A Thought: On Guilt

Guilt is the strongest-forged chain, when built by our own hand.  It ties us to the darkest parts of ourselves, binds us as justification for hurts inflicted upon us, large and small, and holds us tight for more.

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Ready Player One by Ernest Cline

All writers have rituals, things they do to get the juices flowing, to let their minds know that it’s okay to start drifting into the ephemeral.  For many of them, myself included, music is a big part of it.  As I sat down to write this morning, I queued up every 80s track I had on random rotation, because nothing else would have felt right.  As the first song started, a slow smile crept across my face.  It was Poison’s Something to Believe In.  Incredibly appropriate.

My nostalgic trip was due in large part to the book I just finished, Ernest Cline’s Ready Player One.  Cline was the screenwriter on 2008’s homage to friendship and Star Wars, Fanboys.  For those of you who’ve seen the movie, you’re familiar with Cline’s deft hand at walking that thin line between well-developed characters and an entertaining plot.  Ready Player One takes that to the next level.

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A Thought: On Writing

These days, it seems that everyone thinks themselves a writer, that it's only a matter of living and putting pen to paper.  It isn't.  While there is something to be said for experience and inspiration, and the tenuous, inextricable relationship between the two, there is also the matter of ability.  All the talent in the world means nothing without technique and the only way to learn to write is, simply, to read. 

No matter the natural aptitude, we must begin by basking in that which has come before, to learn what works and, as important, what doesn't.  To figure out what in the ephemeral world of words calls to us and what shies away.  No musician ever picks up an instrument and plays a sonata, never having heard a note.  No athlete can throw, having never seen a game.  As such, if you've ever used the phrase, "I'm not a reader," it is, like as not, you are not, regardless of what you think, much of a writer.

As well, if you avoid ever pushing yourself outside of your comfort zone, literarily-speaking, you'll never grow.  I love a well-written mystery or a compelling fantasy, but if it were all I ever read, I wouldn't be able to follow the muse down many a path toward which I'm drawn.  So read, read, read, all you can, as often as you can, else, please, write only for yourself. Read more!

Saving America

It’s isn’t about Republican or Democrat.  It isn’t about liberal or conservative.  It isn’t about big business, terrorists, taxes, abortion, religion, gun control or gay marriage.  It isn’t about whose fault it is that we are where we are.  What it is about, at its deepest, most frightening level, what it must be about, is humanity.

This thriving of industry is not what made this country great, nor was it a rigorous adherence to any particular ideology.  We were not built on rigidity, but on compromise.  Bounty was once merely an incentive for innovation, for creativity and ideas that bettered the world.  Then, it was not the sole destination but a benefit which was gathered as we pressed onward into a bright and unknown future.  

As well, the Constitution was framed not for a people with a blind adherence to a single, unwavering philosophy, but rather with the thought that by listening to one another, with minds open and hearts willing to accept that another can be right without making all others wrong, that the best of us could be brought forth. 

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The Thing for Which I Am Most Thankful

The world being what it is, these days, it’s easy to forget not to begin these kinds of posts with overdone clichés.  I’ll spare you that much, at least, though I would like to spend a little bit of time talking about life, the universe and everything.  Some of it may seem a bit contrived, but bear with me as though I were sitting in the room, watching you expectantly as you read.

For those readers not here in the U.S. (and there are a startling number of you guys), today is a day we here in the States call Thanksgiving, where we typically gather with family and/or friends to have a giant meal, watch a parade, maybe a football game, with the idea that we’re meant to be thinking of the things for which we’re most thankful.  The funny thing is, today isn’t really my Thanksgiving.  But I’ll get to that.

I woke up this morning with the ghost of a headache that must’ve come and gone in the night, which was the first thought for which I was thankful.  I had a dream this morning of some people that I miss very much and likely won’t see again for a long time, so there was a touch of sadness in my heart to match the phantom ache in my head.  All the same, I was, as always, just thankful to have woken up at least one more time.

When I came out of the bedroom, there was the lingering smell of the pumpkin pie baked last night in the hallway.  Pre-baking, and cooking, as a whole, of various components of the feast is a bit of a double-edged sword.  On the one hand, you get a house filled with delicious smells for days.  On the other, you have to find the will to resist partaking in a personal feast or the cunning to make up an effective, believable lie as to why there is, in fact, no pie when you were supposed to be the one to bring the pie.  It’s terrible.

Today, there’ll be the usual gathering of relatives at my parents’ place, where I’ll most likely spend the majority of my time playing with my nephews, aged 3 and 5, because they’re the closest thing to contemporaries of mine.  We’ll eat some food then most likely head home.  I know my mom would like us to spend more time there, but it’s a small place and not a terribly comfortable atmosphere, for a lot of reasons I won’t go into.

