwing something up on to my blog to keep the streak alive I realized that I was just trying to get some recognition from a digital source. From a notification that would have a little badge, maybe with an arrow pointing up. The muse was not inspiring me, I was dealing with any of my emotions. I was just going to write because of that small hit of validation that would come because I kept my posting streak alive.
I will always have that tension of trying to achieve my writing goals, poetry, blogs, short stories, and a few novels. The muse is an infuriating source of inspiration, but I love the rush of her touch. And I am working on the aspect of my worth connected with my writing. But maybe it’s part of the writing life when you try to write from your heart, even if it is dealing with the cracks and bruises of life. My writing is me.
Just sharing a song that I’ve been connecting with lately…
transitive verb : to call into question the truth of
noun : a lack of confidence
To me doubt is a heavy stone that often sits on top of my lungs. The weight pushes against my sternum, sending small pulses that make my tear ducts itchy.
In everyday life we all can be plagued with this feeling. Doubts greatest strength is in its ability to make you question any aspect of your life. Your parenting, your skills, your personal growth, your relationships, any aspect of living. Doubt adapts to any situation, which makes it hard to battle. Especially since the fuel it uses comes from the external world, from other people’s opinion and reaction to us, from social media, from the negative bombardment of society.
It all sits so heavy in our chests.
Trust is an antonym to doubt.
According to Merrian-Webster TRUST is defined as
transitive verb : to rely on the truthfulness or accuracy of
noun : assured reliance on the character, ability, strength, or truth of someone or something
To me trust is the foundation I build from the beauty of everyday interactions with loved ones. To live in the talents and dreams I have for my life.
In everyday life we have the opportunity to show our strength, build our character by the way we approach our relationships, to be honest in living according to what we say is valuable. Trust takes work and work is a part of every aspect of our lives. Trust opens up our hearts. It gains power from our talents, from the work we do, and the way we treat others.
I find that doubt gets to me when I am not engaged with my everyday life. When I value other people’s opinions, especially regarding my writing, over the joy of being fully engaged with what I love to do. Doubt is never ending in its attacks or the ways it can find to sit heavy in my chest. But I trust the sunrise. I trust the words I write. I trust in the truth of living by loving every day.
I carried my box back to the car, still full of books, but minus a few bookmarks.
Yesterday I attended an author event, one I have routinely been a part of for the last four summers. There was a big change this year. The event was part of the town’s summer concert series. We were indoors just across from the bandstand. The room was full of indie authors and artists selling their projects. The street was closed off. There were food trucks, games for kids to play. A classic summer time event.
I gave away a few bookmarks.
From what I could tell, there were only two books sold. No artwork left the building.
I drove home contemplating this writing thing.
Now, I did get to talk to people. One person shared her story of losing her mom after reading my poem “While Death Waits.”
But still, the question of what I was doing ran through my head, through my heart. Something I’m pretty sure all indie authors ask at different times.
And deep down I know I will continue to write. I actually have a new collection of poems ready to go, just need to finalize a few things. I’ll keep flinching every time I get a rejection email (read one last Thursday). I am a writer.
Maybe today someone picked up their new bookmark and thought about the poet they met last night… of course they are using it in a book I didn’t write…
Spin magazine does a cool “5 Albums I Can’t Live Without” series. And for my faithful readers you know I love writing music based blog posts. I will be honest, I have been thinking about my 5 albums for almost a month now. Trying to figure out if I should include soundtracks, greatest hit collections, and what makes a great album for me. Also, do I only choose one album per artist? (Yeah, I could pick a number of Prince albums.)
So, here are my guidelines for the 5 albums I can’t live without. One album per artist. No soundtracks with various artists. No greatest hits collections. And I have to like the whole album, meaning no song would ever be skipped. So here we go… and in no particular order.
Album number one is Blind to Reason by Grayson Hugh.
The song “Talk it Over” was on heavy rotation for VH1 in 1988. But his second release from the album, “Bring It All Back” hooked me and I traveled to Casper to buy the CD and I have been listening to his music ever since.
