skrapnel

Today was the first day working on the next series of fiction writings. It basically involved immersing myself in the subject during what I call the “sponge phase” of the idea generation cycle.

The sponge phase involves filling your head with as much information as possible until you reach the point of sensory overload.  For all of you athletes, it’s kind of like when you are loading up on carbs before a marathon. In the case of idea generation, you are loading up on information, images, writing styles and experiences that will help push you through the story writing process.

When you’re training for sports, you don’t want to fill you body with junk. Same goes for the creative process. Here are some of the things I do during my media diet:

• Limit Facebook and other social media use.
  • I’m already filling my head with tons of things–and I dont really need to be exposed to all the extra stuff facebook pushes out. Plus, it’s a huge time suck.
• Limit my personal interaction to people that are positive influences.
  • The creative process is like giving birth, and you don’t want your baby to be exposed to negative things. Some people also can be a drain, stressing me out or weighing me down.
• Limit movies, novels or short stories to things that I’ve already read, focusing on those works that resonate with the story I want to tell.
  • It comes down to too much stimulation. It also helps put you in the right state of mind or mood to match your story.
  • If you’ve already read/seen the work, you know what to expect. I don’t like outside influences affecting my writing in unexpected ways <—This goes for all of the above.

The last novel was very dark and semi-autobiographical. It was also kind of avante garde. This new series of short stories (or maybe a novel) goes back to being true fiction based on several ideas I’ve had over the last few years during my travels.

As most of my faithful readers know, I had 4 years of journals and photos stolen while I was living in Berlin. I can’t look at pictures, drawings or writings from those times. All I have are memories:

• Iceland: wall of snow advancing across a sunny field from purple mountains; fairy villages in a tree stump and stones; glaciers
• Camping in a cabin in a valley outside of Heidelberg with Jasmine. Hiking to the city through the forest in the morning and then back to the cabin at night. Trees had eyes. Spawning white bugs swarming us. Castles, fountains, fairies, flowers.
• Watching shooting stars from high atop a mountain in North Carolina
• Dancing naked in a summer storm

As much as I’d like to go back to those places and immerse myself, I can’t right now. Thankfully, the memories help recall parts of stories that I wrote at the time.

Here are some snapshots of what I’m filling my head with I’ve also been watching different movie versions of Shakespeare’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream and Alice in Wonderland (not the new one). Can you guess what I’m writing about?

Just got off the phone with my aunt. My grandfather is in the hospital again. He was up all night vomiting, so they rushed him to the ER. At the hospital, they put a tube in his throat, but he pulled it out. He’s telling family members that he’s going to die.

My grandparents raised me. My grandfather taught me about being a man. My grandmother taught me how to love. They’ve been together for more than 60 years. When my grandfather passes, it’s going to break my grandmother’s heart.

It’s been a rough 2 weeks. My stepfather went into the hospital a couple of weeks ago with a kidney problem. He’s going to be in a nursing home for 3 months on dialysis recovering. And while I wasn’t as close to him as I am to my grandfather, it still makes me reflect on mortality and death.

On top of that, all of my material objects have decided they want to break: My laptop randomly reboots whenever it feels like it; my still camera’s lens grinds when I turn it on; my phone’s screen and volume are broken–and it drops calls; one of my flip cameras has a broken, unusable screen; AND my soap dispenser is no longer pumping. Top that off with a week long stomach bug, and it’s hard to feel like I’m not drowning.

My grandparents at my grandfather's birthday in June 2009.

I’m trying hard to understand my emotions right now. I can’t let myself go numb, and I can’t escape into depression. I know I should feel this. I need to be in the moment, acknowledging what’s happening and understanding that it’s life.

People die. We all die. It’s written into the contract of life. Nothing lives forever. Things change. Things break. Nothing is permanent–especially flesh. It’s hard idea to swallow–and it sounds cold–but it’s the only truth in life.

The seasons always change. Summer doesn’t last forever, and neither does the winter. We have to enjoy every moment during the summer: bask in the sunlight, complain about the heat, and fill our hearts with swimming and sunsets. But we always know that fall will come. And then winter. No matter how hard we try to hold on to summer, it still goes. So it must be with people and things.

People come into our lives. They share time with us. They touch us. They affect us. Sometimes they hurt us. Sometimes they love us. In the end, they all pass out of our lives. Impermanence is the only constant.

photo by Loerex. The city is Cologne. <3

As much as I want to fight the death of my grandfather, my brother, my grandmother, my good friends, it’s futile. This life is a flash of lightning, a summer rainbow, a flower in bloom: beautiful, ephemeral, precious. We can’t be scared or sad. We can’t control the future. We can only enjoy our time now.

Cherish it, my friends. Love your life. Love your friends and family. Take note of every moment: the light, the dark, the smell, your feelings (good or bad), the sounds, the colors and tastes. At the same time, know it’s all fleeting.

All of this is easier said than done. Small steps. Remember: It’s a miracle each morning when we wake up and are still breathing.

Thank you all for the joy you bring me.

V + <3