28Dec16 blog project #6

Talk about the person you like.

She noticed me.

I realize that sounds like a small thing.

In reality It's pretty big. You take things like getting invited to functions, study groups, or out for beers for granted. You enjoy the luxury of picking and choosing  these encounters.

 Once you pass a certain age these things tend to dry up. You're the same person you always were but older and somehow unapproachable now. My theory is younger people find it difficult to relate to you, that or it's the whole staring into the face of their future thing.

This woman actually saw me.

Sees me.

And I am forever greatful.

27Dec16 Blog project #5

Discuss your feelings about the word love.

Damn. 

This is one I considered dodging. The shit is different for everyone. 

worse than that I'm not feelin lovey today. Okay...

Love for me is the greatest drug there is.

You should be ever prepared to consciously give it.

You should walk around, windows of your heart flung wide in the hope of recieving its nourishing light.

It can be painful.

Love anyway.

26Dec16 blog project #4

Someone you've never met who inspires you.

Statements or requests like these annoy because they seek to pin you down.

But there is never just one person. 

(Echoes of Dr. steeby there. I haven't forgotten!) 😎

It could just as easily be someone you recently met or experienced. It could be some book, or some movie, or that kid I saw yesterday who could actually do a wheelie.

 (something I could never do.)

In my case it was never anyone physical. I discovered long ago people you idolize tend to dissapoint in real life. They're requently rude, or racist, or so vain their very presence scrapes at your being. Ah but fictional characters! Fictional characters defy physics. They remain the same but their influence extends across time and space, shaping; influencing cultures and people.

Keeping wth that concept my first choice is David Carridine's Kwai Chang Caine. 

I was a poor black child sharing a room with four brothers and one sister in a tiny two bedroom house. Rats in the walls, one hand pump in the kitchen the only running water in the place. It was in rural Ohio, about forty miles from Toledo.  I was around ten or so and would sit on the floor in front of a black and white tv looking at this peaceful man seeking only to find his father and be left alone to live quietly thinking about...

What? Just being?

Goddamn that  was the shit to me! 

Who just kind of meanders through life lookin at shit? Longs to pass through peacefully as undisturbing as a breeze on a leaf? 

My head was fuckedfor life!

Physical attempts a Kung fu faded fast but the philosophy, It's remnants remained, Kernels of it still rooted in yesterday's posting on religion. Caine freed me from the trap of organized, orthodox thought. Taught me that God was way bigger than that.

There are many others had a hand in creating this being who's words distract you right now.

 Robert Hienlien's Lazarus Long, Remo Williams "The Destroyer,"  Daredevil, Capt. America, Dr. Doom!

Real life seemed dumb after I discovered books and all these people. I pretty much never went back and at this late stage...meh, it's all good.

25Dec16 blog challenge #3 religion.

What is your religion and thoughts about religion.

I don't participate in organized or traditional religion. Early on I realized much of it is based on guilt and fear. I found the idea of an infinite God punishing me for behavior done in a timespan less than an instant for him unacceptable.

Still, I don't question the exsistence of God. The evidence is all around us, In the faces of everyone and every thing. If we take the time to really listen, really see. Good luck maintaining that kind of focus though. A better question is did he create us or we him?

 I Find comfort in both theories.

If God created us and everything else he'd have little need for our praise even if we eliminate the idea of angels. He is complete unto himself.worship in any form would be redundant. Removing worship from the table leaves curiosity on God's part or a random act.

Possibly he created man just to see what mankind would achieve. Man has infinite potential and seeing how it plays out would be worth observing for a few eons. If that is the case mankind's selfish modification of his natural acts for his own selfish gain has hindered his purer goal, but adds to the adventure.

The idea we created him is a little less solid. My theory is the combined human intellect all focused on the goal of not only reaching, but pleasing God would cause such a being to be created if said being did not exsist. Possibly not in my life time but eventually. The sheer power of prayer would cause it to form somewhere in the universe. this theory does not take into account actual evil in the form of demons or as I prefer to think, extra dimensional beings bent on causing humans harm. I know, a little out there. Just a hint of the fractured process that is my mind.

