On Poor Writing Thursday, Aug 6 2009

I’m sitting at a red light. To my right is a video store. In this day of the download, those old brick-and-mortars don’t look so hot. Oh, they try — but so do the trannies in fishnets back on Santa Monica boulevard.

Still no green. I look at a very large poster for a movie I’ve never heard of.

The design elements are:

* a whole lot of white space

* a title I don’t remember

* a tagline in a font too small to read from the street despite the poster’s window filling acreage

* a man

* a woman who is Beyoncé

* another woman

* the arrangement of man-woman-woman to imply a love triangle of menacing nature

So, an awful poster for what looks like an awful movie.

I grew up in this neighborhood. I know this is the longest red light in town, but still — get me out of here.

Then everything that is on my right resonates with everything that is off in my life:

What if I write a movie like that? What if I write a screenplay and I think its really good because its the best I can do but then I see the poster and its something like that because frankly the marketing guys just don’t have a lot to work with? And the movie is awful and uninteresting and even I want to change the channel because I caught it on TV — didn’t even bother to DVR it — because frankly the director and actors and even the art department didn’t have anything more to work with than the marketing guys?

What if I write a bad movie?

I relate this story over sushi to my friend, a business director in her position and a novelist in her soul. The sun is now disappearing outside.  “Well,” she says, handing the black check presenter back to our server with her credit card inside,  “At least you’d get paid.”

My friend is very clever, and she’s right: I should be so lucky.

Back in the car, and now I’m looking out at the morning sun in the rearview mirror.

You should be so lucky, to write a terrible movie. If your first draft is coherent at all, it would be a happy accident.

I think of a screenplay sitting in my closet at home: a copy of an early draft of The Last Samurai. Its radically different than the story that Edward Zwick actually filmed, and not nearly as satisfying. Captain Algren isn’t a drunken soldier of fortune haunted by memories of genocide — he’s the darling of West Point. Katsumoto is the enemy and he stays the enemy. Algren is married, and his wife dies — predictably. All in all, rather bland.

“I’m like that too,” my friend says between sips of water. “I want it to be perfect the first time.”

“I guess it’s like what Hemingway said about first drafts,” I reply.

We smile at each other. We’re both writers; we know the quote. No need to curse during dinner.

The light turns green, and I pass through the intersection and continue towards the onramp. Time to go home and write something awful.

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Constants Monday, Aug 3 2009

Caught Eminem’s video for Beautiful.

It’s him walking around in Detroit. These are not nice neighborhoods.  They are economically devastated. There’s even a stadium being torn down.

I’m watching Em. He’s got money. Being in this environment isn’t the trap for him that it is for almost everyone else.

Of course, this album is the one he made after disappearing for five years into addiction and depression. Money was a bigger trap than poverty was.

Something about the look on his face, it just hit me.

We will always feel the way we do.

There’s no pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, no achievement that will erase this strange soul-ache.

There are moments. Connections. Foretastes of heaven. But satisfaction? No. This body isn’t capable.

This isn’t depressing. It’s freeing.  I felt happier when I realized that no matter what changes, I’ll never be happier. No more chasing the wind.

Most unhappiness in life is a result of false metrics — being unsatisfied with your perfectly good apples because they aren’t the color of someone else’s oranges.

Yeah, it’s a cliche, that whole destination vs. journey thing.

But maybe a cliche is just a truth everyone has heard but few have felt?

Link to the video.

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Consuming Friday, Jul 31 2009

Decided to meditate today.

Went in my room, shut the door, closed my eyes and tried to focus on my breathing.

Sitting wasn’t really comfortable, so I cleared off the bedding and laid flat on my back, no pillow, hands rising and falling over my stomach.

Ah yes… my stomach. That tricky little bag of complaints. It wants, it gets, it wants again.

