"Be fearless. Have the courage to take risks. Go where there are no guarantees."
- Katie Couric
"Security is mostly a superstition. It does not exist in nature, nor do the children of men as a whole experience it. Avoiding danger is no safer in the long run than outright exposure. Life is either a daring adventure, or nothing."
-- Helen Keller
First an update, and then some comments on my plans for tonight.
Yesterday was a long day of travel, and I have the blisters on my feet to show for it (from hoofing it through DFW and SFO airports with a heavy bag on my shoulder). OOF!
The payoff was when I got here and, once again, saw this great and beautiful city of San Francisco. Perfect blue skies and man, oh man, is the weather here awesome right now. :)
I was operating on 3 hours of sleep (with the blisters), so of course I walked halfway down Market Street to the Ferry Building and back, because when you're beat and your feet hurt, you really should torture yourself some more. :)
It was a great walk nevertheless, and the calories I burned paved the way for my fab-o meal at Alioto's. Mmmmmm... polished off with espresso and tiramisu... Mmmmm.
This a.m. I was up bright and early (not my usual, but this thing is still on Central Daylight Time folks). After an awesome breakfast in my room, I went out into the day and made a stop at a certain Federal building here in the area. I had a nice visit with a U.S. Deputy Marshal. He gave me some great info for the Big New Crime Novel I'm writing. No, I'm not going to tell you which Marshal or anything about it, because that would give things away too soon. It's going to be good, though. His info helped me tremendously.
That's the update.
Tonight I am going to see more of this great San Francisco Bay because I am going to be out ON IT! I'm taking the night cruise to Alcatraz. Woo-hoo!
Now, here's the hiccup. I am terrified of deep water - TERRIFIED. I'm not talking about a fear, people. I'm talking about a phobia - an epic one imprinted in my brain when I almost drowned as a kid - TWICE!
How do you get over something like this? You face it. I am lately in a mode to face a lot of things. This builds character and I don't believe there are any of us who can't use more of that - no matter how much of it we already have.
So, tonight I get on a boat and I go out into the Bay and I get to tour Alcatraz. They tell me it is more comprehensive than the day tour, and that an actual National Park Ranger will conduct said tour. I will also get some breathtaking shots of the Bay, San Francisco and the sun setting behind the Golden Gate Bridge. I'm focusing on all the positives. I'm not thinking about all the water - well, I'm trying not to think about all the water. I'll have my iPod and I'll hum to myself a lot and do some breathing until we get to the island. Once there, I'll be good. Of course, then I have to get back on the boat to get back to San Fran, but I'll have my iPod - have I mentioned the humming?
The humming/singing is a thought-switching technique someone taught me. It's preferable to hyperventilating, panicking and screaming. I'm sure the ferry captain would rather I hum/sing. :)
Tomorrow I have another insanely busy day, but I will try to upload some photos then - or maybe tonight after I get back. We'll see. Meanwhile, I continue to push my personal limits, because a big part of the adventure is the journey we take inside ourselves. Tonight's journey should be interesting.
Polla Filia,
J.F.
Thursday, May 10, 2012
Sunday, May 6, 2012
BLOG REDUX - SAN FRANCISO MAGIC
T-minus 2 very, very short days to the San Francisco research trip. I have so much to do and...
I. Am. Freaking. Out!!! EEEEKKK!
**It's okay. I'm breathing now.**
Since I am busy doing 42 other things, I am putting up another Blog Redux for you. From 2009 (the last time I went to San Francisco), here are some thoughts on the shared experience.
Check back into the blog, because I will be sharing thoughts and photos from the glorious City By the Bay.
Enjoy, y'all!
MYTHS AND LONELINESS
“In utter loneliness a writer tries to explain the inexplicable.”
“We are lonesome animals. We spend all our life trying to be less lonesome. One of our ancient methods is to tell a story begging the listener to say — and to feel — ‘Yes, that's the way it is, or at least that's the way I feel it. You're not as alone as you thought.’”
-- John Steinbeck
It is now t-minus 15 days and counting until The Big San Francisco Vacation.
This vacation of mine, re-scheduled twice, then canceled, now finally back on again, has taken on a mythical nature in my mind - and yet, here I am 15 days out and so far it looks as if it will happen.
Good grief! What will I do when the plane lands at SFO, when I step out into that cool San Franciscan air and breathe it in, when I arrive at my hotel and discover “Yes, I do have a room? Will the moment come when I say “I am here”? I may have to pinch myself a time or two.
I think I’ll trot myself over to the Top of the Mark and get a good stiff beverage and watch the fog roll in “on little cat feet” (to borrow from Mr. Sandburg). It has been too many years since I have been in that fine establishment, listened to jazz, sipped a cocktail, and enjoyed the breathtaking view of that Great City.
Is it real? Will I get there this time?
*Myth.*
The “day job” is damn near killing me lately. I’m exhausted - long overdue for this break. Its tedium sucks the life out of my writing brain, and then when I have a weekend, and maybe throw in one measly extra day off, the writing brain springs back into action - slips back into its blissful groove. Then the writing dream comes back to real life. Lately those writing moments have been short-lived. In San Francisco I will have two whole weeks of them.
*Myth.*
I will be alone on this trip - for the sake of much-needed solitude and the re-acquisition of some peace (I hope) - but, mostly for the sake of the writing work I will do there.
I imagine now standing in Monterey, looking out to sea, feeling the ocean breeze. I imagine standing on the wharf in San Francisco, looking out at the bay. I imagine scanning that great skyline. I imagine Coit Tower, the Transamerica Tower, the Bay Bridge and that architectural wonder, the Golden Gate Bridge. I imagine walking through North Beach, visiting Enrico’s, listening to jazz, walking past Kerouac Alley, City Lights Bookstore, going into Vesuvio. I imagine great meals and fine wine. I imagine the sounds, the smells, the tastes, the experiences - with all their color and texture. I see myself writing notes and taking photos all along the way in an almost vain attempt to capture those places, my feelings - those moments - to capture them so that I might re-conjure them later for you - and for me.
Now they are only lonely thoughts.
*Myth.*
When I experience it, and then write it in this blog, and you read it, is it still a lonely thought? Or will you feel it with me then? Am I able to take my solitary work and turn it into something shared?
When I write it for you, will you say “Yes, that’s the way it is,” or “Yes, I feel it, too. I see how it is to be there. I enjoy the moment with you. You’re not as alone as you thought.”
*Myth.* Maybe not...
Polla Filia,
J.F.
I. Am. Freaking. Out!!! EEEEKKK!
**It's okay. I'm breathing now.**
Since I am busy doing 42 other things, I am putting up another Blog Redux for you. From 2009 (the last time I went to San Francisco), here are some thoughts on the shared experience.
Check back into the blog, because I will be sharing thoughts and photos from the glorious City By the Bay.
Enjoy, y'all!
MYTHS AND LONELINESS
“In utter loneliness a writer tries to explain the inexplicable.”
“We are lonesome animals. We spend all our life trying to be less lonesome. One of our ancient methods is to tell a story begging the listener to say — and to feel — ‘Yes, that's the way it is, or at least that's the way I feel it. You're not as alone as you thought.’”
-- John Steinbeck
It is now t-minus 15 days and counting until The Big San Francisco Vacation.
This vacation of mine, re-scheduled twice, then canceled, now finally back on again, has taken on a mythical nature in my mind - and yet, here I am 15 days out and so far it looks as if it will happen.
Good grief! What will I do when the plane lands at SFO, when I step out into that cool San Franciscan air and breathe it in, when I arrive at my hotel and discover “Yes, I do have a room? Will the moment come when I say “I am here”? I may have to pinch myself a time or two.
I think I’ll trot myself over to the Top of the Mark and get a good stiff beverage and watch the fog roll in “on little cat feet” (to borrow from Mr. Sandburg). It has been too many years since I have been in that fine establishment, listened to jazz, sipped a cocktail, and enjoyed the breathtaking view of that Great City.
Is it real? Will I get there this time?
*Myth.*
The “day job” is damn near killing me lately. I’m exhausted - long overdue for this break. Its tedium sucks the life out of my writing brain, and then when I have a weekend, and maybe throw in one measly extra day off, the writing brain springs back into action - slips back into its blissful groove. Then the writing dream comes back to real life. Lately those writing moments have been short-lived. In San Francisco I will have two whole weeks of them.
*Myth.*
I will be alone on this trip - for the sake of much-needed solitude and the re-acquisition of some peace (I hope) - but, mostly for the sake of the writing work I will do there.