And so ends task#3. I fear they only get weirder folks.

24Dec16 blog task #2

Your political views and how you feel about politics in general.

Socialist, fuck yeah! Share the wealth! How can you as a living breathing human being have so fucking much, look around and say "oh well, it sucks to be you." Or "I got mine, get yours." Or the ever popular "the one who dies with the most toys wins."

There is so much in this world. What slips through the cracks in our defense budget alone could finance healthcare, education, and housing for everyone. My God it seems like a no brainer. Instead we allow our politicians to feed into our unfounded fears. We the people passively allow ourselves to be lulled to sleep by tired rhetoric, happily believing ourselves safe from a threat never really realized.

I preach but am guilty of keeping my own head down. Weary from the sheer weight of data I ignore things, waiting for it all to fall beer in hand.

I have seen my passivity made disturbingly clear through the eyes of a friend. One who feels so passionately about these things it drives her to tears. I looked on that sweet caring continence and knew shame. Shielded for so long by my indifference to the point of being almost numb she reminds me to be better, to do more, not Just analyize.

Now, let's hope that's not just rationalization on my part.

23Dec16 Man, this down time!

I know I'm screaming in the wilderness but I HATE DOWN TIME!

People all over Louisiana are celebrating Christmas and the nearness of loved ones and I am mentally pacing the floor.

    At the age of sixty one downtime translates to time wasted. That combined with other things I won't touch on here have me wound tight as a drum.

I've been combing Pinterest for blog topics in an effort to get this thing moving while honing my chops. I've found a list so I'm gonna start on it right now.

A favorite picture of yourself and an interesting fact for every year you've been alive:

My last year of undergrad. I'd just started drinking again after ten or so years. My heart had been broken but I remember I still had my writing. That guy kept going, possibly because the thought of stopping was too much. It's my favorite because he persevered.

The only thing to say about the previous years is my amazement I've lived this long. I remember being twenty five doing a three mile jog home from work. My car was broke down and for some reason I wondered what I'd be like at sixty. I couldn't imagine it then. Past that now I see living has become much more acute. I literally feel the seconds slipping away. Hence the need to be back at school, learning more.

Funny how we try to hold on to things, like we have any control at all. Silly drunk old man. The trick is to appreciate it all. Every second, the bad and the good. The smiles, the lunches, even the tears carry weight, have meaning. Done.

30Nov16 coming to the end

One week left in the semester then that long stretch till the next one. While I've learned much about the critical approach to writing my fictional skills have athropied.  I had to present to the class A simple rewrite of a very short story I wrote three years ago. It was a failure. I couldn't find the lanes and grooves needed to make the sentences flow. Lack of use.

Last paper is due nxt wk then it's on to another short story, one suitable for submission to the creative writing program.

 My last class in intro to grad studies was tonight. The topic of discussion revolved around the viability of a master's in literature as a means of making a living. I spent two hours weighing the pros and cons with the rest of the class.

Only now, two hours later, do i realize things are different for me. I'll be sixty two when I graduate. A Ph.D will take 3-4 years more. In the end the prospects of getting hired for any kind of work are slim.

Funny how fully you embrace some things. My end game must be a totally different creature. My stories will have to be the legacy. I've waffled back and forth all semester on weither to switch programs or not. Time seems to have helped things along.

The mood is dark but not bleak, just the normal down cycle. Don't you hate when that happens?

20oct16 update

Been awhile but it couldn't be helped. School demands and I must obey. Mid terms have passed and I'm on the final stretch. Barring some mishap I will finish the semester no worse for the wear.

For the last two months I've gone back and forth on my career goals. I started this to improve my writing by studying in depth great writers of the past. I wanted to know what literature professors see when they read, wanted to understand. 

I achieved much of that goal. I know the difference between fiction and literature, I have an inkling of the effort put into such pieces. I expected to find it mostly bullshit, some system set up to make those lucky enough to achieve higher learning feel good about themselves. I was wrong.