For all that I love my parents and step-siblings, though, my real Thanksgiving is tomorrow.  Normally, on Friday afternoons, I have a few friends over for our weekly gaming session.  The last few weeks, with my training early on Saturday morning and some pretty heavy stuff with one of them, we’ve had to miss it.  One friend, in particular, has been going through some very tough stuff which, unfortunately, has made it so that he’s been all but unable to leave the house for weeks.  The emotional stress of it has been pretty terrible and, what’s worse, I knew that, his family being what it is, he’d most likely be all but alone today.  So I hatched a plan.

Tomorrow, we’re all going to get together and have what promises to be a huge and fantastically prepared meal, in no small part due to my culinarily gifted friend David, who can make from seemingly random ingredients an incredible meal and, given more a week to plan and prepare, can do what amounts to magic.  He’s my oldest living friend (we’ve known each other since we were six) and one of the most generous souls I know, have ever known, and it humbles me often that he’s chosen to stay my friend all these years.

Johnny and Daniel, the other two members of my gaming group and my friends for well over a decade now, were there for me in the darkest parts of my life.  There have been falling outs and disagreements, but it has never occurred to me that they wouldn’t always be around, and I hope that it’s been the same for them. 

This’ll be my one trite bit, but I use it here because it’s true.  These three guys, all my friends, really, are my family as much, maybe more, sometimes, than the one I was born into.  They chose me and I chose them.  I’ve always said that it’s foolish to call a place home, because time changes where you live, and where you live changes where you’re from.  The safest place to put home is in the people you love and my friends are my home.  While we may fall behind on the housekeeping now and then, it’ll always be there, waiting, when I need them, and vice versa.

So I’m thankful for that, for them, for the people who have granted me their presence in my life, now and in the past, and a bit of space in their hearts.  Without them, in some ways as literal as figurative, I wouldn’t be here today and I know that.  So, even if the world gets in the way, know that I love you all.  Thanks.

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A Thought...

If you're only halfway gone, you've got a ways to go before you sleep.  Mixing up the allusions, bitches. Read more!

New Skill #1 - Crisis Intervention

For the last three weeks or so, I've been training to take a volunteer position with my local sexual assault response center, working on the crisis hotline.  The program was rigorous, as the state requires 40 hours of training in order to receive the certification.  While the workload wasn't incredibly difficult, from an academic perspective, due in no small part to having an incredibly dedicated and knowledgeable instructor, the emotional load was often tough to process.  I'm going to let it all sink in and write about it soon, as writing is perhaps the best catharsis I know. 

In the meantime, if you've got a bit of extra time or money and would like to know what you can do to help, or if you or someone you know could use some help, you can find the Hearts of Hope website here. Read more!

Get your Kindle!

So if you're going to get a Kindle for you or someone else (like me, cause I could use a Fire), why not make 15% go to someone you know and love.  Buy through these links and that person is me.  Oh, and as a bonus, if you place an order through me for a new Kindle, I'll give you a free digital copy of Voices.

(Buying via links is tacit admission of love and respect for the author of this blog.  Thank you.)

Kindle Fire, Full Color 7" Multi-touch Display, Wi-Fi

Kindle, Wi-Fi, 6" E Ink Display - includes Special Offers & Sponsored Screensavers

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Voices, on Smashwords

My first book, Voices, was written in the winter of 2007 and is a very personal work.  All of it is, in some way, autobiographical, people, places and things pulled from my life.  It's full of things like hope, redemption, sadness, music and all the things that, at some point in our twenties turn us all, one way or another, into adults.  Reading it is perhaps the best way to get to know me and how I see the world.  If you're interested and can spare a couple of bucks, you can find it here:  Voices, by Zach Hebert Read more!

Cary Brothers - New Artist #1

The music of the time into which we’re born is not the music that defines us, though it has a formative impact, to be sure.  Rather, it is the music that ushers us from children to adults that will forever define those of us for whom music is an integral part.  For me, that was the music of the 90s.  From early grunge to coffeehouse acoustic, it was a sound that, while it had roots everywhere was unique and which, in a world of over-produced, digitally-tweaked studio creations, is a rare occurrence these days.  There was an honesty to it which suffused music and lyrics alike.  It didn’t need to scream to express its anguish, angst or sadness.  And it didn’t need bubblegum to express its joy.  It simply said, with very little pretense, what it was that it sought to say.

Now, don’t get me wrong, there is still good music out there.  Lots of it.  The great thing about music is that it’s constantly changing, but always somehow retaining, somewhere, the best of what came before.  There are still a great number of artists who reach back across the wide void between the 31-year-old man I am now to that heart of that fifteen-year-old listening to a CD, liner notes in hand, in the dim light of my bedroom.  Cary Brothers is a prime example.