I imagine now standing in Monterey, looking out to sea, feeling the ocean breeze. I imagine standing on the wharf in San Francisco, looking out at the bay. I imagine scanning that great skyline. I imagine Coit Tower, the Transamerica Tower, the Bay Bridge and that architectural wonder, the Golden Gate Bridge. I imagine walking through North Beach, visiting Enrico’s, listening to jazz, walking past Kerouac Alley, City Lights Bookstore, going into Vesuvio. I imagine great meals and fine wine. I imagine the sounds, the smells, the tastes, the experiences - with all their color and texture. I see myself writing notes and taking photos all along the way in an almost vain attempt to capture those places, my feelings - those moments - to capture them so that I might re-conjure them later for you - and for me.
Now they are only lonely thoughts.
*Myth.*
When I experience it, and then write it in this blog, and you read it, is it still a lonely thought? Or will you feel it with me then? Am I able to take my solitary work and turn it into something shared?
When I write it for you, will you say “Yes, that’s the way it is,” or “Yes, I feel it, too. I see how it is to be there. I enjoy the moment with you. You’re not as alone as you thought.”
*Myth.* Maybe not...
Polla Filia,
J.F.
Friday, May 4, 2012
INSPIRATION
In every artist's and writer's life there are moments when the inspiration fails, and it fails absolutely. For me, this is abject misery.
Creativity is made up of four main parts in my opinion: i) talent (it's there or it is not, and that is all), ii) craft and skill (taught), iii) experience (learned over time); and iv) inspiration. Talent is the foundation - you build your creative efforts on this. Craft and skill is the part you put on the foundation first - you go out and pursue this yourself, and it includes *practice*. Experience comes to the open mind and heart as it travels along its way. That last bit - inspiration - is pure mystery. What is it? From whence does it come?
Inspired moments are not the largest part of my (or anyone's) creative efforts, but for me they are the transformational part of it. This is the part of your efforts that take your solid craft up to another level (or two).
For me, it is also the exhilarating part of creativity. It's connecting with something outside of yourself that is completely mystical. See "Riding the Dream World Wave" in the Redux below.
It comes when it will, but there are also things I can do to jump start it a bit.
One of those things is reading Steinbeck's journals and letters - especially the letters. On display there are all of his doubts and fears and difficulties. To read his thoughts about his great works and see his uncertainty helps me to understand that even the great ones go through these feelings and struggles.
One of the other things I do is read and re-read parts of certain books I have on the writing life, or on writing technique. One of my favorites in that regard is a book called "Fiction Writer's Workshop" by Josip Novakovich. I do not even remember how I found out about this book, but I have had it a long time. You can still get this book on Barnes & Noble dot com and Amazon.
Here are two of my fave quotes from the Introduction of this book:
"To be a good writer, you must have the paradoxical trait of being a gregarious loner."
Ahhhh...
"As a writer you need a strong sense of independence, of being and thinking on your own...I will give you a lot of advice, but you need not take it."
Yes...
That first line struck me from the moment I read it. It describes my particular personality so well, I couldn't believe it. A gregarious loner.
First of all, I am a people watcher, an observer of situations and behavior, which I catalogue into my brain and utilize when I write. I do this alone - sitting in a bar in a restaurant while making notes for a novel, or in the coffee house while working I look up and watch the interactions of people around me. I often have conversations with total strangers while I am doing this. It is nothing for me to strike up conversations like this. It's fun - and then I put my head down and go back to note taking.
Second, I love to be with people - family and friends - for limited periods of time. Yes, "limited periods of time", because one cannot write a book when one is surrounded by friends and family all the time. I do love to be with people, though, and I am fully in that moment while the moment is there. I drink in all of it - every drop - sight, sound, smell, feeling - and at full intensity.
Then I go into my solitude and write. I make stuff up, and I insert into that all the observations I have from my people-watching and my social life. It is all there, mixed together, melded into scenes and people who have never existed except in my mind.
That second quote of Novakovich leap-frogs off of the first one, and I do have a strong sense of independence. It comes at a price often, but it is worth the price for me.
Then there is his advice about advice. I could not say it better. It is good to be inspired by books on writing life and technique, but a writer must learn when to take advice and when to ignore it. Just because someone has written a thing does not mean that thing is good for you. You must go with your gut and trust that. In fact, I think that is a good idea in life in general. You need a "strong sense of independence and thinking on your own". You must have that to write.
Then you let all of it flow in, inspire you as it will, release the parts that are of no consequence to you, and move on with your writing, your dream, the world you will create.
If you are lucky, the inspiration will come and envelop all your craft, and skill, and experience, and talent, and transport you to that new place you needed to go to give your dream life on the page.
It is the way of writing. It is the way of this writer.
Polla filia,
J.F.
Creativity is made up of four main parts in my opinion: i) talent (it's there or it is not, and that is all), ii) craft and skill (taught), iii) experience (learned over time); and iv) inspiration. Talent is the foundation - you build your creative efforts on this. Craft and skill is the part you put on the foundation first - you go out and pursue this yourself, and it includes *practice*. Experience comes to the open mind and heart as it travels along its way. That last bit - inspiration - is pure mystery. What is it? From whence does it come?
Inspired moments are not the largest part of my (or anyone's) creative efforts, but for me they are the transformational part of it. This is the part of your efforts that take your solid craft up to another level (or two).
For me, it is also the exhilarating part of creativity. It's connecting with something outside of yourself that is completely mystical. See "Riding the Dream World Wave" in the Redux below.
It comes when it will, but there are also things I can do to jump start it a bit.
One of those things is reading Steinbeck's journals and letters - especially the letters. On display there are all of his doubts and fears and difficulties. To read his thoughts about his great works and see his uncertainty helps me to understand that even the great ones go through these feelings and struggles.
One of the other things I do is read and re-read parts of certain books I have on the writing life, or on writing technique. One of my favorites in that regard is a book called "Fiction Writer's Workshop" by Josip Novakovich. I do not even remember how I found out about this book, but I have had it a long time. You can still get this book on Barnes & Noble dot com and Amazon.
Here are two of my fave quotes from the Introduction of this book:
"To be a good writer, you must have the paradoxical trait of being a gregarious loner."
Ahhhh...
"As a writer you need a strong sense of independence, of being and thinking on your own...I will give you a lot of advice, but you need not take it."
Yes...
That first line struck me from the moment I read it. It describes my particular personality so well, I couldn't believe it. A gregarious loner.
First of all, I am a people watcher, an observer of situations and behavior, which I catalogue into my brain and utilize when I write. I do this alone - sitting in a bar in a restaurant while making notes for a novel, or in the coffee house while working I look up and watch the interactions of people around me. I often have conversations with total strangers while I am doing this. It is nothing for me to strike up conversations like this. It's fun - and then I put my head down and go back to note taking.
Second, I love to be with people - family and friends - for limited periods of time. Yes, "limited periods of time", because one cannot write a book when one is surrounded by friends and family all the time. I do love to be with people, though, and I am fully in that moment while the moment is there. I drink in all of it - every drop - sight, sound, smell, feeling - and at full intensity.
Then I go into my solitude and write. I make stuff up, and I insert into that all the observations I have from my people-watching and my social life. It is all there, mixed together, melded into scenes and people who have never existed except in my mind.
That second quote of Novakovich leap-frogs off of the first one, and I do have a strong sense of independence. It comes at a price often, but it is worth the price for me.
Then there is his advice about advice. I could not say it better. It is good to be inspired by books on writing life and technique, but a writer must learn when to take advice and when to ignore it. Just because someone has written a thing does not mean that thing is good for you. You must go with your gut and trust that. In fact, I think that is a good idea in life in general. You need a "strong sense of independence and thinking on your own". You must have that to write.
Then you let all of it flow in, inspire you as it will, release the parts that are of no consequence to you, and move on with your writing, your dream, the world you will create.
If you are lucky, the inspiration will come and envelop all your craft, and skill, and experience, and talent, and transport you to that new place you needed to go to give your dream life on the page.
It is the way of writing. It is the way of this writer.
Polla filia,
J.F.
Monday, April 30, 2012
BLOG REDUX: HANGING A WRITER'S TEN
Holy cow! I woke up this a.m. and realized that tomorrow morning is MAY! I leave for another trip (book research) to San Francisco next week. I still have so much to dooooooo.... EEEEK!
**Hyperventilating** **Breathing slowly again**
It is going to be GREAT, though. :)
Here's one out of the archives from my last trip to San Fran. This time I am working on what I call MS4. It is one of the three novels I referenced in the below.
So, from 2009 - here's a little San Fran prep. :)
"There are some people who live in a dream world, and there are some who face reality. Then there are those who turn one into the other."
-- Douglas Everett
It is now t-minus 19 days and counting until The Big San Francisco Vacation.