 (My ego is such a curse!)

I've learned much and can't wait to learn more.

I discovered the importance of passionate teachers too. This semester exposed me to people who LOVE what they do. The room shines with the passion they have for the subjects they teach. If thier words have such an effect on me, what if I can do the same? I'd only given lip service to the idea when considering school, as a possible way to pay back loans but now? It's definitely on the table.

But lateIy I've remembered what I went for, to become a better writer, to create my own stuff, not critique someone else's. I had wandered off the path. Two months with no personal writing done. Jason warned me it could happen. 

I wrote a few lines yesterday in a space story I put on hold for school. It felt like coming home, like "Hey guys! Let me show you all the things I've learned since I been away!"

A paragraph deleted in other versions as too whatever, begged to be fleshed out in new ways. There was so much yet to be said, there, in the cracks. The old me would have skipped blithely over it as something the reader would never read.

There is still much work to do school wise. Next semester will be a year. Only one more to get the masters. The demands for writing and reading remain overwhelming. Still, I will find a window to do MY things. 

I REMEMBER MY REAL NAME.

05sep16 the dark night

Just about a month into the new semester.

This has been my most enlightening experience in higher education so far.

Contemporary African literature along with American lit it is eye opening.

The early part of American lit is focusing on black writers of the early twentieth century. Charles w. Chestnutt, who I'd never heard of, did a series of short stories on interracial relationships during the post civil war era along with addressing the issue of a place for blacks in a post war society. 

Some deal with black women light enough to pass for white and the difficulties encountered when "passing." 

This is when people of color are light enough to pass for white and do.Who chooses to pass? Why? Do they come back? Can they really? He sheds light on the scenario, the holed out feeling that follows giving up everything to pass, the constant terror of being found out and killed, or sent back.

There was a whole generation of black people of mixed heritage after the civil war ashamed to be black I was unaware of. Proud of their bright skin, and well educated, they longed to be, but were never accepted as white, despite their high levels of intelligence and effort to emulate European culture.

A people lost along with their dark skinned brothers.

African lit shows some of the same. It shines a light on the damage done by the British empire with its arrival on the continent. Entire cultures and oral histories were eliminated, wiped out to be replaced by a European model that later sets the stage for exploitation. They replaced native gods with their own, convinced them the western way was the only way, the one true God's will.

I don't wonder about angry Africans anymore. They are angry at having to piece together what's left of their history while trying to survive in a western dominated world whose influence has corrupted its leaders.

A people lost.

Their sense of place in the world, like the African American, gone, replaced by a construct.

Thethings I've written in the past pale when compared with these subjects. African writers goal is to inform, not just entertain, to be a voice for the people, all people.They've caused me to rethink my goals with my own writing. It must carry more weight.

18 Aug 16 12:29 updates

Well, made it through the summer. Got a B for the writing course, thought it should've been higher.

Still I learned a lot.

First day of class for the fall. Technically it started last night at 6:00 with my research paper class. The plan is th so us step by step how to create a graduate level paper that can be presented for peer review and possible publication. I so need this! My papers have the info but not the format and style needed to please the professors. She wants a 17 page paper for the end of the semester, same with the American lit class I just finished. That in addition to stacks of books and cross reference material. I have this real love/hate thing with school (smile).

Still writing pretty much everyday. Placed my second story for last sememster on wattpad. Now I'm back to working on "Found While Dreaming." About twenty pages into it because of the frequent rewrites. The main character started off so passive. I want a strong black man who shapes his world instead of adapting to the world around him. It's a different type of character for me. 

Talked with my brother the other day who says he's been reading my work online. I nearly fell over! Nobody reads it. He wants more of my Priest story so I plan to chip at it this sememster while on my two hour break between classes. I'm okay mentally is a little darker than usual. Actually it's becoming the norm as I get older. No biggie.

18jun16 changes

Submitted my first story for the writing class. The original plan was to write three stories encompassing my childhood ending up till joining the navy.