The first song on the album, “Romantic Heart” is easy to sing along too, but the lyrics hit with just the right mix of positivity and dreamer ideology. Perfect for my heart.
“Bring It All Back” is a great love song. Grayson’s song writing is fused with some great descriptions, many times with nature at the center. The second verse in this song is a perfect example of his skills,
When the falling leaves are filled with rain
Oh, you heart it calls to me
Say when will I see you again
And the wind will answer me
But not all his songs are centered on romantic relationships. “Finally Found a Friend” is a hidden gem on this album. Grayson hits a deep nerve of our loneliness that can only be tempered by friendship. And by the end of the song, your soul is singing and reeling in thoughts of people you love.
The final song, “Empty As the Wind,” is on my writing playlist. This song highlights Grayson’s depth of subject and use of nature to highlight the theme of the song. I turn to this song at times when I am feeling blue.
Grayson Hugh’s Blind to Reason is a wonderful journey musically and lyrically. Even when he is singing about the troubles of love or life, my soul is lifted by his songs.
April is National Poetry Month, and many poets write a poem everyday. I am one of those poets. I use the prompt provided on the Writer’s Digest site. I read the prompt in the morning. Let it sit for a while and then find time to write the poem. During that time I also consider different poetic forms to use. I have written three poems so far in forms I’ve never used before. I like using this month to work on my skill set and to experiment a little.
I wrote a poem yesterday (April 7) that I really like. And writing the poem has backstory that highlights the creative process.
The prompt for April 7 was a Two for Tuesday situation: Dawn or/and Dusk. Robert Lee Brewer is the editor for the poetry section for Writer’s Digest. He is the one that provides the prompts, and Tuesdays have always been a double sided prompt.
My first reaction was actually lackluster. Nothing really jumped out at me while I had my morning coffee. I also knew that I would be helping monitor a room for the ACT yesterday. Our school administers the ACT for our juniors every year. My only job is to walk around and make sure ovals are filled in correctly, handle any questions. I don’t even say anything regarding instructions.
As the testing got started I was not thinking about the prompt, instead I had this idea in my mind from a book I recently read, Birds Art Life: A Year of Observation by Kyo Maclear. She ends a chapter with a line about how there is never a day without birds.
As I walked around the room (I walked over 10,000 steps during the ACT) a poem started to take root. During the break I grabbed a piece of paper and got the ideas down. During instructions and the small break I made notes or added lines.
Because I felt like I had different ideas that still connected, I made the poem into a four part work. I was excited to sit down after track practice to write it and share to the community of poets on the Writer’s Digest site (and other social media).
After dinner I announced I would be writing my poem. The family is used to these kind of announcements, it is just our fun way of letting me have time to write. I grabbed my computer, my headphones, and no poem. I searched my computer bag again. I swore I placed the rough draft in my bag. Nothing.
I almost drove back out to school to get it, but I decided to trust my memory and write the next draft. When I got to school this morning, I checked the final draft to the rough draft, it was almost the same poem. There was a line or two that I changed or added but I would have done that anyway. Second (third, fourth…) drafts always have a change, that is the fun part of writing. Trying to bridge the muse with the audience.
Maybe because the poem took extra work, had extra stress, I like this poem. And with that, here is my dawn / dusk poem:
Let’s see if I can express myself well in this blog post. I know as I sit down to write this that I will be challenged in my ability to express this abstract experience with this page and the words I choose to express myself with.
Let’s start with the idea of connecting dots. Faithful readers know I use this idea a lot. But it helps make connections to ideas or moments, even when they seem random.
Dot One
Did you notice?
Did you notice I was not there on social media, especially X? It is OK if you didn’t. I’m not sure anyone really did. My screen time is averaging 2 hours and 50 minutes a day for the last couple of weeks (at the end of this week it should be about 2 hours and 40 minutes).
At the moment, X is my 8th used app. It is even behind my Clock app. I did not disappear, I reposted, shared some info, but I didn’t really engage with people or share original content. And X went on without me.
Dot Two
Why I reduced my interaction with my phone and social media.