Been in full writer mode lately. It’s hard to explain what that is and how that differs from my regular writer mode. Stories play in my head all the time; but, there is a level at which they begin to really take shape - where I’m on a roll - where I *crave* writing more than usual. It’s a writing euphoria. I like to hit the crest of that wave and ride it as far as it will take me. I’m hangin’ a writer’s ten.
My next book in the “Art of Crime” series is in my head for sure; but, I also have another series in my brain, and a standalone novel (or novella) that has nothing to do with my crime writing. So, I’m juggling three great story ideas, and they are all *active*!
I get caught up in my characters, and their stories. They live for real in my head. Later when I re-read my stuff, I’ll go “where did that come from?” I use my brain to hone all the writing and make it as good as I can, as readable, as interesting, without losing that magical part that just makes itself happen.
Hell, I’ve been makin’ stuff up since as early as I can remember - and writing it down into little stories when I was a kid. I used to lie out in the front yard in the early evening and scribble those little stories into a notebook. As it got dark, all I had was the light of the street lamp overhead. I had that euphoric feeling about writing even then.
I couldn’t stop then, and I still can’t. Someone asked me recently “What made you decide to start writing?” I thought, “Decide?!!” There was a decision in there somewhere? Hah! Like I had a choice - well, I had a choice, but not writing would not be a pretty choice for me.
I can feel something good coming in my writing world. Something is about to break open in my next story for the “Art of Crime” series - we’ll call it AOC Book 2. I think there will be a big “aha” writing moment for me on this San Francisco trip.
I chose San Francisco for my next vacation trip (in lieu of my beloved New York City), in part because I do love San Fran, but also I had this idea that would not let me go, and it was all set in San Francisco.
I call it a “vacation”, but to this writer there is No. Such. Thing. My writing brain is on and working damn near 24/7. There are nights when I have a hard time turning off the stuff so I can sleep! The only way in which this trip *is* a vacation, is that I’ll be away from my damn day job, so I can do what I *really* love for two whole, beautiful weeks. I can write whenever and wherever I want. Yeah!!
I’ll be prowling around San Francisco and thereabouts in daylight and dark. There will be some of the next AOC story in the North Beach area, and something I’ll be putting in there that’s set in Berkley/Oakland, and there might even be a little this and that from Monterey/Salinas and San Jose. I’m sure there will be parts of the place I haven’t even thought of yet that wind up in the story. That’s just the way the process goes for me - it’s part very strategic planning and hard work, and part unbelievable surprise.
The surprise - the discovery - the *adventure* - will be how that whole beautiful, mystical landscape of the San Francisco area will play out in AOC Book 2. That’s a big piece of the euphoria for me - the way the stuff I think up blends in with the stuff that just brings itself to me. It’s a fantastic journey between reality and the way reality influences the fiction in my head. When that dream world wave hits its crest, I hop on and see where it takes me.
There are 19 more days before I get to San Fran. I’ll ride this small wave until I get there, and then I’ll be paddling out again looking for a Big Dream Wave to bring me some *new* surprise!
Polla Filia,
J.F.
**Hyperventilating** **Breathing slowly again**
It is going to be GREAT, though. :)
Here's one out of the archives from my last trip to San Fran. This time I am working on what I call MS4. It is one of the three novels I referenced in the below.
So, from 2009 - here's a little San Fran prep. :)
RIDING THE DREAM WORLD WAVE
"There are some people who live in a dream world, and there are some who face reality. Then there are those who turn one into the other."
-- Douglas Everett
It is now t-minus 19 days and counting until The Big San Francisco Vacation.
Been in full writer mode lately. It’s hard to explain what that is and how that differs from my regular writer mode. Stories play in my head all the time; but, there is a level at which they begin to really take shape - where I’m on a roll - where I *crave* writing more than usual. It’s a writing euphoria. I like to hit the crest of that wave and ride it as far as it will take me. I’m hangin’ a writer’s ten.
My next book in the “Art of Crime” series is in my head for sure; but, I also have another series in my brain, and a standalone novel (or novella) that has nothing to do with my crime writing. So, I’m juggling three great story ideas, and they are all *active*!
I get caught up in my characters, and their stories. They live for real in my head. Later when I re-read my stuff, I’ll go “where did that come from?” I use my brain to hone all the writing and make it as good as I can, as readable, as interesting, without losing that magical part that just makes itself happen.
Hell, I’ve been makin’ stuff up since as early as I can remember - and writing it down into little stories when I was a kid. I used to lie out in the front yard in the early evening and scribble those little stories into a notebook. As it got dark, all I had was the light of the street lamp overhead. I had that euphoric feeling about writing even then.
I couldn’t stop then, and I still can’t. Someone asked me recently “What made you decide to start writing?” I thought, “Decide?!!” There was a decision in there somewhere? Hah! Like I had a choice - well, I had a choice, but not writing would not be a pretty choice for me.
I can feel something good coming in my writing world. Something is about to break open in my next story for the “Art of Crime” series - we’ll call it AOC Book 2. I think there will be a big “aha” writing moment for me on this San Francisco trip.
I chose San Francisco for my next vacation trip (in lieu of my beloved New York City), in part because I do love San Fran, but also I had this idea that would not let me go, and it was all set in San Francisco.
I call it a “vacation”, but to this writer there is No. Such. Thing. My writing brain is on and working damn near 24/7. There are nights when I have a hard time turning off the stuff so I can sleep! The only way in which this trip *is* a vacation, is that I’ll be away from my damn day job, so I can do what I *really* love for two whole, beautiful weeks. I can write whenever and wherever I want. Yeah!!
I’ll be prowling around San Francisco and thereabouts in daylight and dark. There will be some of the next AOC story in the North Beach area, and something I’ll be putting in there that’s set in Berkley/Oakland, and there might even be a little this and that from Monterey/Salinas and San Jose. I’m sure there will be parts of the place I haven’t even thought of yet that wind up in the story. That’s just the way the process goes for me - it’s part very strategic planning and hard work, and part unbelievable surprise.
The surprise - the discovery - the *adventure* - will be how that whole beautiful, mystical landscape of the San Francisco area will play out in AOC Book 2. That’s a big piece of the euphoria for me - the way the stuff I think up blends in with the stuff that just brings itself to me. It’s a fantastic journey between reality and the way reality influences the fiction in my head. When that dream world wave hits its crest, I hop on and see where it takes me.
There are 19 more days before I get to San Fran. I’ll ride this small wave until I get there, and then I’ll be paddling out again looking for a Big Dream Wave to bring me some *new* surprise!
Polla Filia,
J.F.
Friday, April 20, 2012
TWENTY-TWO THINGS I LEARNED THE HARD WAY
These are things I've learned the hard way; and I have lots of personal experience with hard times - either those that came upon me beyond my control, or those I thrust upon myself. Some of these are things I learned to avoid the latter situation. The rest of them help me cope with the former.
I write these as a reminder to MYSELF! Here we go.
1. You cannot change people. You can give advice when asked, and/or lend a hand; but, only they can change themselves or their circumstances - OR, as my grandmother used to say "You can lead a horse to water, but you can't make him drink."
2. Who cares what other people think? This includes relatives and friends (who may or may not be actual friends). What matters is that you are real, true to yourself, that you respect others, and that you have ethics, honor and integrity. Everything else is strictly your own business and not subject to the transitory and subjective opinions of others. Be your own person. March to the beat of your own drummer. Believe in yourself.
3. Labels are BS - and damaging. This is nothing more than laziness in place of getting to know people, and/or working to truly understand them. Don't label people, or allow them to label you. We are all far more complex than *any* label. This includes name-calling - see #'s 2, 7, 9 and 17 in this list.
4. Age is a label - get over it. Saying "I'm old" is a useless, negative, self-limiting, complete waste of the time you have here (this includes people in their twenties who I hear saying this). Stop it, already! How many times you've ridden this water-logged rock around the homestar is irrelevant, since everyone's ride is different. Some people make the most of their ride, while others just piss and moan about how many orbits they've made and how "old" they are. In other words, your mileage may vary - and it may vary according to your ATTITUDE!
5. You were sent here to do something in particular. Whatever it is, it's important - *whatever it is*! Do it. Don't waste the gifts the Big Guy gave you and don't let others judge how you use them; just make yourself useful.
6. Find the positive perspective in everything. It's there - find it! Sometimes this is difficult; but, it is always beneficial - and the benefit inures mostly to YOU.
7. Be courteous - especially in dicey situations where you want to tell someone off; or as Mama used to say "never sink to the level of your adversary", or "don't dignify an insult or bad behavior with a response"; or "consider the source." This doesn't mean you have to suck up to someone nasty. It means keep your dignity. Take the high road. Obviously, courtesy in other situations is easy - do that, too.