Turns out the class is so full only two stories can be submitted this semester. There's also the fact I did a trilogy before. It was kind of limiting and suffered from structure issues when not properly planned out.

So...the first one's on wattpad titled "summer sixty seven" along with the three I did the previous semester under "megans tale"

The next story is about an older man trying to find love but struggling with his preconceptions a out a woman. Shaking my head here. I would prefer it take place on a space station but...

Not literary fiction. Smile.

30May16 Perspective

I've lived in New Orleans almost twenty years now. That's twenty sweltering Summers with me bitching about the heat.

Every year I wonder how people three hundred years ago managed to not only survive but thrive in this place. 

No air conditioning, no indoor plumbing; hell, I'm ready to kill most summers and I have both of those!

Except for today. Circumstances force me to see things from their perspective.

The kitchen sink has been clogged for a few days dispite my best efforts and I'd resolved to get the plumber round tomorrow. The last week or so I've been doing dishes and dumping buckets of water out the back door.

last night the air conditioner started throwin off sparks. It's down for the count, its eighty degrees inside right now.

I guess I'm bitchin, but not really as its not as miserable as it sounds. It even feels survivable. Everybody is still coming over to eat and watch movies and instead of cranky mymood is reflective.

I guess it all comes down to attitude sometimes. You can't change shit do why sweat it? 

I know, puny.

22May16 update

Roughly one more week before class starts. Like I mentioned in the last post It's another fiction writing course, this time online. I'm tryin to get ahead of the game this time by starting my three stories early.

The program frowns on fiction writing of a non literary type so fantasies and science fiction get no traction.

My plan was to continue my Maple Leaf series, an extension of the three I did last semester but sort of a prequel. Wanted to base the stories in the early days of the complex, nineteen fifty five or so.

That led to childhood memories of growing up in rural Ohio. I felt it a more appropriate subject matter for the stories.

Now trying to remember those times is stirring up so many memories. Momma, daddy, my friends; I can't even remember their names anymore. Wild how closing the book on some things mentally an be so effective. Also how emotionally charged those memories still are.

The first story is loosely based on my first experiences with violent death, around age ten or so. I'll post it when finished.

06may16 summer, vacation?

Not this year. Southern fiction writers here I come. Class has been physically over since last Thursday but I mailed in the last final today. Now I get two weeks or so before the summer session.

I bitched all semester long about school but the prospect of having no mission disturbed me. I'm glad I'm going this summer.

28APR16 Almost Light

One more class to go, teaching composition. Have to do a presentation on the viability of teaching a writing course using a multimedia platform. Rough five minutes where I tell the class about my plan to use wattpad as a teaching tool. Then a ten page paper for her about the whole process.

I got much more out of the class than I expected. I can see why teachers love it so.

Had the last Ascetism and Decadence class a couple hours ago. Still have to submit a final of about eight pages and a final essay of ten to twelve. Oh my god the writing in that class! Learned tons there too but my mind is so fried from the philosophy! The last works are on Oscar Wilde. Every line he wrote makes you stop and take about five or so minutes to think on. No more thinking. More drinking!

May be a slight chance I'm going to summer school. One class, southern Literature. Shouldn't be too bad, some pretty good writers I'm guessing. Thought hard about just sitting the summer out but an idle me is no good. I just think and drink and whine. Lol

21APR16 updates

In the final stretch here. One more teaching presentation and a final paper and the spring session is done. Meeting with Dr. White shortly to decide on a thesis for the paper.

Either the treatment and status of women in Victorian England as presented in Dorian Gray, or the artist/critic muse relationship in the same piece.

Submitted my last short story Monday with a harsh but fair review.

I was required to write three short stories for the class but decided to write one three part story instead. That decision opened up a world of problems.

I hadn't properly planned the whole thing out so ended up trying to make the latter parts mesh with the first story; nota smooth outcome. The end critiques involved all the flaws in the structure that needed fixing. My professor did tell the class

 "this work is ambitious and good piece of creative work that's too big for the writer as shown by the lack of craftsmanship. But, craftsmanship can be taught! Not talent."

