Begrudgingly Convenient

I had a library debt.

For a book I did not damage.

A year ago.

It made me angry for a long time. Anyone who knows me knows that’s just fucking ludicrous.

In the interest of full disclosure, I had several ulterior motives for paying it. Some were not clear to me until I went to actually do so.

As a Poor Angry Writer, I love my resources. Everyone should love their library.

But the library that charged me this paltry sum of 37.00 had many other sins. That I received it damaged. It was almost as old as me. They refused to return it. I had to force them to, and THAT’S how I got the fucking charge.

It looked like an elementary school library. Most of the floor covered in half-tall shelves you see for kindergarteners. An open story time area that made mid-day unbearable. Computer space that was hidden in the back where only perverts and Mormons gathered. I have no idea what it was about that library that Mormons liked… I always had to order something over, they never had it there. And a huge section where old people would just hang out, raid coupons, read the paper for free, and leave a mess. Awkward cafeteria tables with power strips duct tapped to them for computer stations. It was terrible.

So I held a grudge.

Then it became in my best interest to pay off the scourge. So I could go to a different library. At a new job, there is a library not far, and I could easily go to that one before work, drop stuff off after close. It would be nice.

So fine, amongst the fair amount of catching up I had to do with bills and errands, fuck it, I’ll do that, too. Out of my hair, I’m an upstanding citizen. What the fuck ever.

Then I go in.

And it’s nice.

They’ve remodeled the whole thing. Sectioned off rooms. No half shelves. More floor space given up for books. I paid my fee, and went browsing. Lo and Behold, they have two lectures I’ve been wanting to hear, the Great Courses series on The Symphony and 30 Greatest Orchestral Works. Looking around, it was 37 dollars well spent. When I went to check out, I got the Oh Shit You’re Gonna Expire, Mate!!!

The last staff was mean. And it sounds silly to say the word as an adult, but bitter, unhelpful, rude, and dismissive all fall under that category.

This young lady helped me cheerfully, like she was happy to work with books! And I’m fuck yeah, books!

Truth be told, I’ve missed the library. It’s invaluable.

Maybe, I could be a little less angry.

We’ll see.

The Slavery of Retail: No Personal Identity Allowed

When people complain about my recent (joyful) breakup with yet another retail employer, I don’t argue with them. But I try to explain. Everyone is understaffed and over-worked. They expect Mensa level application, Atlas force effort, and Roman fealty. And at the bargain basement price you thing they are passing on to you.

I don’t make excuses for bad workers, for people who don’t care to learn their job, or general apathy that is at best negligent and at worst prosecutable.

I blame the culture we’ve instilled into the concept of Retail.

Not just the “customer is always right” bullshit, or even “buyer beware.” Somehow, the business mentality of 80/20 has made Retail life insufferable.

For those not familiar with the 80/20, it’s called the Pareto Principle, or the Law of the Vital Few, which states approximately 80% of effects come from 20% of the causes. Business…gurus, I can’t think of a better word for how they treat business, like a new-age religion, actually call the 80/20 Rule a way of life, a belief. Not the statistic that it is. Applied on the ground level, from a Retail Grunt’s position, it translates into “Give This Screaming Bitch Whatever She Wants.” This is done for many reasons. To stop the screaming, much like a little child. To make the customer happy, if it’s possible (please keep in mind that some people enter a retail establishment to buy unhappiness the same way people like to haggle for cars). There is the concept of over-compensation. Which has a jingle type word, a buzz word, that reeks of paperback shyster psychology. Whatever it is called, it is the idea that giving a customer too much will make them feel like they owe the business their patronage. So, 80% of the business’ problems are created by 20% of the customers, and making them over happy is the only way to avoid any trouble whatsoever.

And customers know this. Instead of getting a problem fixed, or a right wronged, most retail interactions have become a used car lot sales haggle to keep the customer from trying to get over and get more than you, an employee, are allowed to give.

This obviously is not everyone. But I’ve got something to say about the 80% soon enough.

Now, this 20% will say and do anything. I haven’t decided if they don’t think about employees as humans out of conditioning, or if it’s some sort of subconscious let-go that they know it’s basically an adult Showbiz ball-pit and they can get what they want, quite literally.