This is one of the tricky parts I alluded to in the introduction. I was hurt because of poetry. Rejection emails, poetry battles, and the loss of community hit my spirit hard. Every creative person goes through rough spots, the last three weeks have been brutal for me, in so many different ways. Emotionally it was like standing in the middle of a downpour as a blizzard swept in while an earthquake happened.
Dot Three
What did I gain from the last two weeks?
New Poetry. Ironic isn’t it.
I also gained an appreciation for my voice, for my style. It sounds funny to say this at this stage of my writing career, but I am always reminded of something Ray Radbury said in an interview late in his career. He said it took him 10 years to finally write a short story that he felt reflected his authentic voice.
I may not be popular, but no one writes like I do.
And I will keep trying to share my work, knowing that my email folder will be filled with rejection responses because that’s what we do, we create and share with the world.
Dot Four
What I really gained from the last two weeks…
The depth and quality of our life is found in how engaged we are in our own lives.
I read the article “The Lonely Death of George Bell” from the New York Times in 2015. (It is behind a paywall now.) It haunts me to this day. The quick summary of the article is that George dies in his apartment alone, and it took weeks before anyone noticed enough to investigate. Even his drinking buddies, whom he saw only at the bar, did not do anything when he stopped showing up.
We all get 24 hours in a day. And we, for the most part, get to decide what we do with that time. I’ve talked about this idea in different blog posts for years and connected to different topics. The small shift in understanding from the last two weeks is that how we engage with that time matters.
I didn’t stop living just because I was not on X. Dadlife has been in full swing, daughters are in tennis, and my third daughter was also in the school musical. I took my walks. I wrote poetry.
Twenty-four hours can go by without us doing anything, even if we are on a screen or not. Being aware, but even more importantly, choosing what and who to engage with builds the textures of our life. Gives us the colors, the heartache, and the words to live a life we can call art.
Next year starts 2026. As we have done since 2015,each member of the family chooses one word for the next year. We each share the reason behind the word, and then design our display. This year we are using small wooden clipboards.
As you can see from the picture my word is MAGIC.
There are a number of reasons behind my choice for the word. I want to create more magical moments, which I tried to do this Christmas, actually, when Santa visited our house for everyone. There were 8 filled stockings under the tree (my six children and my new daughter-in-law and my son’s longtime girlfriend). And yes, Santa visited my wife, even if she didn’t get a stocking, she had presents under the tree.
But to have magical moments I have to be active as a father, a husband, and even as a poet. Magic doesn’t happen staring at a screen. It happens when my children laugh, my wife smiles, someone replies to a poem I wrote.
I have some really big goals this year. Accomplishing them will be magical. Jon Finch once said, “Magic is the poetry of impossibilities, each trick a stanza in the verse of wonder.” And I am a good poet.
Robert Lee Brewer has some favorite prompts he uses for the PAD challenge. One of them is the BLANK prompt. Robert gives a word and the filler BLANK with it. As poets we are supposed to use it as the title of the poem. This poem was written for the prompt, New (Blank).
“New Hands”
I wish I had new hands.
These do not write great poetry
or handle precious things properly.
–
My hands are callous and scarred
from traveling too far
from other hands
that only wanted
to know
I would never let them go.
–
These hands have broken
bread with no intention
of keeping
the promises set
at a table
I was invited to
but no longer
have a seat at.
–
I wish I had new hands.
These ache
with the weight
of carrying
the expectation
of caring
for a family tree
I’ve never enjoyed
the shade of.
I planted my own sapling
in soil I created
by breaking the stones
that held generational sins.
–
I wish I had new hands.
These are pale
from years spent in darkness,
fighting against the scales
Fate used in measuring
my worth.
No matter what I paid,
what dreams I placed
on the plate,
it never balanced
my life’s fulcrum
because Fate
kept its thumb
on the plot
I thought I was writing.
–
I wish I had new hands.
These are failing
in doing the work
of living a life
worth holding on to.
Poetic Form: Spoken Word
I sat with the idea for this poem for a while because of doubt. I am not sure what triggered the idea of having new hands, might have been just noticing my hand as I drank my coffee, but I was unsure of the idea. The idea of replacing my hands simply seemed unrealistic.