I come away a much better writer, aware that the things I leave out as obvious are important to enough readers to include them, also that I can write. I always tell myself that but it's nice to hear it from others.

Prince is dead! Damn, there ain't even nothin else to say to that shit. I mean I found it almost unbelievable and I wasn't even that big a fan. I recognize genius when I see/hear it.

I found myself watching as the world got on with its business. It stopped for nobody I saw here on campus. I realize this is a surface view, I've no idea of their inner lives and concerns. I just felt an overwhelming sense of indifference, like the same non reaction will present with my own demise.

A dark, selfish thought. Too much alcohol lol.

13APR16 little glimpses of God

 As I was leaving the school across from my house last Saturday I was approached by an elderly gentleman. We were there voting on yet another tax increase but kind of drifted into conversation.We spoke of the political shape of our country, details of which I won't bore you with.

Eventually we joked about our age. I told I'm I'm about as old as him and he pointed out he was eighty and had a daughter my age.

What I'm driving at is how much he impressed, no, inspired me. I marveled at this man so mentally sharp and full of life. I could feel the power coming off him and the pleasure he got from just living on this earth.

I have a tendency to whine as those familiar with me know. I also tend to think too much about everything and not act nearly enough. Lately it's been over getting older and running out of time. I feel I've wasted it and there's not enough left to accomplish anything.

That gentleman reminded me to live, that I could easily be eighty like him and to stop thinking, worrying, and make it count.

I guess my point is God talks to you all the time. It's not always through prayer, some times it's people.

I'm reminded to listen, to be present and pay attention.

07APR16 updates

Classes are still overwhelming for the most part but I am gaining understanding into the mindset needed to succeed. 

I have to be prepared to take what I need/want.

Pre grad consisted of professors lecturing at me while i stumbled around tryin to make sense of it all, enough that I could spew it back in an acceptable form to pass the class.

Grad school makes the subltle shift to you becoming the teacher and a true seeker of knowledge. There is no more holding hands or gentle nudges in a direction. You are required to ask the questions then nudge yourself. That sort of ownerism came late to me and is coming hard (phrasing lol)

my military background has me used to being told what to do despite a fierce independent streak.

Now I am forcing myself to actively take charge of my life, late in the game though it is.

  

I am learning so much. Aescetism and decadence are like lights going off. I see the world for what is it is and differently at the same time. 

I see the mental games we play with ourselves as a society and as individuals. My goal now is a constant attempt to not sleep thru things anymore. To be "aware" as I can be at all times, to what I am doing and why. It's trickling down to my writing, if not on a line by line basis at least in its essence. 

My professor has been on my ass about grammar. The old me would have checked that bitch on the spot! Even considered chokin the shit out of her. The core of the story is what's important, there are people who get PAID to correct grammar right?

Right, but you have to get your work to the people for that to happen. Just when I was about to go off for her frontin on me in class she said something that made me hold my tongue.

"Editors have stacks of manuscripts on their desks. They're just looking for a reason to reject you. Why give them one?"

Damn! What the hell can you say to logic like that?

So I'm workin the line by lines just like she said. Why? Cause I'm gone git mine! Lol

24Mar16 update

Got past the midterms. Past being the operative phrase.

Submitted my second short story for my creative writing course. Had to whip it together over three days, not nearly enough time but...midterms.

It continues the tale of Megan even though she's dead now.

It's more the leading up to that event. More Jordan but not enough. I realized that after I completed it.

Malachi, a new character took over as some characters are want to do. He was suppose to be there but die later. He's such a strong character I want to save him.

So he dies.

My moods good. Conscious of time slipping away but that's just too much me thinking. The answer is more work.

13Mar16 today

I'm going outside to cut grass.

I've Been obsessing lately on school and other things, mind cluttered and fractured. I need something I can control, something I can have a physical effect on.

I forget to be while out these days. I rushi about mind on everything but where I am, what I'm doing, like young Luke Skywalker. Today I'll sweat, feel the heat drain me along with those meddlesome worries.