The 80% are comprised of people who just like to look down on you. Throw their money on the counter like you’re a fucking whore. Tell you “I can tell how much you hate your job, it’s quite apparent.” Let their kids piss on the floor. The theft alone is staggering. And of all the more examples I could go into, this part lead to this: you have to take it.
In a retail job, you are at the bottom of the food chain. One “you’re fired” away from homelessness, maybe two steps away from hanging out with Homeless Jesus on the street corner. The customer may wield this knowledge like a child with a hammer.

But it’s your bosses that know they hold your marionette strings.

While all that bullshit, bullying, pandering, bowing and scraping, ass-sucking, and general fur smoothing happens on the public side of the counter, no one thinks about what happens on the business side of the counter.

I’ve recently been liberated from a company that doesn’t hire security, even though it’s standard in their certain sector of Retail. Product is allowed to expire, because there simply isn’t enough hands to rotate product. If you get a good boss, you are damned lucky. Because a bad boss will ruin the business, put you in a foul mood, and generally be a hardass about what they will or won’t let you do to get the interaction completed.

Here’s something that’s actually happened. A District Manager came in. I thought we sprayed for those, but we must have skipped the Orkin Man’s appointment.

I was going through a lot of personal shit. My best friend was going through a lot of personal shit that necessitated my desire to send flowers to a minor’s funeral. Relation were in town, and I was too ashamed for them to see how tiny my apartment is. So, not a year and a half after shit I have to still deal with, I had to dodge family, buy funeral flowers, and then I got to go to work to be yelled at by addicts, dodge physical assault of vagrants, hope this is the day we don’t get robbed. And the District Manager said to me, “you need to smile more.”

She had a trainee with her. Or someone, I don’t know who. I’m looking at this fucking manager, thinking about all this shit that is none of her business that’s going on in my life. Her roadie got it. The look on my face made a very concerned look on hers. I have a feeling if she had her say, the conversation would have gone differently. But it wasn’t a conversation. This manager spent the whole time talking. It was a one-sided speechifying event.

Not once did anyone ask why I wasn’t smiling, if unhappiness like reads on the face like that, it has a good reason to be there. No one cared.

We work with an epileptic. I didn’t know it for the longest time. One day, out of the corner of my eye, I saw her doing what I could only describe as an amateur pirouette. My honest first thought was, “wow, I’ve never seen her that joyful before.” And went about my business. Not five seconds later, the gossip train rolled right into my station. Watching, no one said anything to her. Just talked about her. After she left for the day, I said as loud as I could, “You know, if I happen to come to work with no pants and tell you my father is Sergeant Pepper, PLEASE ask me if I’m okay. You have my permission.”

Oh, yeah, this happened in a pharmacy. Where a Doctorate holder, two to four kids in school to be nurses, and people who have worked pharmacy for years decided to gossip instead of ask if their comrade with a medical condition is okay. The whole thing made me fucking sick. If I had known she had a small (rather elegant looking, I’ll give her that) episode, I would have just said, “you okay?” and she could have decided to take a break or communicate she was fine. But at least someone would have fucking cared.

So Retail allows you no personal identity. The demands corporations make are increasingly dehumanizing, and it effects the attitudes of those in minor positions of authority, and that’s how you get that poor, miserable, broken and unfeeling person behind that counter that could care less if you got your Vess soda on sale or not.

Food for Thought.

Stress

I've heard people say that stress was a good motivator to keep working. Keep the money coming in.
Great work if you can get it.
But I'm talking to my Tax Bracket 1 and 2 sistren and brethren. The minimum wage, low wage, no wage job holders who keep Aleve's parent company profitable. Stress, for us plebs, is a constant.
You figure out an outlet, some way to let off steam, release tension. For writers, it's calling the Muse. Wrapping yourself in Inspiration Bacon and wait in the trap to be eaten.
But sometimes Life overachieves. Gives your already diabetic stress level a fourth helping of getting-fucked-over.
It's hard to write like that. For me. Whether it's money, or job, or just the day to day uncertainty of health, wellbeing, and safety, stress will siphon off my creative source. I can't hear the Muse in all the screaming panic static. I think we both cover our ears and say "fuck this" and check out. Into a movie. A book. Nervous cleaning. Meticulous sorting. Meme hunting. Bed cover hiding. Whatever you gotta do.
Fighting stress is hard. Being so very broke, and not even as broke as you were, which was pretty fucking broke. People playing with your lively hood, with no basic dignity of caring how hard they are going to fuck up your life if you didn't catch them while they thought they were being clever.
Still, I punish myself when I feel like I can't produce. When the weight of the world presses down so hard, it starts to feel like it actually is extracting oil, that beautiful place words come from is hard to reach. Not unlike climax under same circumstances.
Forcing it out hurts, makes it disingenuous.
So, all really one can do is pick an escape that is your Inspiration Bacon, so you can lure your writing Patronus from the ether.
Because in times of great stress, Time already feel lost.