I’d heard his music before, on a number of television shows and movies, like Scrubs, (which has introduced me to some fantastic stuff, as a whole) and kept meaning to look for more.  Having finally gotten around to it, I lament not having done so sooner.  From the first, slow-building notes of Jealousy to the heartbreaking earnestness of songs like Glass Parade and Honesty, he evokes, with poetic lyrics, soft voice, a guitar and a piano, an emotional resonance uncommon in today’s music scene.  What’s more, he manages to find a unique sound, with hints of acoustic greats like Smith and Wainwright at the edges, but still completely his own, a feat in and of itself.

In doing a little research, I learned, too, that he’s one of the driving forces behind a movement to keep this kind of rich, meaningful music alive with the likes of folks like KT Tunstall, Aqualung and The Fray, among many, many others out of a small venue in Hollywood called The Hotel Café, which has officially been added to my list of places to visit when I finally make my way out to the West Coast. 

As a first act, he’s going to be tough to follow, though the list of performers who’ve toured with The Hotel Café group, some of which are unfamiliar, will likely provide some pretty good leads.  It’s been a long time since I’ve felt this kind of excitement over the discovery of new music.  And for that, Mr. Brothers, I owe you a great debt.  Thanks.

Find his music here: Cary Brothers Official Website

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Passion

Volume and force do not always exemplify passion.  Passion, when it exists, is a subtle force which drives the impassioned in every way, every word, even those softly spoken and, more so, every action, even those so small that it is only in their totality that we see the greatness of what was done. Read more!

Stepping things up

The last few weeks, since I've started on the list, I haven't been accomplishing everything that I set out to do.  These are the things I've done and need to do.  I'd love any ideas, suggestions or volunteers.

What I have been doing:

• I've been working my way slowly towards getting into a schedule, a routine of sorts, with the physical side of it, because to throw myself full-force in there would have ended up doing all sorts of damage, given my chronic injury and current state.  I've also been eating much better.
• I've been studying for my next Praxis and writing more often, as well as setting up and getting this page going.
• I've finished reading one book and am nearly done with another, both of which will be reviewed soon.
• I've been writing regularly, which has been great.  I've finished one poem, started a second, and done the same with essays.
• I've begun volunteer training to be work at the local sexual abuse response center, Hearts of Hope, thanks to a great friend who wouldn't let me not.

What I need to work in in the next couple of weeks:

• I need to begin my silent contemplation.  I've been edgy lately and I know it's something that will help.
• I need to find a pen pal, though that's something that's not exactly easy to do these days, it seems.
• I need to make a list of skills that I want to pick up and begin working on them.
• I need to start practicing my French, which is the language in which I'm seeking proficiency, since I've already got a decent foundation in it.
• I have to decide what I'm going to study and set down time to do so every week, outside of my Praxis preparation.
• I need to start daily practice with my sight-reading book and begin playing and singing every day, in general.
• I've already got two new artists, Cary Brothers and Rosie Thomas, to write about.  
• I've decided to adapt one of my short stories, "Walking Home," into a dramatic piece.
• I need to find some contests to enter and polish some things to enter into them.
• I need to find some new dishes to cook and start on whittling.
• I need to find some people or things to set up for next month's photo shoot.
• And finally, I need to find some poems to memorize.

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Pain and the Passage of Time...

For those of you who don't know (and how could you, really, without knowing me), one of the closest friends I've ever had committed suicide around 4:30am on January 1, 2000.  Since then, I've chosen, each year, to write a little something in memorial to his passing.  Last year, I heard that there were those who saw my particular ritual of remembrance as clinging too tightly to the past.  As I always do, I gave it some thought and this is what I wrote.

   There are some things that can't be moved past, only lived around. There is a pain in my heart, a few really, that are akin to the pain in my side. It will always be there, feels sometimes as though it always has been, but I've grown used to it and, for the most part, don't think much about it. It is simply something that is. When the weather shifts, or now and then, when something brings them to the forefront of my thoughts, it becomes pointed, but even that passes.


   So it is with the sadness of loss. We don't mourne forever, but that gentle ache stays in the heart, coming to surface now and then. As someone very wise once told me, if it ever truly ceases to hurt, then it probably wasn't really love to begin with, after all.


   For those who have yet to experience the kind of loss that takes a part of you with it, that forever alters who you are, then you probably can't understand and you're the better and the worse for that and I hope you stay that way for as long as possible. For those who have, I don't need to explain that there is a difference between dwelling upon and living with something.


   The sharp pain has long since faded, the need to memorialize. I needed, those first few years, to relive those feelings, let them pass through me, so that I could pass through them. And I have. Now, when I think of him, as when I think of my grandparents, it is with much more fondness than regret, with more joy at the years spent than sadness at those lost. I have never been one to ignore the things I had because of those I didn't. I would rather smile than cry and, for quite some time now, have done so. That, too, is as it should be. Read more!