8. When dealing with a negative, difficult, unpleasant, or just downright bad person, remember this: they were an innocent, defenseless baby once. Somebody screwed that up for them. Try to keep that in mind. It doesn't mean they aren't responsible for themselves or their actions. They are. Keep it in mind anyway - for YOUR sake.
9. Harsh words galvanize others against you, and your objectives. You will not convince others of the error of their ways with haranguing and criticism. I don't care how great the cause, being obnoxious is not the way to champion it. Intelligent, carefully chosen words make it easier for them to change their course as you wish; or, as Grandma used to say: "you can draw more flies with honey than you can with vinegar."
10. Trends are BS. Instead do what works best for you and if it happens to coincide with a trend, then so be it. Be classy, tasteful, and courteous. First impressions *do* count no matter what trends may dictate. Be a trend setter, not a follower.
11. All publicity is *not* good publicity, unless you care nothing for your dignity, honor and integrity - in which case you are a prostitute of some kind or another (yes, it's harsh - but, if you are selling your honor cheaply, then I rest my case). The means to an end *does* matter as much as the end itself. There will come a day when your dignity, honor and integrity will matter absolutely. Make sure you still have all of them when that day arrives. It may be they are the only things that will save you in that moment.
12. Some people are not your friends. Period. Each of us probably has only a small set of people who are true friends. All the others are mere friendly acquaintances. Your true friends will show their mettle by being with you in your struggles and adversity, and not just in your successes. That is the crucible. Heed it!
13. If you want to keep a confidence, then don't tell *anyone* - not even someone you trust. They also trust someone else, who trusts someone else. Before you know it, 42 people know the confidence you promised to keep. Your word is your bond. Learn to keep your lips ZIPPED. Anything else is ego and foolishness - an attempt to show off what you know. Honor and integrity show better.
14. Be the friend you want to have, the person you would admire, the hero to whom you would look. Be that person, and you will find yourself in the company of like people.
15. Life isn't fair and no one owes you a living. Get over it and get busy.
16. The past is done. Get over that, too. Use what you learned from it, but don't drag it around behind you like worn out luggage. It's heavy and it looks bad.
17. If you don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything at all (Grandma hammered this one home!). When you do open your mouth, be honest - not cruel, rude, or tactless - just honest. Sometimes saying nothing is the only way to be honest without cruelty or rudeness - take heed of that. BTW, this means no lies and/or gossip. Got it?
18. Don't procrastinate. Get off your rear parts and do it now! Here's Grandma again: "make hay while the sun shines." In other words, later might be too late. It could be raining - you can't make hay then. Do it NOW!
19. Life is short - remember that in dealing with family, friends - everybody and everything.
20. Life is long - remember that in dealing with family friends - everybody and everything.
21. Smile whether you feel like it or not. After a few seconds, you begin to feel it more, and then you ARE smiling - and other people will be, too. You have now started a chain reaction of epic positive proportions; and you have turned your OWN day around.
22. Everyone has crap days. It will pass. Gut up. Get through it. See #21 above. The only difference between winners and losers is that winners get up when they fall down - and they keep getting up. Every time. Without fail. So, get up already!
I need to tattoo most of these on my forehead, except I don't think I have room. :) So, I'll just read it here and keep reminding myself.
It isn't easy (on the front end) to live this way. It's easier to lie down, wallow in things, give into base behavior, and go nowhere and achieve nothing. Unfortunately, the back end of that is - well, it's the back end of *something*!
It's also lonely, miserable and ultimately the most difficult path a person can choose.
So, I plan to do my best to remember these things, because hard work on the front end brings great rewards down the road.
Polla filia,
J.F.
I write these as a reminder to MYSELF! Here we go.
1. You cannot change people. You can give advice when asked, and/or lend a hand; but, only they can change themselves or their circumstances - OR, as my grandmother used to say "You can lead a horse to water, but you can't make him drink."
2. Who cares what other people think? This includes relatives and friends (who may or may not be actual friends). What matters is that you are real, true to yourself, that you respect others, and that you have ethics, honor and integrity. Everything else is strictly your own business and not subject to the transitory and subjective opinions of others. Be your own person. March to the beat of your own drummer. Believe in yourself.
3. Labels are BS - and damaging. This is nothing more than laziness in place of getting to know people, and/or working to truly understand them. Don't label people, or allow them to label you. We are all far more complex than *any* label. This includes name-calling - see #'s 2, 7, 9 and 17 in this list.
4. Age is a label - get over it. Saying "I'm old" is a useless, negative, self-limiting, complete waste of the time you have here (this includes people in their twenties who I hear saying this). Stop it, already! How many times you've ridden this water-logged rock around the homestar is irrelevant, since everyone's ride is different. Some people make the most of their ride, while others just piss and moan about how many orbits they've made and how "old" they are. In other words, your mileage may vary - and it may vary according to your ATTITUDE!
5. You were sent here to do something in particular. Whatever it is, it's important - *whatever it is*! Do it. Don't waste the gifts the Big Guy gave you and don't let others judge how you use them; just make yourself useful.
6. Find the positive perspective in everything. It's there - find it! Sometimes this is difficult; but, it is always beneficial - and the benefit inures mostly to YOU.
7. Be courteous - especially in dicey situations where you want to tell someone off; or as Mama used to say "never sink to the level of your adversary", or "don't dignify an insult or bad behavior with a response"; or "consider the source." This doesn't mean you have to suck up to someone nasty. It means keep your dignity. Take the high road. Obviously, courtesy in other situations is easy - do that, too.
8. When dealing with a negative, difficult, unpleasant, or just downright bad person, remember this: they were an innocent, defenseless baby once. Somebody screwed that up for them. Try to keep that in mind. It doesn't mean they aren't responsible for themselves or their actions. They are. Keep it in mind anyway - for YOUR sake.
9. Harsh words galvanize others against you, and your objectives. You will not convince others of the error of their ways with haranguing and criticism. I don't care how great the cause, being obnoxious is not the way to champion it. Intelligent, carefully chosen words make it easier for them to change their course as you wish; or, as Grandma used to say: "you can draw more flies with honey than you can with vinegar."
10. Trends are BS. Instead do what works best for you and if it happens to coincide with a trend, then so be it. Be classy, tasteful, and courteous. First impressions *do* count no matter what trends may dictate. Be a trend setter, not a follower.
11. All publicity is *not* good publicity, unless you care nothing for your dignity, honor and integrity - in which case you are a prostitute of some kind or another (yes, it's harsh - but, if you are selling your honor cheaply, then I rest my case). The means to an end *does* matter as much as the end itself. There will come a day when your dignity, honor and integrity will matter absolutely. Make sure you still have all of them when that day arrives. It may be they are the only things that will save you in that moment.
12. Some people are not your friends. Period. Each of us probably has only a small set of people who are true friends. All the others are mere friendly acquaintances. Your true friends will show their mettle by being with you in your struggles and adversity, and not just in your successes. That is the crucible. Heed it!
13. If you want to keep a confidence, then don't tell *anyone* - not even someone you trust. They also trust someone else, who trusts someone else. Before you know it, 42 people know the confidence you promised to keep. Your word is your bond. Learn to keep your lips ZIPPED. Anything else is ego and foolishness - an attempt to show off what you know. Honor and integrity show better.
14. Be the friend you want to have, the person you would admire, the hero to whom you would look. Be that person, and you will find yourself in the company of like people.
15. Life isn't fair and no one owes you a living. Get over it and get busy.
16. The past is done. Get over that, too. Use what you learned from it, but don't drag it around behind you like worn out luggage. It's heavy and it looks bad.
17. If you don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything at all (Grandma hammered this one home!). When you do open your mouth, be honest - not cruel, rude, or tactless - just honest. Sometimes saying nothing is the only way to be honest without cruelty or rudeness - take heed of that. BTW, this means no lies and/or gossip. Got it?
18. Don't procrastinate. Get off your rear parts and do it now! Here's Grandma again: "make hay while the sun shines." In other words, later might be too late. It could be raining - you can't make hay then. Do it NOW!
19. Life is short - remember that in dealing with family, friends - everybody and everything.
20. Life is long - remember that in dealing with family friends - everybody and everything.
21. Smile whether you feel like it or not. After a few seconds, you begin to feel it more, and then you ARE smiling - and other people will be, too. You have now started a chain reaction of epic positive proportions; and you have turned your OWN day around.
22. Everyone has crap days. It will pass. Gut up. Get through it. See #21 above. The only difference between winners and losers is that winners get up when they fall down - and they keep getting up. Every time. Without fail. So, get up already!
I need to tattoo most of these on my forehead, except I don't think I have room. :) So, I'll just read it here and keep reminding myself.
It isn't easy (on the front end) to live this way. It's easier to lie down, wallow in things, give into base behavior, and go nowhere and achieve nothing. Unfortunately, the back end of that is - well, it's the back end of *something*!
