Donations

I'm a charitable guy. I don't always give, or give voluntarily, but my heart lives in a charitable house; the doors are always open. For me, giving is private. I rarely mention that I give at all. Charity is to serve others, not broadcast what a great guy I am.

I have blogs that do that.

In this blog I'll be talking about my great of charity and how wonderfully giving I am.

Last Weekend I gave of Rob twice:

On Saturday, Enchanted Makeovers enjoyed the benefits of my service. If you're unfamiliar with Enchanted Makeovers, let me start by saying they have nothing to do with beauty tips for the home-bound writer. Lord know we writers need such a group, but Enchanted Makeovers is not that charity: these givers heed a different call.

Enchanted Makeovers is a volunteer organization led by Terry Grahl, a focus and force dedicated to enriching lives. Terry's mission is to transform the world, one shelter at a time. She takes the industrial sparse space of a women's shelter and turns it into a welcome environment.

Terry organizes the day

 

A home, where battered and abused women, and their children, can feel safe and nurtured within a network of care. A place to rebuild and restart with skills and training, often offered by Enchanted Makeovers volunteers.

It's not just a paint-job band-aid with a handshake photo op. Terry elevates every aspect of their living conditions: whether it's home made bed covers,

Every donation a message of hope.

 hand built cribs for children, or tables assembled for classrooms.

A space to learn

Every item is personal and donated.

This desk was collected from an old office building.

 If you spend any time with Terry, she'll entertain you the story behind every gift with pride—not in herself, but in the giving spirit of those who gather to her.

Two volunteers at the end of the day.

Thank you Enchanted Makeovers for blessing me with an opportunity to serve.


My second act of giving took place a day later in my own neighborhood. Someone aquired my bank card number and used it for groceries and a nice hotel in Pennsylvania.

Yup, that Rob. He is a giver.

Stars

It's 4/20 everybody. You know what that means!

Yup, that's right! It's the day you all celebrate my anniversary!

WOOT! WOOT!

Three years ago today, The Pirate Queen walked the aisle with a mere mortal punk. My life has not been the same since.  And that's a good thing.

How has it changed?

Well I lost 5 pounds in my diet. Thanks for asking.

I've also lost half my body weight in ego. I am not my sun, I am a circling satellite. Accepting light can come from others is a pretty big thing. Especially for me. I used to be my North Star striving to burn every other world with my radiance.  When I was in school I quit theatre after the epiphany that I was not chiseled from Hollywood lead steel. If I were to continue acting, I would only ever fill the roles labeled "character," not "star."

"The winner for this years best supporting actor is Ro—"
"Screw that, give it to someone who thinks lesser of themselves!"

My ego was brilliant, but the Queen changed that. Yes, you all owe her a great debt.

It's not that I feel smaller or less amazing, it's just that I've found someone who shines brighter, who is more deserving. Someone who makes me want to be accountable.

So today, do what
you do to celebrate us. Party in our honor, and when you do, remember that in her light I'm reflected as a better person. And that's something we can all be thankful for.

Valantines and Writers, Part 1: A Brief Fantasy.

Writers totally make out on Valentine's Day!

Who started that myth? It could have been a writer trying to get lucky but I doubt it. Writer's know there's no such thing as luck. Unless it's that hack blogger who just got a six-figure publishing deal.

He got lucky.

In love, there is only fantasy. Whether your fantasy comes in Princess Leah bikini gold or Fabio-licious oils, there are more than fifty shades to tell the tale, and every writer has lived enough heartache to fabricate them all.

Writers are students of the art of the heart, and great practitioners of the what not to do. That's why I'm so surprised to find people actually believe we've mastered the dark arts of "woo."

If I had to guess, (and lets face it, in must things love I'm always guessing) I'd say this misconception started with romantic poets, and was fueled by romance novelists. Probably even earlier than that, though, because ever since Shakespeare slammed some "You are" iamb into his flowery pentameter the writer's myth was writ.

The reality writer bachelor is a little more pathetic.

In school the writer never got the girl. He only wrote that story cuz something—anything—had to be better than crying alone into his pillow. Writing down dreams felt good. It took his mind off the reality that Jock, his French roommate, was enjoying a Valentines date with the muse for whom our writer penned his dreams.

Ask any scribe and he'll tell you: all the women he's known ended up with the wrong guy—except the last one. She got it right.

For me that's my PirateQueen. She's the reason I take heart on Valentines, but is the homemade amateur movie as good as the book? If you're the lucky PriateQueen bagging a writer booty, is it everything you've read about?

Like I said, there is no such thing as luck. Fantasy and reality are never the same thing. For the rest of the week I'll look at love and writing. For today I'll leave you with this tease and tickle to tomorrow's promise and "book 2."

Soundtrack

Do you soundtrack? Is there a needle traveling the surface of your soul; playing heartsongs to your head, even if your ears aren't tuned to it?