Misery, Hope and Art

Misery, depravity, depression and other dark things, while a part of art, being part of the human condition, do not, themselves, automatically make something art.  Just because something shines a dim light on the human condition doesn't mean that it is any more inherently artistic than does something which shows the bright things of the world.  It takes, I believe, far more skill, in these dark times, to show the hope and light in the world than it does to highlight misery. Read more!

A lack of substantive updates

Sorry for the lack of updates lately.  The apartment complex is being brought up to meet some new codes and there's been an incessant pounding that's made thinking difficult.  I feel like I'm in Harrison Bergeron every time I begin to try and write something.  Hopefully, it will pass soon, lest I be forced to find a new place to write for awhile. Read more!

The Sound of Silence - Part 1

     A few years ago, I got it in my head that I wanted to experience the world without speaking, to learn to focus on my inner voice more than my outer and to make certain that I was still truly listening to people, as I was feeling an acute disconnect from those in my life at the time.  I attempted, four times, to go an entire day without speaking.  I didn’t succeed once.

     Growing up, we hear stories of monks and other spiritual devotees who’ve spent decades without uttering a single word, to themselves (which is how I managed to mess it up once) or others.  That seems amazing until you take into account that most of them live in secluded cloisters, surrounded only by others who have taken similar vows, or exist in cultures where not speaking is an understood choice.  I came to this realization when I came closest to succeeding by spending nearly the entire day inside, alone.

     I’m not generally an overly talkative person, though I can be, in the right mood and setting.  Even so, it was exceptionally difficult, when listening to someone else, to refrain from replying.  Eventually, it broke me down, every time.  I couldn’t figure it out.  The people with whom I spoke weren’t pleading with me for answers or even for a response.  And, while I am exceptionally opinionated, it wasn’t the drive to share my own thoughts that made me break my self-imposed vow of silence.  So what was it?

     Lying in bed that night, reflecting on that question, Jennifer rolled over in her sleep and tossed her arm over me.  Then it hit me (the realization and the arm) that the reason I needed to speak when spoken to was that conversation has become one of the last mediums we possess for genuine human connection, something for which most of us are starved in the age of email and text messaging. 

     Now, I’m no Luddite.  I love technology and the innovations that we keep making are astounding and incredibly exciting to me.  Were I granted eternal youth, that’s one of the things that could keep me going through the ages; seeing what comes next.  But I think that, as with all things, there is a danger to overuse of such things.  While it’s awesome to be able to invite everyone I want to a party with a few clicks of a mouse, or to keep track of and reconnect with old friends via Facebook, I have to wonder at what point it becomes a hindrance to actual social interaction.

     As a teacher, I have sat dumbstruck watching two students in a completely social, mostly private setting, text one another across a table for the better part of an hour, never making eye contact or uttering a word to one another then, at the end, when forced to do so, wave and walk off.  Don’t get me wrong, if, when I was that age, I’d had the ability to covertly transmit some choice words to friends without the possibility for eavesdropping, you can be I would have, but I could never forego entire conversations for it. 

     So perhaps, like the monks, we have created a society where silence is the norm rather than the exception.  There is a generation of people being brought up now who could happily go a day without uttering a word and still maintain contact with the mercurial melodrama of their everyday lives.  When it’s so easy to tune the world out by putting on headphones or losing yourself in the touchscreen of a handheld device, why make the effort to reach out and understand another person?

     When I was in high school, I remember having all-night phone conversations regularly, the liberation of walking around the house all afternoon with a cordless phone on my ear, as though my friends were right there with me and I was with them.  There were a lot of difficult nights where those voices were all that got me through things that I didn’t think I would make it through.  At the risk of sounding my age, I wonder, sometimes, whether the kids growing up these days know what that feels like, or if the loss of that connection is something they would even recognize.

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Wasted Energy

If we put all the energy we waste attempting to shift or place blame into actually fixing problems, we as individuals, a nation and a world would be much better off than we are. Read more!

Being the Light...

Too many people spend large parts of their lives wandering around in the dark, seeking light, without ever realizing that they are the light. Read more!

The Opiate of the Masses

The salient points of the following essay, found after the tag, though dealing with religion and human thought, can easily be applied to any ideology, including political.  It's how I choose to approach any different or opposing viewpoint.  Those who flame will be mocked not for their beliefs but for their failure to grasp the irony of doing so.  Enjoy.

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Photo Set 1 - Autumn Faerie (Halloween 2011)

After the cut is the lovely Jennifer modeling a costume that, save for the necklace, shoes and rose, was made from scraps and materials in a matter of a couple of weeks and for less than $20.  If you're interested in how to make a pair of wings all your own, you can find her renowned tutorial here: Faerie Muse - Wing Tutorial
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