I could complain… but not without giving license to myopia. Its hard for me to eat enough. Eating effects my energy level and mood and stuff, but as far as my body is concerned, “weight gain” might as well be a foreign phrase in a pocket guide book.

No, I’m thinking about my stomach because it’s the only part of me that is moving. It’s drawn my attention, and I’m hungry because I haven’t had lunch yet, but I set the alarm on my blackberry for 4:30pm. Half an hour of meditation during which I don’t have to check the clock because the clock will let me know when to stop.

Up and down. Breathing. Relaxing.

Maybe.

Thinking about appetites. The stomach’s obvious, but there’s more than one bellicose empty space in my body. I’m covered and surrounded by them. There isn’t an inch of me that doesn’t clamor for attention.

“…in an information-rich world, the wealth of information means a dearth of something else: a scarcity of whatever it is that information consumes. What information consumes is rather obvious: it consumes the attention of its recipients. Hence a wealth of information creates a poverty of attention and a need to allocate that attention efficiently among the overabundance of information sources that might consume it” –Herbert Simon, “Designing Organizations for an Information-Rich World”,p. 40-41 (1971).

My hands, my feet, my mind, my heart — they’re all telling me they have space to fill.

They want to build, to go, to grasp, to know.

There’s a choir of concave hollows, singing, sometimes howling for the convex contentment that had been their earlier blessing.

But it was for the fulfillment of appetite that the pleasures of the Garden were lost. As it was in the days of our fathers, so it is now — even in this age.

Simon spoke of attention as commodity. As I lie on my bed, eyes closed, ears open to all these damned pressing needs (there are none, not needs, not really — but I can hear them nonetheless), I know the economy is in shambles.

Throw a dart at a map of Africa, and you will find the state of affairs in my body. Oh, we’re a republic in name, to be sure — on good terms with the West and its NGO’s and charities and chartered institutions. We wouldn’t get by without the daily influx of foreign aid. But the hospitals are staffed with one doctor per ten thousand residents, infrastructure is a nightmare of intermittent services and milk-skimming dairy hands, and for want of employment, the streets abound with young men with guns. Young men who do not always agree.

My body is a bundle of cravings. Satisfying one means denying another.

“Do you consume so that you may produce? Or do you consume in search of satisfaction?”

Well there’s a thought I’ve never quite heard before — not that succinctly.

I know the answer. Why the inmates run the asylum. Or maybe it’s the old folks who have taken over the nursing home, popping all the pills they want. Sending there hearts into overdrive and tripping on colors and four hour erections.

Jesus and the fig tree — a tree draws nutrients from the soil its rooted in and the sun that shines on it and the water that comes to it, all so it can produce fruit. We’re no different. No fruit on this tree; Jesus curses it. It withers, releasing its components to be reclaimed for productive use.

Why would a tree fail to produce fruit? Couldn’t have been healthy. Like those corrupt third world fiefdoms. Like me. I can feel the pressure in my head — anxiety. Every message I’ve ever internalized, the light and the darkness in conflict. You’re everything; you’re nothing. You’re only worthy of contempt, sometimes not even that: only indifference. You’re loved; it’s a lie. You’ve been given so much; you’ve given so little. You’re a whore and a thief. You’re a saint — pure.

I think about what I want. Not my appetites. This is passion. Desire for wholeness. I ask for it. My body strains after it, physically. It’s not relaxation — it’s yearning.

The mob settles down. The Blue Helmets arrive. Oh, the country’s still a mess, sure. But the urban fighting stops. No more automatic weapons fire at midnight. There’s going to be an audit. Money will go where it was intended.

The blackberry goes off, and I sit up. Centered.

Time to eat.

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Feedback Tuesday, Jun 10 2008

Went to Monkey Butler last night. Gabe was giving us personal evaluations, so it was a good chance to get his observations on where I need to develop as a performer.

So funny how improv training is synonymous with life training.