The line, “I wish I had new hands” just kept running through my head. I considered some poetic forms that use a refrain for the idea. Poetic forms like the quatern, the dansa, and the kyrielle. But as I wrote down a few lines, the forms didn’t feel right.
I actually tried to come up with some new ideas for the prompt, like “A New Day”, “New Words”, and some other ideas written on a post-it note. But I couldn’t shake the idea of new hands. I couldn’t shake the doubt either.
In fact you can read the doubt in the first stanza.
I’ve learned over the years to trust the muse more than doubt. It is hard, but once I take the first steps into the idea my creativity takes the wheel. Besides a few edits, this poem is as it was written on the yellow legal pad I used for writing during the PAD challenge. I wanted to write in longhand for each first draft during the challenge.
I also stayed with the more negative idea of why I needed new hands. But kept the idea of a refrain to start each section that dealt with the reason for why my hands were falling. I also focused on how the poem sounded as if I was at a poetry slam. That is why there is inconsistent rhyming, alliterations, and different line breaks. I do hope to use this poem in a poetry slam this summer.
The writing of “New Hands” highlights the battle I face sometimes between doubt and the idea the muse gives to me.
Please feel free to share how you deal with doubt in the comment section.
Over the last two years I have made a number of trips home to Wyoming. Regular readers know why. As I traveled north on I-25 I always enjoyed seeing the mountains in the west. When the sky is just blue, Laramie Peak cuts a wonderful scene against the sky.
Like many people, I think about how cool the view would be from the top of the mountain.
I am not much of a mountain climber, but there are lots of people who have that drive. According to a number of different sources, about 800 people reach the summit of Mount Everest each year, even though Mount Everest is the deadliest mountain to climb. It has a death zone that starts at the elevation of 8,000 meters. Twelve percent of the deaths over the years are from exhaustion.
On my walk I was thinking about trying to go home this summer, and then I started to think about the past trips and the mountain range (and actually of the handful of poems I’ve written from those trips). In one of those magical moments where ideas lead to ideas and then to connections, I thought about how we use climbing a mountain as a symbol of reaching our personal goals.
And why the symbolism works.
Everyone loves the view of their goals as they travel the road of everyday living. We think about how great the view of life would be when we reach those goals. But that thought is not enough to motivate most of us to actually put on our gear and start climbing.
I’ll use Mount Everest as an example for reaching our goals.
First is time. On average it takes 6 – 10 weeks to reach the summit of Mount Everest. Part of the reason is to safely adjust to the altitude.
There are milestones and adjustments when striving for a goal. Be it time, sacrifices, or even self development. Trying to fulfill a dream takes a commitment of time that we sometimes don’t want to give. It’s easier to continue on the highway and look at the goal on the horizon.
Second factor is the cost. Just the license to climb Mount Everest is $11,000 from the government of Nepal. Also, there is the cost of equipment and the Sherpas’ services to reach the top.
The cost of reaching a goal varies for sure. But I am in the red for the total amount I have paid for gas, bookmarks, and postage compared to how much I’ve made selling books, and it’s not even close.
Then there is the cost of pain, physical and emotional. While climbing Mount Everest, climbers will experience altitude sickness, fatigue, and the weather conditions can change quickly. I can’t even imagine how many times they have to deal with the voice in their head telling them to give up. Sir Edmund Hillary, one of the first climbers to reach the summit, said, “It’s not the mountain we conquer, but ourselves.”
Isn’t this true for everyone who strives to reach their goals? It is one of the most important reasons to go after our goals. There is a reason why we have a dream. It is connected to our spirit, it is a reflection of who we can be. So, even if we never fully reach the summit of our goals, we become the person we can be by striving for that goal.
It’s easy to just drive past the mountain ranges as we travel this life. Gaze at their majestic beauty. Think about the view from the top, how wonderful it would be, but keep the cruise control on.
Or go after that dream that beckons you. There is an exit coming up that will take you to the base of the mountain. It has always been there, just like the mountain range.