There was an LA radio station in the 70s that claimed to be a soundtrack to the California day. I always liked that. I pictured my self a gritty narrator setting the scene. That's why I soundtrack. My day is filled with music. It helps my mood and even puts me in character.

I read an interview, ages ago, Sandra Bullock said that sometimes she smoked flavored cigarettes to get into character. Something about the flavor helped her identify. I like to think I'm doing the same thing. I'm not nearly as attractive doing it, but in my way, I'm trying to find the soul of a character through sensation.

While writing Steamtopia, I set a playlist on my iPhone. When I worked out dialogue, I used smaller lists. Songs that gave me the attitude and verbal cadence of the character. It wasn't exhaustive, just enough to put me in a place.

This is the playlist I created for for Rowena, my Morlock girl wrestling with others' expectations vs. her heart's sense of justice. The songs don't say all that, but they moved me to a place that put me in mind of her goals.


What about you?
Do you soundtrack?
What puts you in your creative space?

Living the Dream

Ever had a lucid dream? That's the dream where you mid-dream realize that you're asleep. You start messing with your mind by taking charge. I've had them. Usually, those dreams are job dreams. I'm doing something retail-like in nature in my Superman Underoos: giving a guy a Walkman, selling an elephant squirrels for peanuts, extending a twelve-year old's warranty on grandparents.
"You know, he's gonna give out some time. When he does, you bring him back, we'll replace him. Free of charge..."

In a dream, it's a living.

But it's not my living. I think that's why I usually wake up to the fact that I'm asleep.  I look down at my Big Boy undies and think "Weren't these Superman before..." They were, but Bob and his burger logo boxers are hardly my beef.  What translates my panties to a bunch is that I'm back in retail.

That's where I make my subconscious conscious effort. "STOP THIS!"

The dream freezes. 

That's better. "Bring me my laptop!" I yell. After all, if this is a dream job, I want my work tools. Out comes my manager: suit, tie, laptop in one hand,  strangled squirrel in the other, looking at me like I'm nuts.

"Stop that, squirrel!" The squirrel disappears and manager Shakira powers up my laptop. This is where I'm sure my dream is lucid: everything now makes sense.

That's how my SDSU experience felt. No, Shakira wasn't there, and six figures of amaze-balls contract bliss did not drop down my boxers. In fact, if there were a SDSU show and tell I wouldn't have much more to show than one  bright orange book bag.

But I do have a lot to tell.

Before this weekend, my life was a chaos clutter of writer adages.
"I write cuz I have to."
"Doubt kills more dreams than failure."
"To err is human, to blog about it is brilliant! Nobody's ever done that before."

It's so hard to form a clear thought from all my jumble word cliches. I know more than I understand   I might as well sell squirrels for nuts.

This year at SDSU, I saw people using the same nuts of knowledge I'd squirreled away. I can't explain it all. You had to be there, but you can't. This is my dream. Your dreams are your reality. If they're not, they should be.

That's one of the most important lessons I took from San Diego. Another is that a dream is just a dream until I wake up and take action. There's no such thing as sleeping in wait for the perfect dream. The only perfect dream is the one I shape. For that, I need to make a conscious effort in my dream now.

I'm taking my SDSU experience and I'm putting it into writing. That's my dream.

Of Broccoli and Chocolate

Inspiration. We all have it. Whether we write books, paint figures, or arrange numbers into balanced rows of black and red; someone, something, or some ethereal force struck against us and sparked a flame. Elizabeth Gilbert talks about her muse, not as an origins story, but as an inner voice piloting her from project to project. Okay, I'm oversimplifying her words just a bit, but for my purposes, this version will lead you through the hanging jungle of Rob-thoughts without dangerous distraction.

Distraction is the serial killer—murdering many one-offs as well. 

Four out of five creative spirits agree: for every amazing inspiration, there's an even better distraction awaiting fruition. The fifth spirit? He's chasing the siren swell of his other voice—a new genius; he can't be bothered with silly questions about inspiration. 

So what keeps the creative spirit tethered? After our initial "AHA!" moment, what stokes the fire, inks the pen and brings us back to the well until mission accomplished?

For me, it's two things:

1. Responsibility.  I'm sharing a vision that no one can see until my work is complete.
2. Surprise. Even though I've plotted the path, every day characters still bring something new. 

Responsibility is the job; surprise is the calling.

It's broccoli and chocolate and most of us hate vegetables. That's why we're so easily distracted in air a waft with sweet scents. Only an altruistic creator can foster life from responsibility. I'm not that good. Yes, responsibility is one of my return reasons, but it's only the tug on my guilt strings; those ties can always be cut when sweet will is weak.

Surprise. That's what keeps me tethered and grounded. It's finding something new. It's seeing how things turn out. Its when Hypnomatons corner Michael on Inspiration Point, and not knowing how he escapes, despite the three page outline I already wrote. That's my chocolate for writing all the in-between broccoli.

But that's me. We all answer our own call. What's your broccoli? Your chocolate? What inspires passion in you and draws you back day after day to do what you do?