Yes, this is what I indeed decided to do. There is too much here to sort out, the whole post is wonderful with all of its comments included just as they are.
I have a long day–a long road–ahead of me tomorrow. Wish me luck!
Tag Archives: Reflection
In The Barbwire Embrace Of A Wanton Muse | mishaburnett
One doesn’t expect to find a kindred spirit in a place such as this–or a kindred mind, or even a kindred body….
Hmmm. Does that not sound like a good first sentence to an intriguing story? The fact is I can’t help it. Nor can you.
AR, with whom, wonder of wonders, I now know you to be familiar, wrote an intriguing story once. Very short. I believe it was called “The simplest thing in the world,” however I’m not positive, because, once again, I’m not relying on Google, but simply on good old fashioned grey matter. You might dig it up. It … pertains.
In any case, I do feel a pathos for you, as a man and as a writer. I have come to terms with writing, at this late date. I have spent so much time NOT doing it. Decidedly not. Doggedly, deterministically not.
But enough about me. I will say, that the fact that A is A, is significant in this instance. Because writing science fiction, or fantasy, or whatever genre you may pick, is simply a learned skill. I have read all of the authors you have mentioned–at least the ones in the Hard SF category–though not so much the others. As a result, my head is so stuffed full of it, that SF literally flies off my fingers, Although I also have a background in the sciences which also adds to the brain stuffing effect. My point is, there is no such thing as being “meant” to write a certain thing.
And when someone who subscribes to objective reality and even Romantic Realism, as do I, one must eventually come to terms with that fact: That there is nothing possible that one cannot do, only that thing, the doing of which has not yet been mastered. It is as simple as that. Write what you love, and love what you write.
I’m, going to go way out on a limb here, one guy to another: So far out, that you might not ever speak to me again. Really.. I’ll end up crying by the phone like a 13 year old girl, and everything. But here goes:
Sometimes what you need, is, in fact a dose of science. Quite literally. Perhaps 100mg Welbutrin SR, to start with. Believe me, I have done so when necessary, and its funny how, all the problems I thought I had, suddenly reveal themselves as being made of nothing. Entirely without substance. And then, I can simply go back to doing what I love, or what I want, or what, perhaps, I need to do to pay the bills. Take your pick. I have a sense that depression might be at the heart of your problem. It is nothing to be ashamed of. All the best writers have it!!
But there are legitimate reasons to feel bad, like when something bad happens, but only for a little while. When you feel bad all the time, or a lot of the time, or you think that things are generally hopeless, that’s your clue that you are not being realistic.
Plus, while it may be true that “people” like one thing you write and not another, it is also true that those same people are very likely to not like both soft fantasy and hard SF. I can only tolerate a modicum of Soft fiction. I like my SF hard, and well turned out, (like my men–I couldn’t help writing that, sorry, shades of “Airplane,” the movie) Seriously though, soft SF, ala Ellison, and even softer fantasy, makes me go–well,,, dare I say, soft?
True, a good story is a good story, and I agree with that because, after all, A is, in fact, A. However all genre writing, particularity to a good writer, WHICH YOU ARE IN SPADES! is a simple matter of mastering the “chops.” Mystery, Romance, Spy. Revenge. Techno-thriller, whatever.
So master them. If it is really true that your Kings and Queens are better than your Hyperdrive pilots, just master the chops. And, I’m not sure I’d agree with your assertion, having read Catskinner. In fact, if there were some kind of “Breath of Fresh Air” award, or “Not the Same Tired Old Crap” award, I’d nominate you for both (my wife is a literature nerd and even she agrees, and believe me, she can be very, very picky) if it were within my power to do so. As a big “O” myself, I have no interest in awards personally. Just like, you know who.
Master the chops you want. Take a happy pill if you genuinely need one. Believe me, I have. I also take a tiny pill for ADD, which, if I don’t, four hours turn into less than one hour, and of course, the amazing reverse of that, when I do take it. Which, since I’m not out of my ^&$%# mind with stupidity, I do.
Not everyone’s brain is normal or neuro-typical, particularly, not that of a writer. Probably has to do with the peculiar brand of feedback loops in our brains. I’m not sure. I just know many writers, read about many many more. and that fact seems self evident.
Very well. I shall now turn the testosterone back down to its normal level….
And all this just because I would like to make sure I will be able to read those 6 or 8 sequel, to which I refereed some time ago. I think also, I know the perfect person to give your first book–in hard-cover–to for Christmas.
Oh my is my list so very long this year.