It's also lonely, miserable and ultimately the most difficult path a person can choose.
So, I plan to do my best to remember these things, because hard work on the front end brings great rewards down the road.
Polla filia,
J.F.
Monday, April 16, 2012
YOU ARE THE MUSIC
"Music heard so deeply
That it is not heard at all, but you are the music
While the music lasts."
- T.S. Eliot
One very important part of my writing life is music I play while working - or not playing music while working. There are times when I need silence.
Then there are times when I go to Starbucks, or a restaurant somewhere and sit amidst the noise just to distract myself. I have resolved some pretty sticky writing problems in noisy places. I think it forces me to focus in a different way, while providing me with random stimulation at the same time. I am a notorious people watcher - some of that is the writer me, and some of that is the portrait artist me (more on that in another post).
The vast majority of the time I need music for writing. It cannot be just any music.
As a general rule I do not select music with lyrics. This is distracting in a bad way. I am a singer, so I am too tempted to sing along, and therefore, I pay too much attention to the words. This means my focus is not on the writing. So, as much as I love singing (and I *love* it), and as much as I love opera (and I *lovvvvve* opera), it is not good for a writing mood.
So, no lyrics.
The genres I find acceptable are classical (sans opera), jazz (instrumental only) and soundtracks. Yes, soundtracks - orchestral soundtracks.
Think about it. They are background for movies. They are written to enhance the particular mood of the film, but not to overwhelm that mood, or its dialogue.
Perfect.
Here are some of my faves: Gladiator, Bourne Identity, Four Feathers, Planet Earth (TV documentary, but still a soundtrack). There are others, but these are some of my faves. I have recently discovered the soundtrack to the new "Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy" film. Awesome working music.
All of these inspire, but do not intrude. They set a tone, but do not force the tone.
Then I am carried away in the inspiration, the mood, and the music becomes part of me and then infuses the story with its influence.
It is a perfect day, when I sit at my desk, looking out the three windows in front of me, across my rose hedge, my oak tree standing firm in the middle of my yard, the day unfolding before me, music surrounding me, and I am doing what I love. In my groove. Transmuting music through me to story. Writing.
Polla filia,
J.F.
That it is not heard at all, but you are the music
While the music lasts."
- T.S. Eliot
One very important part of my writing life is music I play while working - or not playing music while working. There are times when I need silence.
Then there are times when I go to Starbucks, or a restaurant somewhere and sit amidst the noise just to distract myself. I have resolved some pretty sticky writing problems in noisy places. I think it forces me to focus in a different way, while providing me with random stimulation at the same time. I am a notorious people watcher - some of that is the writer me, and some of that is the portrait artist me (more on that in another post).
The vast majority of the time I need music for writing. It cannot be just any music.
As a general rule I do not select music with lyrics. This is distracting in a bad way. I am a singer, so I am too tempted to sing along, and therefore, I pay too much attention to the words. This means my focus is not on the writing. So, as much as I love singing (and I *love* it), and as much as I love opera (and I *lovvvvve* opera), it is not good for a writing mood.
So, no lyrics.
The genres I find acceptable are classical (sans opera), jazz (instrumental only) and soundtracks. Yes, soundtracks - orchestral soundtracks.
Think about it. They are background for movies. They are written to enhance the particular mood of the film, but not to overwhelm that mood, or its dialogue.
Perfect.
Here are some of my faves: Gladiator, Bourne Identity, Four Feathers, Planet Earth (TV documentary, but still a soundtrack). There are others, but these are some of my faves. I have recently discovered the soundtrack to the new "Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy" film. Awesome working music.
All of these inspire, but do not intrude. They set a tone, but do not force the tone.
Then I am carried away in the inspiration, the mood, and the music becomes part of me and then infuses the story with its influence.
It is a perfect day, when I sit at my desk, looking out the three windows in front of me, across my rose hedge, my oak tree standing firm in the middle of my yard, the day unfolding before me, music surrounding me, and I am doing what I love. In my groove. Transmuting music through me to story. Writing.
Polla filia,
J.F.
Tuesday, April 10, 2012
DREAMTIME
"All your dreams can come true if you have the courage to pursue them." -- Walt Disney
"I dream. Sometimes I think that's the only right thing to do." -- Haruki Murakami
"Be relentless." -- Sean "Diddy" Combs
"Save some time to dream, 'cause your dream might save us all." -- John Mellencamp
Dreams require commitment, perseverance, imagination and lots of hard work. It's one thing to say you have a Dream. It's something else altogether to devote years of your life to that Dream, sacrificing lots of "free time" and "fun" in order to get to that Dream.
This is dreaming at a whole other level. For some people (like me) it is better than "free time" and "fun". It is Dreamtime and then it is euphoria. When it reaches that height, then you hook a ride on the "Dream World Wave"!
You have to work long and hard in Dreamtime before you get a ride on the Wave. It doesn't come often either. That's why you have to really *want* the Dream.
For many months now I have been working on my next book. I'm going to refer to this book as MS4 (MS for manuscript and 4 because it's the fourth one I've written).+
When you have a "day job" to pay the mortgage, etc., executing on your Dream becomes more than a little difficult. My schedule consists of the day job, eating, working out, sleeping, working on the book, and occasionally, I do a few things just to keep the household running - oh, and I feed the cat. He thinks that's pretty important.
That's it.
In spite of all that, writing time for me *is* Dreamtime. It is tiring and energizing, mind-numbing and mind-bending, a downer trip and a sometimes euphoric experience, a huge sacrifice and a wonderful investment - it is a roller coaster ride from hell to heaven.
First, I plan: a concept, then more particulars of the story, plot points, pacing and various other things that will make the story happen as it should.
There are times when my "work" consists of me sitting in a chair staring blankly off into "space", but this is work, and a very necessary part of the work.
Then there's research, which serves two main purposes in my mind: 1) it gives the book the "ring of truth" in certain areas; and 2) research provides me with inspiration I would not have if I had not explored some new bit of knowledge. Some research involves physically going somewhere - seeing a place, talking to people, etc. There is *nothing* that will inform a story and launch my imagination like physically being in a place and having all *five* of my senses engaged.
When it all comes together - the planning, staring into space, researching - when that happens, *then* I download it into the computer from my head and it becomes a manuscript. All of that constitutes Dreamtime.
Which leads me to MS4, and research I have to do to finish this thing.
MS4 is set in San Francisco for the most part. There are a couple of scenes in Austin and New York City, but the majority of it takes place in San Francisco.
I already made one trip to San Francisco which was the first bit of research I did for this book.
Now, the time has come for me to go back to San Francisco and do some additional research to finish this up.
I am organizing myself as to all the things I need to see and do while there, and some law enforcement folks with whom I need to visit. I will only have a week, and I am going to have to jam a lot of things into one very short week. I will rise and shine early and get going, go all day, and then crash in my hotel at the end.
This trip will not take place until May (for a variety of reasons, including time off from the day job and *money*).
I will be blogging from San Francisco during my trip, and I will be blogging as I lead up to this trip. I will be talking about writing, a little bit about myself, San Francisco, my plans for the trip - including restaurants (Mmmm, yum), and side trips I will make in the bay area. Occasionally, I'll blog about something random. I will also have the occasional blog redux from the archives. :)
So, buckle up. I'm going on a journey through the making of a story, the city in which that story takes place, and all the other "places" the journey decides to take me. It's Dreamtime, and I'm looking for some Waves!
Polla Filia,
J.F.
+ I have written and previously published a book under another name, and "No" I'm not going to tell you the name or the book - water under the bridge for my own reasons. I also had an "under the bed" book, which most authors have. This is the one you wrote first, it's crap and you would never try to publish it. If you're lucky you can "cannibalize" the good bits out of it and use it in another book - if you're lucky. Finally, I have a 3rd manuscript, which I'm certain will be published, but right now I'm finishing this one, because someone wants to see it.
Sunday, October 3, 2010
FRIED APPLE PIES
There is a statistic I heard on the news the other day, and I had heard it recently before that. Here it is: kids stay off drugs and out of trouble when they have dinner with their family. That was it. Yeah. Somebody probably did a “study” to come up with that one. My parents could have told them that (and my grandparents, too).
We’re Greek, and in a lot of Mediterranean families (I know it’s true for my Italian friends) - we eat together. I know other cultures do that, too. What a concept. Food isn’t just physical nutrition, it’s mental and spiritual as well. Dinner with ecoyennia mou (my family) is an essential part of our culture.
Tonight we had such a dinner - at a restaurant, but nevertheless, it was a family dinner: me, my two sisters, my brother-in-law and my niece and nephew. It’s what we do on a regular basis. My sister has family dinner with the kids and her husband daily. My niece and nephew don’t know any different. You eat with your family - don’t you? Yes, is their answer.
