5 days of writing or a futile attempt at such

It is August and seeing as August is traditionally a good month for me, I am going try to get back into regular writing. So, for better or worse (most likely worse) I am committing to 5 days of writing.

Here we go! (In my mind I imagine Mario saying that last part.)

Saturday I went tubing, not the awesome kind that trails you behind a boat being driven by someone that wants nothing more than to see your body hurdling off said tube into the water with as much prejudice as possible. No, I'm talking about tubing down a river. The far less intense activity of sitting in a tube and floating down a river with friends while everyone consumes copious amounts of alcohol kind of tubing.

I had never actually done this type of tubing before and to be honest it was mainly because I felt it would be dreadfully boring. I'm a man of action and I like to move around and "do" things, not sit in a tube and let a river do all the work. Despite my concerns I decided to give it a shot, people seemed to enjoy it and I'd never heard anything bad about it so the only way to truly know was to try.

I embarked on this journey with my girlfriend, two good friends and five strangers. Now seeing as this type of tubing is a relatively social event, I was already fearing the worst being around strangers. I was the only person that didn't know the five others however and I've learned to trust people's judgement at least a little bit over the last year or so.

After a crowded bus ride where I fabricated a romantic encounter between myself and the older woman sitting across from me that I hadn't actually ever met, (she found it hilarious from what I could tell) we arrived at our tube launch area. It was a crowded disorganized mess but our particular group got things going without a hitch and soon we were all connected in a giant 10 tube mass floating down stream.

The cooler full of assorted adult beverages had its own tube, thus accounting for the tenth tube even though only 9 people were present.

There was some ill-preparedness we soon realized when none of us had remembered to bring enough rope to attach all the tubes together. We had enough for the cooler tube luckily and my friend Matt bravely attached it to himself, but the rest of us had to stay connected using our own strength and body parts.

I stayed with the group for roughly 20 minutes before I had to breakaway and do my own thing. I never strayed too far from the group but I did not spend much time in my tube. I was swimming around and playing in the water, occasionally being bashed against big rocks on the shallow portions. Sometimes having large expanses of deep water where I could not touch the bottom but no matter where I was or what I was doing, one hand remained above the water in an effort to keep my beer safe from spilling. After all, I did not want to risk getting the river drunk.

Now and then I would return and dock with the group to have some conversation, but mainly it was to replenish my beer after I had successfully finished the one before. Sure, I was getting increasingly more inebriated and far more quickly than my companions, but I did not care and was having a simply fantastic time facing the river mostly tubeless and open-beered.

It was exhausting but intensely fun and my efforts to keep the beer from potentially intoxicating what could very well have been an underage river (rivers don't generally carry I.D. and I'm unsure of the legal drinking age for rivers so it is better to be safe) I was rewarded in the most fitting of ways.

About 3/4 of the way through our journey I spotted what I assumed to be someone's cast off beer can littering the river and I shouted to my group that we ought to go collect it because we weren't jerks and littering is not cool. We had no idea where it came from expect somewhere upstream and presumably from some people that did not care they were tossing empty cans into the river.

Upon further examination however, the can was not empty, in fact, it was not even opened! The river had granted me a free beer and I pondered the generosity of it all, three more river beers came a floating by. I by no means was in any state to drink all of them, but I snatched them up and was satisfied by the river's offering. Then so as to not offend it, I drank one of the beers the river so kindly gave to me. It wasn't a particularly good beer but as they say it's the thought that counts.

The rest of the trip was fun and eventful. The strangers became friends, seeing as they were actually pretty cool people and some of us continued to partake in the free beers the river had given us.

From that day I learned two valuable things.

First, keep doing things even if you think they might be awful, because they might actually be fun and you might meet great people. Sure, sometimes things will be awful but I'd wager that won't be the case too often if you have a good attitude.

Second, if you have fun and don't be a jerk to mother nature, you might get free beer.

Conversations That Never Happened

Conversation #12 Phoenix AZ

Q? 

L. Of course I'm angry! I know it is such a rare thing to see in me but could you honestly expect me to be anything else at this venture? The most infuriating part of it all is that you haven't a clue what this feels like, you don't understand.

Q.