Resources: May Haul

I used to watch those YouTube videos of people and their monthly acquisitions. They are entertaining, even gotten some reading suggestions from them. But without internet service, this isn’t something I can keep up on.
However, I did manage to make a guilty pleasure trip to the thrift store and picked up a few great examples of treasures people throw away.
First, I got a Biology textbook. I’m a sucker for a 25 cent textbook. Plus, there is just something about reading a textbook for pleasure that makes it so much more interesting. I got what appear to be a series of three books on business. Those “Who Moved My Cheese” type books. Two are a set, one about their theory of business, the other a “fable” on how they implemented it. The third is about customer interaction. Normally, I don’t find these good reads. They are informative and fascinating. And expensive. I’m not sure if that qualifies as irony or not. But I got them for a song.
In my opinion, you can’t have too many copies of classics. Especially if you really love it. You need a “beater” copy. I have a nice leather-bound works of Shakespeare. That never leaves the shelf. Over time I have accumulated paperback works that get dog-eared, spine-cracked, highlighter marked, pencil notated, and otherwise abused so I can refer to and enjoy these works. So I have another version of Great Expectations. I also picked up The Great Gatsby. This I did not enjoy upon first read. However, after listening to lectures on it, and seeing the recent film (Baz Lurhmann was made to make that movie, by the way, it’s going to define that novel for our generation), I am intrigued to read it again. To see what I can glean out of it.
Then I got two of the Percy Jackson and the Olympians, Book 3 and 4. If it’s popular, and I can get it cheap, then I can try it on, see what the fuss is about, take a writer’s eye to it.
These last four are what made the trip worthwhile.
When picking out books like this, you have to stay sharp. Especially in a thrift store. People are more likely to toss books on how to write college papers, essays, legal terminology, MLA or other styles, you get the idea. So, I read the table of contents for relevance and interest.
Writing About Literature by Janet E. Gardner (2009) caught my eye because it’s about writing about writing critically and analytically, along with the works being used. The table of contents’ last entry is “Literary Criticism and Literary Theory.” Sold.
The Structure of Literature: A Guide for Teachers by R. F. Beauchamp (1969) is all about how to deconstruct and extract from great works. This book is so old, it has a Library of Congress Catalog Card Number.  Beauchamp organized several essays by others about teaching different aspects of writing. Plot, style, setting, thirteen total. Simple, succinct, and relevant. Sold.
Punctuate It Right! By Harry Shaw (1963) has an ISBN number. It meticulously goes through each punctuation mark and circumstance of their use. Dated, but looking through it, not much has changed. Except the wheel of metal letter arms striking a ribbon are now pixilated. Sold.
Profiles of Modern American Authors by Bernard Dekle (1969) surprised me. When I opened it up to look at the date of publication, I saw it was printed in Japan. It also has a Library of Congress Catalog Card Number and a Standard Book Number. It even says “Printed in Japan” at the end of the page. What attracted me to this was the 29 author entries, citing an excerpt of their work, and giving them a picture of their life at the time of that work. This book was meant to educate Japanese, either studying English or Literature, in an overview of American Authors. SOLD. Once in a while, you find really cool stuff like this, books that surprise you for their purpose or reach.
That was my Thrift Store Education on this trip. I’m excited to pick these up in earnest, and see what opinion or theory or point of view that I had not considered awaits me.
Any one in any given discipline knows you never stop being a student.

Are You Working?

Writing isn’t all “ass in chair” time. That’s great work, if you can get it. Not having that, how do you justify all that…other time…

Those people with their groups and guilds and monetarily gifted household breadwinners have support, physically and emotionally, when they need Motivation and Inspiration to keep working.

I got to come home three hours early and write one day, and we were worried that little gift would cost us. We know we are operating without Time or Money, regardless of Motivation and Inspiration. So, without Time or Money, one still has to declare one’s identity as a writer.

Don’t do that.