After class I went over to Chris Taylor’s house to see my buddy Nate. Chris is out of town on business, but his girlfriend Jeanne was there. She is an amazing woman, and becomes more amazing to me every time we talk and I learn more of her story. Last night she looks at me and says (with her wonderful French accent), “You’ve changed since the last time I saw you.”

Jeanne’s incredibly perceptive, so that got me to sit up and take notice. “Really? What’s different?”

“When I look into your eyes, there’s confidence. It wasn’t there before. I could see it even when you were outside, coming up to the house.”

Nate echoed the observation. “Oh yeah dude. You’re totally different then you were when I met you.”

I know there are still huge gaps in my life where I’m not confident at all, things where hidden terrors hold me back from moving forward.
But I am coming to accept that I can move forward. I have in other areas, I can in all others. Its the paradox of taking responsibility: you are where you want to be. You brought yourself here, but by the same token you can take yourself somewhere else.

Jeanne and Nate finished their wine, I had a beer. We talked more about adversity and purpose, relationships and vulnerability.

I haven’t achieved total victory over the darkness in my life. But the fact that my friends see the light that has come, the ground that’s been taken; this a great encouragement. I’m totally in love with these two people.

The couch was offered for me to crash on, and I accepted. These days I take every night I don’t come home as an adventurous accomplishment.

Nate’s off to visit family in Indiana for a week and half. Said goodbye and see you soon, then hopped on my bike and rolled down the hill to my place.

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Day Tripper Tuesday, Jun 3 2008

A Metro Day Pass in L.A. is $5. With it you can hop on any city bus or subway and go where it takes you.

Which is what I did Sunday.

Started by getting on the bus here in Pasadena at 9:00am. A transfer in Eagle Rock brought me to Say Cheese restaurant in Silver Lake, where a co-worker of mine works the Sunday Brunch shift. Say Cheese has good coffee, good prices and–what else?–great cheese. Chatted with Nicolai a bit and then, after finishing my Ham and Gruyere croissant at 11:30 got up to go who knows where.

I like to navigate by sense of direction, so I set my feet south on Hyperion Blvd and started walking. Went over a few hills and took in the vistas of Los Feliz, Hollywood, Downtown–the charred patches of Griffith Park from last year’s fire. Walked past the dog parks on Silver Lake Blvd and up the east side of the Reservoir, then down to Glendale Blvd. Saw the Red Lion, where Mark–another co-worker and fellow screenwriter–used to work. They had a big sign saying they serve Bitburger beer, so I think that’s where ‘ll go with my parents next time they’re in town.

Caught a bus into the city. They were shooting a movie called Hotel for Dogs. Whatever.

Stepped into the lobby of the Wilshire Grand to get away from the street noise so I could make a phone call. Turns out there pool gate doesn’t have any sort of lock or keypass on it. So I grabbed a chaise lounge and tried to even out my farmer’s tan.

Had some Thai food at this great little place with a sweet old lady, then went to the Mayan to see if there was any help I could offer with set-up. My meager contribution was carrying a table and a box for Jason, the DJ; we hung out and traded stories for an hour or so. His fiancee used to babysit Adee–they’re getting married in five weeks!

Church was awesome. The speaker, Hank, is an exciting new voice at Mosaic with a fascinating life. At one point he asked if there were any parents in the audience–mine was the only hand that went up. Sort of a little snapshot of my present life and context.

At the end of the message Erwin took the mic for a moment just to let people know that he was indeed present, that Hank wasn’t filling in, but rather “he’s first string.” Erwin’s so good at encouraging and lifting people up. Even though he only said about four sentences, I was tearing up at the genuine respect and affection he was showing his protege. It was a public act that pulled back the curtain a bit on the real beauty of relationships.

Saw a lot of friends: Andy, Ray, Garett, Brady, Skyler. Had a good conversation with Leslie. Met Dany in the lobby beforehand and she was kind enough to sit with me, even though the service was arranged theatre in the round style and I picked a tall table and bar stools right behind the band.