What this means is, if you have trouble, or need help, you know you can go to your family, because you’ve been eating meals with these people since forever. You’re a tight group. You have actual conversations. You share food. You actually like each other. My family and I all *love* each other (wow, another concept, right?).
It all started with my grandfather -a Greek from the “old country”. The man was a chef. He had a little café in Austin before I was born. He could come into your house, take your leftovers out of the fridgie and rustle up something marvelous for dinner. You would be asking yourself “These are *my* leftovers?” You wouldn’t recognize that food (in a good way) after he got done with it.
We have a saying in my family (a joke): When two Greeks get together, they open a restaurant. It’s almost true. Of course, as I said above, food for us is more than just food.
Tonight over our family dinner we discussed our plans for Thanksgiving this year, and that lead to a remembrance/conversation about my grandmother (maternal, not on the Greek side) and her fried apple pies.
First of all, I need to tell you about love. This woman was not my actual biological grandmother. She was my great aunt. My grandmother died when my mother was two months old. My grandmother and grandfather had five (count ‘em) children! My grandfather was a farmer (again, this is on the non-Greek side of the family). My grandmother was dying, they had a two-month old baby (my Mom) and they had to have a plan. My grandfather could not run the farm and take care of the other four kids and an infant. My eldest aunt (then only eight) had to help him manage the other three kids. She couldn’t manage the infant either - since she was eight - you know - years old.
My grandparents decided before my grandmother died (at the age of thirty-one) that my mother would go live with my grandmother’s older sister. So, the woman I referred to as my “grandmother” was actually my great aunt. In order for all of this to come to pass, my great aunt had to agree to take on this responsibility (she had two biological children of her own).
She met the task.
As children, we would go to my grandfather’s farm house and spend time with him, and also go to my “grandmother’s” house (great aunt) and spend time with her and her husband (who we called “Pop”).
On Sunday afternoons, this woman would lay out a spread that would feed the Dallas Cowboys. I kid you not. There was cold ham, fried chicken, mashed potatoes, macaroni and cheese, green beans, peas, carrots, squash, green salad, fruit salad, rolls, bread... are you getting the idea yet?
We would sit down at that table and have Sunday dinner with “Grandmother” - the woman who raised my mother and told everyone we were her “grandchildren”.
The Grand Finale to this meal would be her homemade fried apple pies. Yes, people, I said *homemade*. Pie crust from scratch rolled and cut into a round shape, apple filling from scratch spooned into the middle of the round crust, crust then folded over into a half moon, sealed around the edges with the tines of a fork and plopped into hot oil and quick fried. Then she drained them on paper towels over a plate and dusted them with cinnamon and sugar.
My father (who was her son-in-law, technically her nephew-in-law) loved these things (hell, who didn’t?). He often could not come with us on Sunday, because, as a mechanic, he was frequently making extra money working on cars.
Grandmother would pack up three or four (or more) of those delicious apple pies in a big piece of foil and send them home with us. She would say: “I know Louie likes these, so they're his, since he’s working hard and he couldn’t come.”
You didn’t touch those pies when you got home. They were Daddy’s - from Grandmother - and Mama would swat your hands if you tried to snag one of those.
Daddy would sit down to supper and then afterward dive into Grandmother’s homemade fried apple pies.
We had dinner together every night, and we had family dinners with grandparents and cousins on a regular basis. Family was, as my Greek grandfather would say, “number one”.
The fried apple pies? They were far more than just a tasty treat. They were all that love my grandmother had to give: the love she gave to her sister’s child, her sister’s grandchildren, and her sister’s son-in-law.
Love like that will keep you out of a whole helluva lot of trouble in life, people - and it tastes damn good, too.
Polla Filia,
J.F.
We’re Greek, and in a lot of Mediterranean families (I know it’s true for my Italian friends) - we eat together. I know other cultures do that, too. What a concept. Food isn’t just physical nutrition, it’s mental and spiritual as well. Dinner with ecoyennia mou (my family) is an essential part of our culture.
Tonight we had such a dinner - at a restaurant, but nevertheless, it was a family dinner: me, my two sisters, my brother-in-law and my niece and nephew. It’s what we do on a regular basis. My sister has family dinner with the kids and her husband daily. My niece and nephew don’t know any different. You eat with your family - don’t you? Yes, is their answer.
What this means is, if you have trouble, or need help, you know you can go to your family, because you’ve been eating meals with these people since forever. You’re a tight group. You have actual conversations. You share food. You actually like each other. My family and I all *love* each other (wow, another concept, right?).
It all started with my grandfather -a Greek from the “old country”. The man was a chef. He had a little café in Austin before I was born. He could come into your house, take your leftovers out of the fridgie and rustle up something marvelous for dinner. You would be asking yourself “These are *my* leftovers?” You wouldn’t recognize that food (in a good way) after he got done with it.
We have a saying in my family (a joke): When two Greeks get together, they open a restaurant. It’s almost true. Of course, as I said above, food for us is more than just food.
Tonight over our family dinner we discussed our plans for Thanksgiving this year, and that lead to a remembrance/conversation about my grandmother (maternal, not on the Greek side) and her fried apple pies.
First of all, I need to tell you about love. This woman was not my actual biological grandmother. She was my great aunt. My grandmother died when my mother was two months old. My grandmother and grandfather had five (count ‘em) children! My grandfather was a farmer (again, this is on the non-Greek side of the family). My grandmother was dying, they had a two-month old baby (my Mom) and they had to have a plan. My grandfather could not run the farm and take care of the other four kids and an infant. My eldest aunt (then only eight) had to help him manage the other three kids. She couldn’t manage the infant either - since she was eight - you know - years old.
My grandparents decided before my grandmother died (at the age of thirty-one) that my mother would go live with my grandmother’s older sister. So, the woman I referred to as my “grandmother” was actually my great aunt. In order for all of this to come to pass, my great aunt had to agree to take on this responsibility (she had two biological children of her own).
She met the task.
As children, we would go to my grandfather’s farm house and spend time with him, and also go to my “grandmother’s” house (great aunt) and spend time with her and her husband (who we called “Pop”).
On Sunday afternoons, this woman would lay out a spread that would feed the Dallas Cowboys. I kid you not. There was cold ham, fried chicken, mashed potatoes, macaroni and cheese, green beans, peas, carrots, squash, green salad, fruit salad, rolls, bread... are you getting the idea yet?
We would sit down at that table and have Sunday dinner with “Grandmother” - the woman who raised my mother and told everyone we were her “grandchildren”.
The Grand Finale to this meal would be her homemade fried apple pies. Yes, people, I said *homemade*. Pie crust from scratch rolled and cut into a round shape, apple filling from scratch spooned into the middle of the round crust, crust then folded over into a half moon, sealed around the edges with the tines of a fork and plopped into hot oil and quick fried. Then she drained them on paper towels over a plate and dusted them with cinnamon and sugar.
My father (who was her son-in-law, technically her nephew-in-law) loved these things (hell, who didn’t?). He often could not come with us on Sunday, because, as a mechanic, he was frequently making extra money working on cars.
Grandmother would pack up three or four (or more) of those delicious apple pies in a big piece of foil and send them home with us. She would say: “I know Louie likes these, so they're his, since he’s working hard and he couldn’t come.”
You didn’t touch those pies when you got home. They were Daddy’s - from Grandmother - and Mama would swat your hands if you tried to snag one of those.
Daddy would sit down to supper and then afterward dive into Grandmother’s homemade fried apple pies.
We had dinner together every night, and we had family dinners with grandparents and cousins on a regular basis. Family was, as my Greek grandfather would say, “number one”.
The fried apple pies? They were far more than just a tasty treat. They were all that love my grandmother had to give: the love she gave to her sister’s child, her sister’s grandchildren, and her sister’s son-in-law.
Love like that will keep you out of a whole helluva lot of trouble in life, people - and it tastes damn good, too.
Polla Filia,
J.F.
Wednesday, September 29, 2010
HOMECOMING
I have been a long time away from this blog, and I have no real excuse except that it has been a long, hot summer, and I have been working on the next book. Now, to more important matters.
I am from Austin (born and bred), but I lived in Dallas for many years before moving back here to Central Texas (I live just outside of Austin now). Austin is not the same as it was in my youth, and that is a bad thing. I cannot bear what the interlopers have done to it. In their ignorance they irrevocably changed that which drew them here in the first place. Stupid. Consequently, I have taken to living in the hills outside the city, near Lake Travis.
Why I left Dallas and moved back to the CenTex is a story for another day - hell, that’s about three or four different blog posts.