I write still but not the subjects I want weighed down by the thoughts of men dead two hundred years. Deep thought to be sure but the energy tied up in trying to spew back their words/ life mission in an acceptable manner is tiring. I criticize myself at every turn, the result is little progress.

I'll get there.😊

I just have to whine from time to time.

In the interests of keeping it real...

The ground is saturated. Too wet to cut.

I guess it's back to Pater, Matthew, and Arnold.

29Feb16 updates

School is such a mixed bag for me at this point.

I'm reminded of a conversation I had with Jason prior to the semester concerning my reasons for going back. He asked then if I could really get what I wanted there, which was to learn to be a better writer.

I told him of course. knowledge is power; there was no way it would make me a worse writer. I wanted my masters, hell, I wanted my doctorate.

Three or some months into it I'm revisiting the question.

Submitted my first paper for asceticism and decadence. Got a poor reception, a C- in fact. There was a myriad of issues, from vague comments to sources poorly quoted or quoted improperly. It's understandable. I've never taken a graduate level course and the class offered for teaching the proper way of doing the paper isn't available till next fall. I gambled and lost. Now I'll have to work it hard to not make it a failure.

the deeper issue is what I'm working for. I'm not puttin those extra hours in on writing a better short story. It's on writing a better paper, the way they want it, and miles from where I want to be.

I have to choose wiser if I'm going to continue this path. I passed on a course dealing with African lit for the headache of British lit and philosophy. At least I'd have been reading books!

Okay" thanks for listening. Reception for my short story was positive and I don't think it was just the usual one student shinin another one on. Scheduled to talk with the professor tomorrow before class.

Read a piece last night that said when you get in moods like this just picture yourself a year from now. It helps. (Smile)

Short Story #1

Submitted yesterday.
As always you want to do more, better. You change and tweak right up to the last in an attempt to make it great in your mind. As always you feel you failed.

Strangely enough i'm learning more about writing in my other classes but the short story workshop not only keeps your skills honed, it offers feedback from other writers, something we need.
I've placed it on wattpad if you want a look at it.

Things are good overall. Have a paper to write this weekend on victorian critics Walter Pator, Matthew Arnold and or John Ruskin. They're talking about the role of the critic in society, how his influence affects not only the artist reviewed but how society sees that work. Primarily the question keeps coming back to what is art?

Savin it for the paper lol

Lundi gras 2016

The day before the big day down here!

I've lived in this city about nineteen years now and rarely indulge in the festivities anymore; but going across the river this year.

I want to feast on the good vibrations prevailent here this time of year. Where even alone you're  surrounded with nothing but goodness and well wishes. The French quarter is better than any alcohol or drug dispite its presence fueling the madness. The fact that it is so finite, Tuesday at midnight the whole thing dials back down from eleven to eight or so, makes it all the more exquisite.

I want to see the smiles, feel the random hugs from strangers. They remind me I'm a part of something good. That humanity isn't just greed and destruction.

Back to school Thursday.

30Jan16 updates

Still surviving...

That panic over school is finally dying down. I just had to remember it's a step on he path. I read the material, try to understand, and show the same in class.

I'm still surprised by the overlap I find. Elements of the Aesthetics class frequently turn up in the teaching course which all come together in ceative writing. The concepts involved in teaching composition so interesting!  This from a man with no real desire to teach. 

Learning different Ways to nurture young, curious minds makes me mourn the loss of my youth. I want to take each kid and find then nurture the artist in them, whatever form it takes. If that kind of detail and encouragement had been offered to me I'd have been much better off.

My personal stories are still on hold while I produce work for the creative writing class. I've just about finished the first concerning a woman comtemplating killing her husband. Thinking hard about linking it to the follow up tale; sort of a trilogy. 

I've read and critiqued four of my fellow students works so far; all bright young minds finding their voices and farther along than I was at their age. The material covers a wide range. Ghost stories, Vietnam, even a little league player. I am forced to examine topics I would've avoided on my own and find it challenging to review work on its craftsmanship alone. But that's always the mission eh? We do it with everything in life.