L. No! You don't understand! You keep saying you do, but you don't. . . You can't. Not only that, but you never will. I suppose that's a good thing and to be honest I'm glad you can't understand, but it doesn't make this suck any less for me. You will never know what it's like to give 100% of yourself, to pour every ounce of your energy and being into someone only to be third in their eyes. To me you were always first, to you I was always third. You won't know that feeling ever, nobody will ever put you third and surely nobody ever has.

Q.

L. I know, I know I'm being harsh and perhaps even a bit vindictive with my tone and my raising voice, but would you really steal the anger from me today? Haven't I earned just a little bit of rage throughout these years? Still, you're right. I don't want to be mad, I'm terrible at it but I am so let it burn, don't squelch it out before it's done. You owe me that at least.

Q?

L. Really? You don't think you owe me anything? I came all this way to make my peace with you. To find some type of peace. I mean for Christ's sake you never ever gave me a chance to figure it out! That was the whole point wasn't it? Let me figure it out, give me some time. That must've been too much to ask though, must've gotten tired of not being first. How did it feel? Did you even let it linger long enough to feel it or did you just fill the gap the minute you noticed it? I can't believe you! At first I chalked it up to coping mechanisms or any number of psycho-babble bullshit but now I think you were just afraid. Just scared and with nowhere to go. Has the nail been hit anywhere near the head? I can tell by your face, you've always had trouble hiding things from me.

Q?

L. Yes, I'm done. I think. Maybe not, but I feel like I am at least for now.

Q?

L. No, you know better than that and I already explained, I'm angry and not very good at it. Just go. Do whatever it is you came here to do and I'll be on my way. See, even when I'm mad I feel like I'm apologizing. What have I become? Even when I want it to be about me! me me me me! It is still about you. I hope you can comprehend even the smallest fraction of what I'm really trying to say. I hope you can understand why I'm mad and why I ought to be angry and I hope you don't begrudge me that anger. Cheapen it. You probably will though, once I walk away, it'll all get rationalized and cheapened somehow. That's fine, I just hope some part of you truly understands. . .

Q?

L. No this isn't it. I made you a promise and I keep my promises. I'm just angry right now, but I'm a man of my word.

Q. . .

L. Have a wonderful day.

A Truly Once In A Lifetime Event

I always find myself surprised by all the little things in the world that we have names for but nobody seems to know what they. All of these seldom used words, but are things we all see or experience in our lives. For example, the little plastic, or metal piece at the end of your shoelace is called an aglet. This word is so unknown in fact that even this blog does not recognize it as a word. Aglet is obscure no doubt, but I am sure that many people have at least wondered from time to time if that little piece at the end of the shoelace was called something.

What I learned of today however, was something I would have never even fathomed there was a word for it.

The word is meconium.

Now if you already know what that word means then I salute you. It may not be that strange of a word I suppose, perhaps it is just new to me. I'm sure many people in medical fields know what it is, but in this particular context I am not so much concerned with the rarity of the word, more I am astonished that such a word even exists.

Meconium is the first poop you take in your life. The very first bowel movement you have as a newborn. It is special because that particular poo is almost completely sterile seeing as you intestines haven't yet become host to trillions and trillions of bacteria that are so aptly named. . . gut flora.

Sure, I realize it is a significant thing and it will never again happen in your life, but who would ever decide to name that particular event, that specific thing? Is there any real reason for that word to exist? I can't imagine anyone ever saying, "Hey! The very first crap we take as a baby, we should totally give that a name." I mean really, what would strike someone to take such action and even if you did, how do you propose the idea of such a word to everyone else in such a manner that they don't instantly look at you like you're insane?

Don't get me wrong, I'm very happy to have learned a new word, I just wish I could have witnessed how such a word came to be and I wonder if maybe the whole thing started out as a joke or game between some doctors. I probably could, using the power of the internet, figure out the origin of the word, but for now I think it is far better to let my imagination run with this one. Maybe I'll even write a story about how meconium became a word.

The Birth Of The Word For Your First Poop After Birth.

Its a working title, we'll see where it goes.

The Fire Is Back On The Fingertips

I've been writing short stories for quite a long time, usually not much more than a few pages, if that, but I've honed the craft pretty well in that time frame. Sure, my grammar may be off and my punctuation at times can be horrendous, but I can hammer out a story in minutes if someone were to give me a few random objects (people, places, things) to begin the process. Many times at work I find myself creating stories on the fly for people, it seems to make their day better and I'm always willing to help do that.