In any event, becoming proficient at anything is simply a matter of work. I have written sonnets here and there for most of my life; however, writing one or more every day has changed my understanding of them forever. I can’t imagine what will happen to that understanding after I have done so for a year or two, or three. I don’t claim they are masterpieces, but I do claim I enjoy writing them ever more. And that I attack them with greater and greater enthusiasm–even when I don’t feel like writing one–sometimes I think those turn out the for the better, although I don’t have an explanation for that phenomenon. Also, doing so has, to use a common, though rather sloppy, turn of phrase, “Informed” my other, writing. Of which, also inexplicably, I am able to do more, ever since I have so yoked myself.
I also believe that it is very necessary, my good man, for those of us who do, in fact, subscribe to objective reality, to make an “End Run” around those who don’t. If we don’t. I fear our world is doomed.
via In The Barbwire Embrace Of A Wanton Muse | mishaburnett.
entangled-in-paradox….
I believe the poem which inspired this comment of mine to have a very dark message. Perhaps deconstructionist, perhaps marxist, perhaps even nihilistic. [though its author assures me not]
Some things pain me to read; because I know such things, such realities, seem true–and perhaps are true for many, at least in the present. And, although they may seem so; still, one should not proclaim such conditions, such realities to be changeless. No such condition is set in stone. Quite often our prison is of our own making; not bars set by our circumstances, but by those we construct by virtue of the way we think about them–the way in which we frame them in our minds.
This, perhaps, is too dark for me, I’m not sure I understand its message; However, I do know that I cannot exist–not in the same way, or in the same universe–without my truest love. I wonder, when I read such as this, if the author knows little else but hurt, and pain.
I would want to tell such a young man–or a young lady–that he should Know that it is not that way for everyone. If one claims it is so, then one tells a lie, and a very evil one at that, though perhaps, not intentionally.
There is great joy everywhere; and great joy in our mothers and our fathers, our sisters and our brothers, our husbands and our wives, our sons and our daughters. So very many of us, do not break them apart, but hold them together, keep them, as may many of them keep us, from breaking apart.
In this way am I kept. In this way, does my life have all the more meaning.
via entangledinparadox.
Beloved Objects:
I wrote the following. I think it’s long enough to copy here. I also encourage anyone reading this to follow the link to Bjorn’s blog to read the original piece that inspired the following:
I am very sentimental about such things. I have aways wondered why I should be so reluctant to part with a favored old item. It was so from when I was very young. I have learned to overcome it, however, I remember well the old feeling, not so covered up by age and experience. Of sadness, betrayal, loss, loneliness. It was as though the objects themselves had souls, I thought much later on in adulthood.
Now, even much, much later, I have come to think that, closer to the truth is this: That in these objects we invest part of our own soul, and feel the loss as the object is ripped from it–away from us, that part of our soul remaining, yet feeling the effect of the beloved object torn from us–ripped away. So we feel the loss as though the object were an old friend.
I was not sure what to think about this piece at first, because it changes mood swiftly, and more than once–sometimes seeming deadly serious, and sometimes whimsical. I think I wanted–because of these feelings of loss that are natural to me–It to be serious, or whimsical in its entirety. However… one doesn’t always get what one wants, and this, too, is a lesson which should be refreshed from time to time.
I believe I am starting to recognize your unique voice as it resonates within your poetry, such that I might recognize a poem to be yours, or at least reminiscent of one of yours, when encountering it randomly.
And Bjorn Answers:
David, first of all thank you for reading through my entries. I love your feedback.
On the difficulties in parting with an object I think you are 100 percent correct. If it has seen daily use it become a part of you, and it doesn’t matter if it’s a tractor or a teapot.
On the poem I think you are right. I changed my own mood while writing it, at first I almost wanted to do something “comical”, but the sadness of the old machine grew on me just like it would have done if I had grown up with “him”.
We Want Non-Fish Sushi
In such cases, does one not wrap a piece of tofu and a few bean sprouts in a jacket of rice and seaweed, and douse it, ever so slightly with urine? Having been a server the better part of a century ago, I seem to recall that was the perfect solution. “Win-win,” as I believe the saying goes.
Silent sound
This is a most beautiful piece. You do such free verse very nicely. Inspiring to me. I love the spare feel. Particularly because when one is outside–among nature, as it were, one feels so small–so vulnerable. Yet, on the one hand, so much beauty surrounds us; on the other hand, it can harm, or even kill us. Part of nature’s charm is in its danger, and it is, I believe a good part of why we feel so satisfied when we tame a small portion of it.
Today
Into the fog
The many shades of grey
As nature lost the colors normally
It has
The goal
We know so well looks different
The sounds so silently
We talk not loud
Today
—-
August 28, 2012
I Stand In Awe…
I wish I could convey all this, and more, and feel I am hardly adequate to do so.
David Emeron: Sonnets 