My short story "Priest Drifting." on wattpad got a read and one star last week from someone called turquoisey. 

I wanted to send money, send flowers, to cry at his or her feet "thank you!"

People don't realize how good it feels to just have someone read your story if you're a writer. We spend hours toiling over sentence flow and paragraph structure, on how to better convey the thing they want you to feel, only to find they are their only audience. 

Thank you turquoisey for seeing me.

Almost Mardi Gras and the electricity is in the air. My neighbors house has visitors coming and going all hours putting finishing touches on their parade gear. I'll post some pics when they finish.

Gotta love this city. Even with high crime, crushing proverty and a shit education system the people are ever optimistic. Mardi Gras will pass, but it's spirit sustains the city over the year, holding people above the dispair and killings. It reminds us how special we are...and how lucky to live here.

14Jan16

Finishing up the first wk of grad school.

It doesn't feel real, like I shouldn't be here.

Everyone here is so highfalutin lol. I feel like a commoner who

Stumbled into the grand ballroom and is now tryin to play it off. 

Three classes. Ascetics, mainly covering the artist prior to and after the Victorian era.

Talk about over my head! But it's my favorite. When he discuses how they all connect and the deeper meanings in the works I feel the lights come on.

Am also taking a course on teaching composition. This is as dry as I feared but necessary because let's face it, teaching is a viable option.  I'm sure I'll get good things out of it.

The last is a fiction writing workshop,

We've only reviewed one story so far. It's like I expected with observational fiction that reflects real life.

I write to escape that. As far as I'm concerned there's too much reality in reality.

Was informed by the instructor that si fi/ fantasy would be acceptable but would be judged by the same standards as fiction. To me this means they will want explinations on how a warp drive works or why a Dwarf might use a shotgun instead of an ax. 

I choose not to have to explain these things to people who will just nitpick. Instead I will give them the fiction they want. It's still writing after all and offers new challenges.

I felt like the faceless man on campus. At sixty you don't feel old, which has nothing to do with others perception of you.

They are overly polite and deferential. They rush to be away from you. Too close to death I guess lol

I know, my perception and probably bullshit.

It's still good to be out though, among the living lol.

08Jan16 next steps

Been a few days, here's the updates.

Looks like the school thing is going ahead, all thanks to God.

I admit to being a little upset at not having a true writing class available due to my registering late. 

I was stuck with three courses all read/ write heavy: African fiction, eighteenth century Brit lit, and the origins of the novel as a form of fiction. I've just spent the last six or so years studying this, writing term papers on the same and believe me, it's as dry as it sounds.

I thought finally, finally I'm in grad school. I can read and study what I want! Fiction but my kind: detectives, private eyes, mercs, science fiction ectera. how it's done, how to do it better. Doesn't look like it but more on that later.

The God part comes in because I got accepted into the writing program I thought I had no chance of getting, at least into one of their classes. I submitted a sample of my work; my science fiction themed story about a retired space medic doing a friend a favor.

It was promptly rejected. "Too long and we don't do genre work. Got any real fiction?"

Had to go back to a previous piece I did about a kids experience during the civil rights movement.

They liked it enough to let me in (smile)

Cool right? But then it dawns on me that I won't be writing what I want. I'll be writing what THEY want.

That shit should've crossed my mind. I'm an idiot.

I only had si fi fantasy ideas; no rough drafts or prompts for fiction. Now I have to produce at least three such pieces this semester and had no idea what to write about.

I spent the day panicking before one came to me. Then two.

I remember writing is writing and all of it makes you better so....I write.

I'll post them as I finish them along with the critiques in general I get from classmates.

Tons of school shit to do this wknd and I'm glad. A busy mind is a happy one but I worry about my other projects. Don't want the. Lying fallow.i guess even if I chip at them it'll be better than stopping. That's the plan anyway. Classes start Monday night 6-930. Ouch!