Next week I am going to Dallas for five days. That may not sound to you as exciting as the trip I took to San Francisco last year, or the trips to New York City I dream about and pine for on this blog (ah, New York, how I miss you!). It may not seem exciting to you; but I am longing to see Dallas.
You see, Dallas is my second home. I wasn’t born there, and I didn’t grow up there by conventional definitions of “growing up” in a place; but it *is* my second home. It is changing and never changing. Dallas’s charm is defined by change. Whereas, Austin’s charm *was* defined by its unique and previously never-changing spirit. Gone are those days - and if you didn’t grow up in Austin like me, with a Dad who also grew up there, then you cannot debate this point with me. You simply don’t know enough to know what you’re talking about. Now, back to Dallas, because I have digressed into my “Austin Ain’t What It Used To Be” rant.
When I left my parent’s home, I moved to Big D to begin my “day career” (that is the thing I do while I work on the writing gig). It was in Dallas where I first began to seriously water the seeds of my writing dream. It was also there where I truly “grew up” (to the extent I can at all be considered to be grown up - although, I can fake it pretty well for short bursts).
Dallas is more home to me in many ways than any other place. Even after many years away, I still know it like the back of my hand; and I know its nature, its pulse, its hidden magic.
Dallas puts on a face like a sprawling, glittering metropolis; but it has heart - real heart. It is a heart it hides from the superficial traveler; but it will open itself to the dreamer who explores its depths, and who is open enough to understand its warmth.
I leave one week from today. I will relax and breathe in My Great City, My Home Town of Dreams. I will see old friends and very familiar places. I will look at that great dazzling skyline and remember exciting days as I began a new life there, and that excitement will bloom in me anew. I rejuvenate some of the best parts of myself in that place and take them away with me each time.
I will feel Dallas in my blood again in that way only I can know, but can’t describe. Whenever I go back, it claims me again. I feel as if the time that has passed from my last visit is no time at all. Dallas and I are old friends and too close to ever truly grow apart. The familiarity will wrap itself around me as soon as I look out that airplane window and see it sprawled across the north Texas plains.
When I leave it five days later, it will break my heart again, as it has every single time; but as always, I will promise to return. For I never say goodbye to Dallas. I only ever say “Until next time, my old, good friend.”
Polla Filia,
J.F.
I am from Austin (born and bred), but I lived in Dallas for many years before moving back here to Central Texas (I live just outside of Austin now). Austin is not the same as it was in my youth, and that is a bad thing. I cannot bear what the interlopers have done to it. In their ignorance they irrevocably changed that which drew them here in the first place. Stupid. Consequently, I have taken to living in the hills outside the city, near Lake Travis.
Why I left Dallas and moved back to the CenTex is a story for another day - hell, that’s about three or four different blog posts.
Next week I am going to Dallas for five days. That may not sound to you as exciting as the trip I took to San Francisco last year, or the trips to New York City I dream about and pine for on this blog (ah, New York, how I miss you!). It may not seem exciting to you; but I am longing to see Dallas.
You see, Dallas is my second home. I wasn’t born there, and I didn’t grow up there by conventional definitions of “growing up” in a place; but it *is* my second home. It is changing and never changing. Dallas’s charm is defined by change. Whereas, Austin’s charm *was* defined by its unique and previously never-changing spirit. Gone are those days - and if you didn’t grow up in Austin like me, with a Dad who also grew up there, then you cannot debate this point with me. You simply don’t know enough to know what you’re talking about. Now, back to Dallas, because I have digressed into my “Austin Ain’t What It Used To Be” rant.
When I left my parent’s home, I moved to Big D to begin my “day career” (that is the thing I do while I work on the writing gig). It was in Dallas where I first began to seriously water the seeds of my writing dream. It was also there where I truly “grew up” (to the extent I can at all be considered to be grown up - although, I can fake it pretty well for short bursts).
Dallas is more home to me in many ways than any other place. Even after many years away, I still know it like the back of my hand; and I know its nature, its pulse, its hidden magic.
Dallas puts on a face like a sprawling, glittering metropolis; but it has heart - real heart. It is a heart it hides from the superficial traveler; but it will open itself to the dreamer who explores its depths, and who is open enough to understand its warmth.
I leave one week from today. I will relax and breathe in My Great City, My Home Town of Dreams. I will see old friends and very familiar places. I will look at that great dazzling skyline and remember exciting days as I began a new life there, and that excitement will bloom in me anew. I rejuvenate some of the best parts of myself in that place and take them away with me each time.
I will feel Dallas in my blood again in that way only I can know, but can’t describe. Whenever I go back, it claims me again. I feel as if the time that has passed from my last visit is no time at all. Dallas and I are old friends and too close to ever truly grow apart. The familiarity will wrap itself around me as soon as I look out that airplane window and see it sprawled across the north Texas plains.
When I leave it five days later, it will break my heart again, as it has every single time; but as always, I will promise to return. For I never say goodbye to Dallas. I only ever say “Until next time, my old, good friend.”
Polla Filia,
J.F.
Saturday, June 19, 2010
TEACHER, FRIEND, HERO - FATHER
“I have come to believe that a great teacher is a great artist and that there are as few as there are any other great artists. It might even be the greatest of the arts since the medium is the human mind and spirit.”
-- John Steinbeck
In honor of Father’s Day the below is a re-write of two posts I previously put up here about my Dad. Happy Father’s Day, Daddy!
My father was a great father. Like all great fathers, one of the things which made him great was that he was a great teacher. He also managed to be those things and be a friend. Combine all of it, and he became one of my greatest heroes as well.
My Dad died some years back. He got out of the shower one night, had a massive heart attack and that was it. As bad as it was (and for me it was a great darkness), I still say that’s the way to go - so fast you don’t know what hit you.
Dad was a tough guy - a man’s man; but, he was loving and giving to his kids. He would praise us often for doing well in school, or in some other effort. He didn’t spank or yell, but if you dis-obeyed the rules you would be grounded - and you DID NOT ask for early reprieve on a grounding. There were no bicycling privileges when you were grounded. We were required to spend our time only in our yard, and in contemplation of how we would improve ourselves and amend our ways. Consequently, we followed Daddy’s rules.
I was the worst of the three of us, getting a two-week grounding (with the bicycle put up on high hooks in the garage). I had ridden said bike outside of the approved area for riding my bike without an adult. I rode it all the way down to the creek and was riding it through a culvert when Dad came looking for me. I had been gone a long time. This rule was (of course) one for my own safety. I never did it again.
My Dad was a mechanic and a machinist. He did the machinist thing as his main livelihood (the man could fix or fabricate *anything*), and he did the auto-mechanicin’ at night and on the weekends. When I was a kid, he raced go-karts. Before my time, he raced other stuff. All of it was just local - in Texas; but, I grew up with cars on my mind, and racing as my favorite sport to watch.
When I got old enough to hold a wrench (or any other tool), I was out in the garage learning from Dad, and when I got old enough to know what I was doing (about 15), I was actually working on cars with my Dad.
Dad didn’t work on new cars - he restored and worked on old American cars (you know, the kind before they put computers in them). I was right there with him, up to my elbows in grease.
Once the work was done, it was time for a cold brew (when I was legal). I would go inside and get two bottles and bring them out to the garage. The two of us would lean back against the workbench with our refreshment and feel the relief which can only come from cold beer after a hard day’s work. Then the family would all get dressed and we’d go out for Mexican food. Daddy and I would frequently go play pool afterward. We were notorious for playing until three in the morning.
While hanging out with my Dad, I was learning a lot more than just cool stuff about cars and racing. I was learning about work ethic, integrity, and the importance of approaching a project with organization, focus and the right state of mind.
My Dad was a high-school dropout who later got his GED, but the man was wicked smart. He was an autodidact. He read anything and everything, and absorbed it like a sponge. He had a red-neck Texas accent, but you’d be a fool to think he wasn’t smart. He made straight A’s in high school English before he dropped out. He could speak perfect English if he wanted to, and he could discuss physics with you if you were smart enough to keep up. It was from this Renaissance man I learned to value the acquisition of knowledge, and to strive for constant improvement of myself.
All men should strive to be the kind of father my father was.
Think about it - this man disciplined his children without threats, spanking or yelling. He was firm and consistent, and he showed love and praise often.
Don’t get me wrong, he got angry; but, his anger was a controlled and calm kind of anger. His was a stern look and “Don’t ever do that again.” And that was it. No histrionics or drama. Just a firm and serious reminder of what was right and what was wrong. I never argued with him, or questioned him - not out of fear, but out of admiration and respect - and *love*.
He was a man of remarkable character and ethics. Streams of people consistently remarked on this at his funeral - and it was standing room only that day. A man such as this compels people to come and pay respect.