Got a text message from Tyff inviting me over for wine and games at her place in Culver City. Took a little while and a bit of backtracking, but I finally navigated my way down the Blue Line to Staples Center and then along Venice Blvd. A guy on the bus asked to borrow my phone because his was dying and he needed to call someone in Santa Monica. Apparently he was picking up some money but he wasn’t going to get there in time, so they had to figure out a hiding spot where he could retrieve the cash. This is just one of a half dozen fascinating things that happened on the bus that day.

Arrived at Tyff’s to find a game of Taboo in full swing, and that every other guy there was also a spec screenwriter. Lots of fun, cheekiness and consumption of Rice Krispie Treats ensued. I don’t drink wine so I had to make due with the one Coors Light we could excavate from the confusion of the fridge.

The night wound down, people went home. We laid Tyff’s co-worker to rest on the couch to sleep off his one-tequila two-tequila three-tequila floor, then stayed up way too late ourselves talking about God, ourselves, this life inbetween, what you want and what you get. Even dead tired, Tyffany’s and awesome listener. She very kindly let me crash in the living room opposite the hibernating waiter. She kept insisting that the couch pillow wasn’t going to be very comfortable and wouldn’t stop trying to give me another one until I threatened to throw it at her.

The absolute best part about all of this was that I was writing the whole time. If I was on the move I’d just type into my phone, if not I’d write in my notebook. I guess I’m just inspired by being out there and taking everything in.

Woke up at six. Caught the bus back into downtown. Had coffee and a bagel with cream cheese, then took the Red line to the Gold line to the 181 home. Got off the bus at 9:00am.

Best five bucks I ever spent.

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Wednesday, Nov 14 2007

So last week I turned in a ten minute play for my playwriting class. At the time I thought I had just dashed something off to make the deadline. I wasn’t really happy with the draft. We didn’t get to it then, so I actually got to hear it read tonight.

Like gourmet cheese, it seems to have aged well.

I actually enjoyed it. It wasn’t perfect. But the majority opinion was much more favorable then I expected. I thought I would be explaining away a bomb, but it turned out to be a subtle piece with an interesting angle.

The coolest part was a fellow student saying he really wanted to see the finished product performed on stage. That’s cool.

Oh yeah, I actually did good on my Genetics test this morning. Thought for sure I was going to bomb that too.

All in all, good day in school.

—————-
Now playing: The Go-Go’s – Our Lips Are Sealed
via FoxyTunes

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Living water rather than salt water. Thursday, Nov 1 2007

 I have this metaphor for giving in to temptation. I call it drinking sea water. People stranded at sea without freshwater sometimes become so thirsty that they drink the seawater around them. The result is that the salt dehydrates their bodies further, and causes delirium. So even though you are drinking something, it actually makes you thirstier, and crazy. And the more you drink the worse it gets.

That’s my experience with temptation. Whenever I’ve lost my temper, lusted after women with my eyes and mind, indulged in procrastination and laziness, or done whatever else I knew I shouldn’t do but wanted to do anyways, that’s always been the result. I’ve just wanted more, not less, of whatever I was sinning with, I lost all peace and connection with God, and I quite literally lose my right mind.

So why do I do it? Because I AM thirsty! My heart and soul want fulfillment, and they don’t have it. So they crave substitutes.

This week has been really cool, because I’ve been blessed to experience several times God providing me with what is Real.  I’ve felt  The Thirst, and I’m learning to listen to my craving and seek His Living Water.

I find it in Beauty

I find it in Worship

I find it in Gratitude

I find it in Acceptance, Forgiveness and Compassion. For myself and for others.

Tuesday I looked out at my porch and realized the tree in my planter was singing to its Creator. And I joined its song. As  I write this, the trees and the rocks and the grass and all the rest of creation- they groan with us, but they also praise.