I realized something though about fiction, about short stories and especially about telling stories off the cuff.

It is all just like lying, like one big con.

You see, I used to lie and manipulate people all the time when I was younger, often times for personal gain but sometimes to help. I know that sounds bad, lying and manipulating to "help" but often times it was a good solution and even when it wasn't the intention still remained good. I stopped doing that though, years and years ago. I mean sure, every now and then I'll find myself trying to steer certain situations in my direction, but I think we are all guilty of that in some manner or another. None of this matters though, it was in my past and although it shaped the person I am today, it is not who I am at all. What I'm saying is that I stopped and when I stopped was right around the time I seriously got into writing.

It's a much better and far less harmful outlet for my creativity. Rather than lie about something petty, I can mastermind an elaborate story that is completely fictional. Instead of manipulating people, I can shape the lives of any character I create in their entirety.

It works the same as lying too, people want to believe and you have to keep your audience engaged. You have to relate and they have to feel as if they understand where the characters are coming from or at the very least they have to be entertained by the lie.

In elementary school I used to play a game with my two friends Zack and Nate, it was strictly based in our imaginations and we called ourselves Adventure Guys. We played that game for years before we "got too old" but what really happened was the same thing that happens to most kids, your imagination seems to weaken. It didn't for me though and I'll admit that even to this day I find myself pretending to be my Adventure Guy every now and then.

In middle school I met another friend who shared the same strength of imagination that so few others seemed to retain. We used to pretend and quite vividly I assure, it was almost as if it was real when he and I got together, that we were fighting some strange evil in the world and he and I had special abilities. We were some of the few that could see this "evil" so we naturally had to stop it. As with all things imaginary however, that too faded, especially with the onset of girls and girlfriends.

So, in high school, with no time for imagination and the ever present public school system squelching my creativity, I started lying and fabricating stories. I manipulated teachers and students, I essentially cheated my way through two years of high school. All the while I was still learning mind you, but learning has never been difficult for me, I absorb information like a sponge.

In high school, it is all fun and games and popularity contests and silly social structures that don't exist outside the real world. I began to realize that outside of a school setting, the things I was doing would really only hurt people or make them furious with me, neither of which were things I wanted. Above all else, I have always prided myself on being helpful and caring, so I never intend to hurt anyone.

I had to find another outlet for my crazy brain, for my creativity and my imagination, so I started writing. I had always enjoyed writing but it never crossed my mind that it could be exactly the kind of thing I needed.

It was.

Now, years and years later, I lie all of the time, but not out loud and not to people. I lie in fiction because fiction really is nothing more than a story that does not have to be constrained by truth. It can be whatever I want it to be, I get to make my own truth.

Best of all though, if done right, I can still influence the real world with all of this. If I tell a story well enough and make you feel something for the characters, I then have influenced your life even if it is in only the slightest way. If done well, I can make countless people happy or sad or joyous! That is amazing and that is why I love fiction. It is nothing more than great stories (lies) but they help people! Make people feel something.

That's the dream right there.

Bad Writing About Good Writing

I had to leave work early today, it was an absolute necessity. I felt as if I was crawling out of my skin and I had to escape that place. After 3 years and 6 times being passed up for promotion I have little tolerance and no desire to be there. I left early, but I'll have to go back tomorrow and the next day, on and on into the foreseeable future.

The moment I set foot into that building each weekday, a wave of melancholy and despair sweeps over me and lingers there pressing ever so gently onto me, not letting me forget it is there. Sometimes I can shake it off for a while, but it never goes away for very long. I try not to bring it home with me, but often times it skulks around hours after I myself have left the place which brings it out.

All of this got me really thinking and trying to examine when I was happiest with work and like most things, it came to me while I was showering.

Years ago I wrote a book and it was published through a company that was little more than a joke. They accept nearly all submissions and have no real editors (as is apparent by how ridden with typos and errors my book is) and you don't really make any money, for the most part this publishing company takes advantage of stupid people, but I knew all this going in. It wasn't about money or fame or how well edited or received my book was, it was solely and completely something I did to for myself.