He also had a great sense of humor, and a terrific laugh. He was, and still is, the best Dad a girl could ever have. He was Louie - teacher, friend, hero - Father.
I wish you could have known my Dad, because you would have been like every friend I ever had who knew him. You would have said “Your Dad is soooo COOL!”
Yes, he was.
Every race I watch on TV, or go to live, I know he’s right there sitting next to me enjoying every second. I know he’s in my corner no matter what I’m doing. He’s ready to whisper advice in my ear and remind me about the right way to do things - anything. His spirit will always be near me, because he’s there, and because he left so much a part of himself in *my* spirit.
He was Louie, and I am lucky enough to be Louie’s Kid.
I know he’s out there driving down Heaven’s roads, winding through Elysian fields, golden sun shining down, wind across his face, laughter in his wake.
Drive on, Daddy, drive on!
Polla Filia,
J.F.
-- John Steinbeck
In honor of Father’s Day the below is a re-write of two posts I previously put up here about my Dad. Happy Father’s Day, Daddy!
My father was a great father. Like all great fathers, one of the things which made him great was that he was a great teacher. He also managed to be those things and be a friend. Combine all of it, and he became one of my greatest heroes as well.
My Dad died some years back. He got out of the shower one night, had a massive heart attack and that was it. As bad as it was (and for me it was a great darkness), I still say that’s the way to go - so fast you don’t know what hit you.
Dad was a tough guy - a man’s man; but, he was loving and giving to his kids. He would praise us often for doing well in school, or in some other effort. He didn’t spank or yell, but if you dis-obeyed the rules you would be grounded - and you DID NOT ask for early reprieve on a grounding. There were no bicycling privileges when you were grounded. We were required to spend our time only in our yard, and in contemplation of how we would improve ourselves and amend our ways. Consequently, we followed Daddy’s rules.
I was the worst of the three of us, getting a two-week grounding (with the bicycle put up on high hooks in the garage). I had ridden said bike outside of the approved area for riding my bike without an adult. I rode it all the way down to the creek and was riding it through a culvert when Dad came looking for me. I had been gone a long time. This rule was (of course) one for my own safety. I never did it again.
My Dad was a mechanic and a machinist. He did the machinist thing as his main livelihood (the man could fix or fabricate *anything*), and he did the auto-mechanicin’ at night and on the weekends. When I was a kid, he raced go-karts. Before my time, he raced other stuff. All of it was just local - in Texas; but, I grew up with cars on my mind, and racing as my favorite sport to watch.
When I got old enough to hold a wrench (or any other tool), I was out in the garage learning from Dad, and when I got old enough to know what I was doing (about 15), I was actually working on cars with my Dad.
Dad didn’t work on new cars - he restored and worked on old American cars (you know, the kind before they put computers in them). I was right there with him, up to my elbows in grease.
Once the work was done, it was time for a cold brew (when I was legal). I would go inside and get two bottles and bring them out to the garage. The two of us would lean back against the workbench with our refreshment and feel the relief which can only come from cold beer after a hard day’s work. Then the family would all get dressed and we’d go out for Mexican food. Daddy and I would frequently go play pool afterward. We were notorious for playing until three in the morning.
While hanging out with my Dad, I was learning a lot more than just cool stuff about cars and racing. I was learning about work ethic, integrity, and the importance of approaching a project with organization, focus and the right state of mind.
My Dad was a high-school dropout who later got his GED, but the man was wicked smart. He was an autodidact. He read anything and everything, and absorbed it like a sponge. He had a red-neck Texas accent, but you’d be a fool to think he wasn’t smart. He made straight A’s in high school English before he dropped out. He could speak perfect English if he wanted to, and he could discuss physics with you if you were smart enough to keep up. It was from this Renaissance man I learned to value the acquisition of knowledge, and to strive for constant improvement of myself.
All men should strive to be the kind of father my father was.
Think about it - this man disciplined his children without threats, spanking or yelling. He was firm and consistent, and he showed love and praise often.
Don’t get me wrong, he got angry; but, his anger was a controlled and calm kind of anger. His was a stern look and “Don’t ever do that again.” And that was it. No histrionics or drama. Just a firm and serious reminder of what was right and what was wrong. I never argued with him, or questioned him - not out of fear, but out of admiration and respect - and *love*.
He was a man of remarkable character and ethics. Streams of people consistently remarked on this at his funeral - and it was standing room only that day. A man such as this compels people to come and pay respect.
He also had a great sense of humor, and a terrific laugh. He was, and still is, the best Dad a girl could ever have. He was Louie - teacher, friend, hero - Father.
I wish you could have known my Dad, because you would have been like every friend I ever had who knew him. You would have said “Your Dad is soooo COOL!”
Yes, he was.
Every race I watch on TV, or go to live, I know he’s right there sitting next to me enjoying every second. I know he’s in my corner no matter what I’m doing. He’s ready to whisper advice in my ear and remind me about the right way to do things - anything. His spirit will always be near me, because he’s there, and because he left so much a part of himself in *my* spirit.
He was Louie, and I am lucky enough to be Louie’s Kid.
I know he’s out there driving down Heaven’s roads, winding through Elysian fields, golden sun shining down, wind across his face, laughter in his wake.
Drive on, Daddy, drive on!
Polla Filia,
J.F.
Monday, May 10, 2010
MERCY MERCY ME
This is for our precious Gulf of Mexico which is being damaged beyond any kind of repair in the next decade - and maybe longer. I won’t say what I think about offshore drilling or BP in particular because none of it is good. The whole situation makes me furious.
I will say that I have been a card-carrying, and very proud member of the Sierra Club for a very long time. There are ways for us to have the fuel we need and grow a robust economy in the process. In fact, the one would create the other quite nicely. We are smart enough to do it. We must do it.
On top of what they have done to our ocean and shorelines, eleven men - ELEVEN - are dead. Their families grief-stricken. May their memory be eternal, and may God bless their loved ones.
My heart also goes out to all the people who live along the Gulf Coast which is being beset by this ecological disaster, and especially to those hard-working people who are losing the livelihoods they have worked so long to build. May God bless you all!
The late and blessed Mr. Marvin Gaye wrote this outstanding tune around 1971. It appeared on his “What’s Going On” album of that year. You can read more about the tune here: Mercy Mercy Me on Wiki
Click on this and you may read the lyrics below while you listen to the Great Mr. Gaye sing his song which is so fitting to our current situation: Mercy Mercy Performed by Mr. Gaye
Mercy Mercy Me
Oh, mercy mercy me
Oh, things ain't what they used to be
No, no
Where did all the blue sky go?
Poison is the wind that blows
From the north, east, south, and sea
Oh, mercy mercy me
Oh, things ain't what they used to be
No, no
Oil wasted on the oceans and upon our seas
Fish full of mercury
Oh, mercy mercy me
Oh, things ain't what they used to be
No, no
Radiation in the ground and in the sky
Animals and birds who live nearby are dying
Oh, mercy mercy me
Oh, things ain't what they used to be
What about this overcrowded land?
How much more abuse from man can you stand?
My sweet Lord
My sweet Lord
My sweet Lord
Polla Filia,
J.F.
I will say that I have been a card-carrying, and very proud member of the Sierra Club for a very long time. There are ways for us to have the fuel we need and grow a robust economy in the process. In fact, the one would create the other quite nicely. We are smart enough to do it. We must do it.
On top of what they have done to our ocean and shorelines, eleven men - ELEVEN - are dead. Their families grief-stricken. May their memory be eternal, and may God bless their loved ones.
My heart also goes out to all the people who live along the Gulf Coast which is being beset by this ecological disaster, and especially to those hard-working people who are losing the livelihoods they have worked so long to build. May God bless you all!
The late and blessed Mr. Marvin Gaye wrote this outstanding tune around 1971. It appeared on his “What’s Going On” album of that year. You can read more about the tune here: Mercy Mercy Me on Wiki
Click on this and you may read the lyrics below while you listen to the Great Mr. Gaye sing his song which is so fitting to our current situation: Mercy Mercy Performed by Mr. Gaye
Mercy Mercy Me
Oh, mercy mercy me
Oh, things ain't what they used to be
No, no
Where did all the blue sky go?
Poison is the wind that blows
From the north, east, south, and sea
Oh, mercy mercy me
Oh, things ain't what they used to be
No, no
Oil wasted on the oceans and upon our seas
Fish full of mercury
Oh, mercy mercy me
Oh, things ain't what they used to be
No, no
Radiation in the ground and in the sky
Animals and birds who live nearby are dying
Oh, mercy mercy me
Oh, things ain't what they used to be
What about this overcrowded land?
How much more abuse from man can you stand?
My sweet Lord
My sweet Lord
My sweet Lord
Polla Filia,
J.F.
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