Who’d have thought that the plants outside and the sky were setting an example for me to follow?
—————-
Now playing: Chris Tomlin – Enough
via FoxyTunes

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Dichotomy unpeeled–this blows my mind. Sunday, Oct 7 2007

I am two people. A dead man and a living one.

I have complete freedom from myself because myself is deserving of nothing–on my own I am as dust.

I have complete freedom in myself because Christ is in me and He is deserving of everything.

These things were revealed while meditating several days ago. I’ve been trying to discern the right path between two unmovable truths:

1. My repeated actions have completely disqualified me from any claim to my marriage to Christina based on my own merits, etc. I made promises and didn’t fulfill them. I habitually broke her trust. I did not honor her as unique and special. As a lifestyle, I sought to control and manipulate my circumstances and therefore her. I ignored her feelings unless they threatened me; then I would approach them as a problem to solve, something to appease so the conflict would go away, rather than someone to love and care for. I demanded authenticity from her life while my own was rife with hypocrisy, demanded she give while I was selfish to such a degree that I couldn’t even see it.

2. I love her, and if I am not pursuing her I am less then who I am. She is God’s embodiment of love to me, and I to her. While I may have warped the way the truth was expressed in our lives and marriage through all the things listed above, that doesn’t change the underlying, certain as the orbit of the stars and the moon, reality that she is my wife, my soulmate, my Beloved. God joined us together in marriage, and we are One.

The confusion comes when deciding what actions to take. How can I act on the second truth when the first is inescapable? These realities both ARE, they exist, yet they have completely opposite velocities. How can their co-existence be reconciled, especially when all I have available is my own limited place in time?

Dana spoke at Mosaic last week. She chose the moment when Moses stepped forward and told God that if He wanted to destroy Israel–who had just blown it with the golden calf–that God was going have to zap Moses first. In fact, he threw more down on the table than just his life–he put his soul at risk.

How does a man do that? I think it’s because Moses knew he was already dead.

I think Moses always remembered that when he had tried his hand at delivering the Israelites from Egypt despite all the learning of a prince all he was able to come up with was violence. Murder. And the Israelites, who were experts in recognizing coercion, called him on it. “Will you strike me dead as you did the Egyptian yesterday?”

I think Moses knew the only reason he was still alive was because of grace. The very law he was delivering to the people said “An eye for an eye, a tooth for tooth.” The punishment for murder was death. Moses had committed this crime. The very fact that he was still breathing at all meant he of all people understood the necessity for love and compassion and mercy rather than judgment.

Does this mean he got off the hook? No. It meant he understood that God had a complete right to do whatever He wanted with Moses life.

Same with me. Ive committed sins that God clearly considers to be capital offenses. It doesn’t matter the sin. What matters is that I’ve blown it. My own life is forfeit. Will I physically die? No. I’ll just keep living this slow death of trying: trying to be loving, trying to be creative, trying to be effective, trying to be a leader, a good son, a good father, a good brother, a good husband.

And I will continue to fail, and to fall. Further and further into a pit of futility. Because all of my trying will be an attempt to deny the truth that will not go away. That I am NOT a good anything. I am not good. I am selfish. I am a thief and a murderer, if not of material goods and lives then of souls and love. On my own, my ultimate contribution is dust and worms, a plague on all people. And the harder I try to deny it, the more I’ll prove it true.

But if I can admit all of these things…

Then I can place this wretched life where it belongs. On a cross. And Christ can come off of His. He hung on his unto death. His work was completed. Now He lives. And unlike me, He lived a life of submission and love. He never sinned against God or man. He created all things and redeemed them. He is worthy of everything. And He lives in me.

When I show someone love, I love Christ. When someone loves me, they love Christ. Therefore, I can reconcile any guilt or feelings of unworthiness I have about receiving anything good in my life because it is really being received through me to Him. True, I don’t deserve it. But deserving and merit and works are appeased by the body hanging on the Hill of the Skull. I live because God lives in me, and whatever good I receive, it comes by mercy, by the understanding that it is right for Him to receive goodness and love and affection and joy through me.

