Okay funny story.
I was up in the foothills of Santa Barbara for the weekend this summer, and I was stretching. I like to do this Yoga stretch which really works your shoulders and forearms. It feels delicious.
Does this look like a tree?
By the way do you like my drawing? I’m pretty talented at Microsoft Paint. I might have said that before earlier in my blog. It’s only because it’s true.
Anyway, I was doing the stretch outside and all of a sudden this blue and green hummingbird flew up to me, no more than 2 feet away and just looked at me. It thought I was a tree. He looked right into my eyes for just a second, and then flew away, probably realizing his hypothesis was false.
I don’t think I’ve ever been quite so close to a hummingbird.
So next time you see a hummingbird, do the stretch in my beatiful picture above (you really should regardless, it feels so good):
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Just pull one hand up as much as you can
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Pull the other hand down
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Try to stretch your shoulders apart from your shoulderblades
And maybe, just maybe, a hummingbird will fly up to you, look you in the eye, and say hi.
Also, it’s a guaranteed stretch to prevent carpal tunnel.
Please leave if you don’t want to go through despair to get to hope. Sometimes that’s what it takes. Oh, and please leave if you don’t think hope is important.
If a husband is not willing to have an argument (or discussion, as my parents used to say) over something he cares about and just gives in, or worse does the thing he cares about anyway, the marriage will fail. But if he has that argument, it might be harder at first, but in the long run it will pay off.
I was reminded of this today by Seth who posted an email he got from a missionary to the most destitute country in Africa, Swaziland. If we ignore the argument, the conflict that must take place in that country and in all of Africa, if we ignore the evil that is going on there, it might be easier on us in the short run, but what a price we will pay, we will all pay in the future!
Here is Kristen, the missionary’s email:
I woke to the singing of angels this morning as the sun came up and peered through the old curtains of the window in our room. They sang of the Lord’s provision of his love and his power. “Your light will shine when all else fades…”
These songs are what keep me longing to hear more in such a silent place sometimes. The silence is deafening.
We don’t TALK about how HIV AIDS is killing our families and our neighbors.
We don’t TALK about how Thandi has been faithful to her husband and he has given her AIDS because he has been sleeping around. And she is fearful to tell him because he will blame her for giving it to him. And now her children will be left to be put to intense work by him.
We don’t TALK about the status of women here and how they are beaten and abused. We don’t TALK about how a swazi women cannot refuse her husband sex, even if she knows he is infected.
We don’t TALK about the little girl down the road that was sold by her own mother to a neighbor to be a slave girl for her. We don’t TALK about the brothels in Swaziland run by 18 year olds and the American business men who come for the little 8 year old girl.
We don’t TALK about the children abandoned by aids that live with the grandparents, until the step grandfather decided he doesn’t want them because they will eat his food.
We don’t TALK about all the witchcraft surrounding Swaziland and the darkness that is here. We don’t TALK about the prostitute and her pimp that came here yesterday to see her two sons just to size them up to see when they can come for holiday to visit. And by visit they mean for them to work sexually. These are two of my Swazi brothers who I have loved the last three years and played with and now lived with. But we don’t TALK about it.
We don’t TALK about how I have shaken the hands of these men and I feel a groaning in my spirit because these are some of the same hands that have beat and raped. But we don’t TALK about that. We DON’T TALK ABOUT IT.
Why the hell not? My heart is screaming. My wounded soul is desperate for people at home to TALK. And if you won’t talk then I will. And you could at least have the decency to listen.
God gave you ears to hear. Eyes to see. How can anyone who hears these things and sees these things turn away? Yes when we TALK about it, it hurts. It seems overwhelming. It is too much, too sad and we ask, “What is the point if no one seems to be listening or wanting to see change?”
The point is we can change the children. We can change this next generation. What is going to happen to these children if we leave them because we thought it was too hard?
We have to start talking.
Like I said a little while ago, there are two ways to do art.
This time though, let’s focus on something a little different, on storytelling. Two ways:
- You can start with the ending in mind and plan everything out about how you’ll get to that point. This is what my friend Alex does. He wants to be a screenwriter, is working on 5 scripts, and knows from the beginning exactly where he wants his characters to end up. Incidentally, this is how I work when I try to write stories.
- Or, you can start with a blank page and a character or two and simply get to know them, playing around with them seeing what happens. You throw them into dire circumstances and heap conflict on them. You see if they swim… or sink. A lot of professional writers I read about or hear interviews from write like this.
Which way is better? I think the 2nd. Even though I tend to lean toward the first way, the 2nd is more fulfilling. When you’re just playing, you enjoy the whole process. If you’re building a story like stacking blocks and care only about how it will look when it’s finished, the only enjoyable moment comes at the very end.
No no no… it’s the first, because if you just fool around with your characters and never know where you’re going, it could make for some very dull, superficial stories. A screenwriting professor I had in college was all about knowing exactly where you were going. “Structure, structure, structure,” he would lecture us. It worked, too. He made a lot of money in Hollywood. Is it right for me though? Is it right for you?
Yes… and no. As they say, Rome wasn’t built in a day.
You’re thinking, “Wait, what does that have to do with anything. Anchorman anyone?” Well wait for it and I’ll tell you.
