Monday, September 14, 2015

Selfish Me
























"I could have died in your arms, now I'm back at your feet."

(It's a song by The Love Language)

I met a Swedish teacher today.  He was here in LA going over his lectures for the next class.  He's a professor in Literature, so we get to talking, the usual.  Not the same old story, but not unlike it on my end.  "I'm a writer," I tell him, and it goes on like it always does.  Like that scene from I Heart Huckabees when Dustin Hoffman plays the recordings to Jude Law.

Tuna salad, no mayo.  

Like that, you know.  Something I've said before, almost to the point of practice.  But I like it.  It's something I like to talk about, because when I talk about it, I suddenly feel like writing, so I write.

While we were talking I came to a soft realization.  I asked him, "So what do you guys look at in these novels - you and your students.  What do you talk about."  And it suddenly occurred to me that most of these novels are these incredible stories.  Over-the-top, awe-inspiring courage or horror, or the worst of things or the craziest of things happening to these characters, made up or not.  There's death.  There's deceit or destruction, or some callousness and pain and torture of the soul or mind or something, some overcoming of great odds.  And through these stories, made up or not, the author tries as he or she might to shine a light on a great universal truth.

Or not.  Sometimes it's just a fuckin' story to make you say, "Oh my god!"

Or to give perspective.  To make someone take a step back for a second and see the whole world instead of just what's in front of them.

So realization: I don't have any good stories.  They're plain Jane.  Banal.  Eh.  Chicken and rice.  So I guess I just gotta flavor the shit out of them.

Honestly, plenty of good writers do.  Writing about the everyday.  The day-to-day, the routine, and what it means.  Hell, I think I just write about it (and I can say this now because I'm single again) to keep from killing myself out of disappointment.

That's the universal failure: giving up.

Never gather moss.  Never roll slow, or at least never stop.  Whatever it is that you're doing.

I guess my roll is writing (role?).  I'll take pictures to just for the fun of it.

Thanks, Eriksson.

(His name is Sven lol. I only know one Sven and he's a mannequin)