And so I can be free. Both truths are acknowledged. The ways of the universe are appeased. And we may all live in fellowship and joy.

Found this little bit of advice on how to actually put some of this into practice:

“After you find the specific hurt that you’ve been running from, the next step is to do the opposite of fighting it, which is to face it and then embrace it. Allow yourself to feel the hurt of being this way. Cry if you can. Then, while you are feeling this hurt, look over your life and see all the evidence to prove that this is indeed an aspect of you.

Find the evidence to prove that you are worthless, not good enough, not worth loving, a failure or whatever else you’ve been avoiding.

Remember, this isn’t true in reality. This is only true in the realm of thinking and emotion. But in this realm, worthless is very real, and this is the realm where the healing needs to take place. So put yourself in the hurt of feeling this way and look at your life and see all the evidence to prove that you really are this way.

The evidence will be there if you are willing to see it. It has to be. It wouldn’t keep showing up in your life if it wasn’t there. You don’t have to like it. You just have to tell the truth about it. Let it in.

Worthless is part of you. It’s also no big deal. You are also worthy. Worthless and worthy are both aspects of being human. So allow yourself to be human.

Allow yourself to feel all the hurt of being worthless, not good enough, a failure or whatever your issue is. Feel the hurt willingly like a child. Let it come and let it go.

The more you let in the fact that this is an aspect of you, the more impossible it is to run from it. When you can’t run from it, you can’t fight it. When you can’t fight it, the issue loses power and disappears.”

—————-
Now playing: Honey – Force Majeure
via FoxyTunes

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The glass isn’t half anything. It’s empty ’cause I drank it–because that’s what water in a glass is for. Monday, Oct 1 2007

So Saturday night one of the servers and I are talking about school and the conversation rolls around to family. So I wind up telling Daniel that Christina and I are separated right now. He says he’s sorry to hear that and then throws some weight behind the sentiment by offering to buy me a beer after work. Then one of my manager’s gave me an attaboy by buying my dinner.

So I got a friendly slap on the back from the boss in the form of a fantastic yellowtail on Mexican black beans and Spanish rice, and an expression of sympathy over my marital troubles along with a relationship upgrade from co-workers to buddies. Daniel and I got to connect and have some good conversation, and both of us managed to dribble beer because those infernal 32oz looong glasses at Yardhouse get kind of tricky at the end–when you’re taking the last couple of sips you have to tip it way back and wait a couple of seconds before your drink makes the long journey down the flute, and sometimes the liquid will juke to one side where the glass widens at the mouth.

When Christina first moved out back in August, God made Himself clearly present in my life through His people. My best friend Ramsey came and stayed over for a week to give me some much needed company. Through random run-ins with different friends and acquaintances I would find myself surrounded on several occasions with lots of people, someone else kindly bu firmly insisting on picking up the tab.

(As an aside, on several of these occasions an empty chair would somehow have unintentionally migrated to my side. The observation was not lost on me).

Of few of these folks were new to me, some were friends. Most of them were people I knew of and had run into once or had their name come across other conversations several times. The point is that while I was dealing with the aftermath of the most personal and thorough rejection of my life (which isn’t really about me being rejected, but “not about” isn’t the same as “not happening”–pain is pain, my friends), God was letting me know that all of this He still cared for me. I have a community of people who accept me and I accept them and none of us is perfect but we all have a lot to offer and that’s cool.

Now God’s upped the ante by showing me grace and kindness through people beyond the church. For which I am extremely thankful; it helps me to live with gratitude for everything I have. The Lord gives, the Lord takes away… and I believe He gives again.

After all, everyone knows stories are told in three acts.

—————-
Now playing: Bob Seger & the Silver Bullet Band – Old Time Rock & Roll
via FoxyTunes

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