I needed to write it, I needed to get it published and I needed to see my work, my labor and the world I created physically in my hands. I didn't care how it happened, I just needed to prove to myself that I could do it and after I finished writing it, the hard part was over. It didn't cost me anything to get it published and I have made a small amount from it, but none of that mattered, I was proud and happy that I did it even though I knew it wasn't really anything special. Everyone else seemed to think it was, but I knew better but I was still proud, still happy.

Thinking back to when I writing that book I remember constantly being immersed in it. Getting excited every time I got to talk with the few people that knew about it. People tell me I used to light up and get so happy whenever I started to talk about what I was going to write next and looking back, I believe them. During that whole writing process though I did have a job and it wasn't any more fulfilling than the one I currently despair at. It didn't matter though because my mind instead of wandering off to bad places while bored and dissatisfied with my job, I simply lost myself in the next chapter or where the story was going next.

My real job wasn't so bad when my mind was immersed in a different world, a place I created and sculpted and I don't recall ever being happier while working.

I guess that's my solution now, my survival method, I am going to finish another book. This time however, the goal is much higher. I've already proven to myself that I can do it, now it is time to try and start doing it for a living.

Write Drunk; Edit Sober, Minus The Second Part.

It's not just about sitting around having a drink or two. It isn't a matter of friendship or status or even personality. It is simply about companionship. Nobody, at least when they are being honest with themselves and measure down to the base level, wants to be alone. As humans we have an almost evolutionary fear of the dark and one could easily conclude that such is the case because it is in the dark that we are most vulnerable, most unable to protect ourselves. It is certainly true, the darkness does bring with it a certain proclivity toward danger, but the base fear of it may be far more complex than that.

The darkness and I'm talking the real shit here, the kind of absence of light that almost seems solid in nature, that kind of dark, that is where the fear is. Even when you close your eyes you can see colors and shapes floating around your mind, as if they are their to help combat the otherwise cripple fear of being truly alone. Because when the darkness becomes solid, become an entity of itself, even if there were a person right in front of you, touching you, kissing you, holding you. . . You could still feel alone.

That is the real truth of it all, the real reason we are so inclined to spend the darkest hours asleep and unconscious, because we can't handle the darkness, we aren't designed to do so, at least not alone.

So we all carry on, wandering ever closer to our own respective lights at the ends of tunnels. Searching for anything that may help us find meaning, find companionship in the vast and crushing void of darkness. We hold onto loved ones and hobbies. Religions and Gods that offer us purpose and meaning in exchange for worship. Sometimes we even find meaning in those things that are bad for us, vices such as drugs and alcohol. Things that are easy to get lost in, hell, even sex and physical pleasure can be used to such an end.

The truth though, the honest to God no shit truth is that it is all fleeting and no one individual's path to whatever the hell it is that gets them through each day should be judged. In the end, we are all in it together, sharing in the fleeting and often horrendous human experience. We should embrace one another, differences and all, because even if we can't see each other through our own individual walls of darkness, we can at least know someone is out there, struggling the same way. It may not be anywhere close to the same struggle, but they struggle just the same.

We're all scared. We are all fucking scared. If you stop being scared, you stop living. At least you stop living any sort of meaningful existence.

Do you understand? Does anyone?

It doesn't matter if you care, you don't have to care to understand.

Kody

I have a large post about the past year in store very soon. It may be the most I have to write about a year in a long time, but for now I just sit alone and unable to focus.

It is 1 p.m. on the second day of 2012 and I currently feel the way I would normally feel while I sit in this chair alone at 5 a.m. They say that how you spend New Year's Eve is how the rest of your year will go and if that is the case then I do have a pretty good year in store, but right now, it feels the same.

I guess, this is really the first time I've been alone in quite awhile and maybe it is all just catching up to me, but all I know for sure is I hate feeling this way during the daylight hours even more than the night. The day usually holds it all at bay, but I think my mind is just too tired to care right now.

I find it really funny because I have been getting consistent good sleep for the first time in nearly a year and I don't feel exhausted, but my mind still seems to be turned up to 11. Everything was slower for awhile and maybe I just got used to that and so now feels so foreign. Who knows. . .

I really just feel like I need to write. I need to release ideas from my head but I just can't concentrate! Everything flies around my brain like a tornado and I can't grasp an idea for more than a few moments. Gah!

Anyway, happy new year blog! You've done well since your creation and I hope you don't get forgotten about in 2012.