Rome wasn’t built in a day, but it might have been dreamed up in some antisocial architect’s head in just a moment. That architect might have been so lonely and bored that he wrote out all the plans in one day and gave them to the builders.
Construction workers, as we all know, aren’t very smart though. They’re whiney and drink beer and have pot bellies. So they took their time with Rome and finished it about a thousand years later.
The point is it takes both kinds. You have to have a creative side which comes up with plot twists and plans the destruction and resurrection of his characters, but you also have to have a builder side, which puts together the words, sentences, film, music, photography, and all that. And the thing is, you might as well enjoy both sides.
Hold both loosely and dominate!
Do you ever get so laden with thoughts, feelings, and intentions that you shut down, shut down creative output, even thinking in general? Last week was one of the most laden weeks of my life, and yet it was one of the most productive. This week is a breeze comparatively, and yet I couldn’t write yesterday.
Yesterday I sought mindless tasks like making copies and paying invoices and sending out postcards instead of the easier, although more mind-intensive task of writing a new post on my blog. Three o’clock rolled around and I had nothing so I said,
“Screw it! I’m over you BLOG!”
Stupid blog, what does the word blog even mean anyway?
Today, though, I’m repentant. I approach my blog with a rose and a Hallmark card and apologize profusely. “Take me back bloggie. I’m sorry. I’ll never say those words again.”
And like any addict or alcoholic trying to open the door to a home that’s shut him out, I’ll pretend every thing’s all better… at least for a little while.
Today we’ll have 2 posts to make up for it.
There are two ways to do art.
I was talking with an old family friend and talented artist, Linda Ekstrom, about how she composes art.
“In your art,” I asked, “do you start with an idea or concept you want to communicate, or do you play with your mediums and then interperet concept in later?”
“I start with the concept,” she said. ”Also, I’m a sculptor. I have an idea I’m trying to express and then look for ways I can build it.”
Two ways:
- Focus on ideas.
- Focus on medium.
Storytelling and songwriting have the same principles. You can tell a story to illustrate a point, or you can tell a story for the sake of the story.
Often, those who tell the story for the sake of the story tend to put more energy into making it entertaining, and those who tell the story for the sake of the ideas put more energy into making their ideas deep and meaningful.
The best artists do both well.
The first image is Linda’s “Opere Apum” made in 1996. The second is called “Santa Rita (tears)” made in 2003. Linda lives and teaches in Santa Barbara. Her website can be found here.
I apologize for not posting on Friday, as I usually do. I was at a men’s retreat from Thursday night to Sunday. Here’s a little bit of what happened.
On Saturday morning, I was awoken from my slumber by the sound of singing. There was a marriachi band of sorts bent on raising us out of sleep as gracefully as possible. Then dozens of beautiful women walked in to my room giving me flowers and warm embraces, all while I was wearing no clothes. My favorites were the orange roses, which smelled like Cabernet Sauvignon. Then they left, as quickly as they had come, and I was left wondering if it was all a dream.
What a strange and wonderful weekend. If you’ve been on Cursillo, you know what a special group it is. If you haven’t, you need to go. I promise you’ll get something special out of it.
Best way to put it, Crusillo is about family. Find out more here.
On Tuesday we moved to a new 3 bedroom apartment in Santa Barbara. The place is clean and, after a year of housesitting and subletting, completely ours. The only problem is, I have no furniture. Last night I slept on the floor with only a 3 inch pad and the beige carpet for comfort.
My books, clothes, and electronics only have their separate piles on the floor to organize them. I have no dresser or bookscase or drawers to put them in. At about 6 last night, I flipped the light switch several times in vain, wondering why the lights weren’t turning on, only to discover we didn’t have any, and I needed to buy a floor lamp.
So I’ve been spending some time looking at furniture on ikea.com.
Have you ever seen Fight Club? I can’t help but think about it as I try to get myself and my stuff off the floor and into some “solutions for modern living.” Jack was a big fan of IKEA.
Tyler says, “Do you know what a duvet it?”
Jack, who’s house just exploded into a mess of furniture and condiments, says, “Comforter.”
“It’s a blanket, just a blanket. Now why do guys like you and I know what a duvet is? Is this essential to our survival? In the hunter-gathered sense of the word? No. What are we then?”
“You know, consumers.”
“Right. We’re consumers. We’re by-products of a lifestyle obsession. Murder, crime, poverty–these things don’t concern me. What concerns me is celebrity magazines, television with five hundred channels, some guy’s name on my underwear. Rogaine, Viagra, Olestra.”
“Martha Stewart.”
“Fuck Martha Stewart. Martha’s polish on the brass of the Titanic. It’s all going down, man! So fuck off, with your sofa units and your green stripe patterns. I say never be complete. I say stop being perfect. I say let’s evolve and let the chips fall where they may. But that’s me, I could be wrong, maybe it’s a terrible tragedy.”
“No, it’s just stuff.”
“Well, you did lose a lot of versatile solutions for modern living.”
That last part was the sarcastic funny part, if you didn’t pick up on it.
It really all boils down to this question, and be honest with me:
Does this bookshelf define me as a person?