I mean, I hate to sound negative. Artists supporting art and artists are for another time.

It’s almost like Writer is a new order of sub-human, a fucking bum that’s floats in poverty like a river, stabbing at shore until they invade a dock and mooch off of people with real jobs. It doesn’t matter what you do. This is how you will be seen. Some things that have actually happened: I’ve had people laugh in my face and walk away. The ever-present wild animal horn-lock statement, “have you been published.” The ones that hurt the worst came from close to home, if not directly from home. “Why isn’t your book done yet? You must just sit there and stare at the screen. Anyone can write a book.” Direct quote. I’ve had the word “artist” spit at me with such venom because I wouldn’t sell my book instantly. I let someone use one of my stories for their college course. They didn’t have to do their final, and I would have actual feedback. Which I never got. Instead they told me they were meant to be a writer, they had a dream that told them so.

So don’t bother telling anyone. I’m lucky that my spouse has been constantly supportive.

But I only said “writer” once at the place I’m working at. I never mentioned it again, and I don’t talk about it. When I say work, they think I mean laundry, and I don’t have to see the looks on faces of people who built their lives on shore instead of braved the waters.

Now you have to have a Social Identity. For lack of interaction I get in real life, I have to work for it online. One of two things will happen: you either have to prove you have a potential fan base to an agent, or you are going to have to do all the PR work yourself. Remember when writers wrote book after book? Can’t do that anymore. You have to parade. Either an agent or the e-publisher is going to rely on me to sell myself. I gotta be the pimp and the trick. And that takes Time. Also takes Money if the service is any good.

So, you Tweet. Face the Book. Blog, as you can clearly see exhibited here for your consumption. And there’s a million more fucking ways to show off online. Seems like there is a new one every time I log on. It would take another person to add Pintrest, Vine, YouTube Vlog…It’s a full time job to support the identity of a writer online. Who the fuck am I going to pay when I’m considering doing Tarot readings for extra cash?

Somewhere, in the middle of all that shit, you write. Find your process, your voice, style, technique. Craft the frame work, POV, symbolism, realistic dialogue, relatable prose, and new ways to describe the oldest sins. Right?

Sure you have. Now you have research to do. Your character’s career is a plot point. What’s the time frame, because that determines what the building looks like, what the people look and act like, what’s available, how they will react, the historical background…you get the idea. Apply that list to everything in that character’s life, and then to the other character’s. You won’t use it all. You can’t. Because now you have to decide what to leave out for the reader to fill in.

There will be times when you have to not write, when you have to think, brainstorm, turn on some music and Rafiki your way into the world that you see so clearly, so it can come out of your hands as words.

Pens and pencils and notebooks. You have to have them on you. At all times is best. Except if your job doesn’t allow for that kind of thing. But if you can, great. If you can’t…make a note on something somehow or it’s gone.

Sometimes you have to distract yourself. You’ve completed a draft and gone cross-eyed. You’ve just spent ten hours in one seat because all the planets aligned and you hammered out right along with the outline. Looked at so much research that you don’t know anything else right now, but can describe the entire history of…wherever.

Oh, you know you have to be reading, like, everyday, right?

Why isn’t that book done?

Inspiration

Google quotes about inspiration for writers. See you in a week.

Overwhelming…isn’t it?

Inspiration almost goes hand in hand with Motivation. In Venn, the red and blue would make purple out of their halves.

But this isn’t about the philosophical, deep-seated, *need* to write.

This is about getting something to write about.

I honestly have no fucking idea what that’s like for people in groups, or guilds, or retreats, or shit like that. The last time I “brainstormed” there were over twenty people in the room around a table full of bagels.

This is one of those “every moment is a teaching moment” posts. When you’ve pulled back the curtain so far that the fabric ripped, you can’t help but constantly see the Wizard working.

I like to annoy the spouse by walking behind him while he’s watching any hour long drama, and saying “That guy did it.” About half way through I hear “FUCK” from the living room.

So, where do the bereft of friend and foe find Inspiration? Who is my Fairy Godmother that makes my mice dance?

The toys are nice. Big kid toys like dice with pictures on them, magnets with words, journals, and the ubiquitous Writer’s Prompts. I like to warm up with puzzles, if I have the time. Brain Age, chess puzzles, word games. Get your attention away from life and your upper mind working.

There are the tricky questions of who’s your favorite writer, what’s your favorite book, what book influenced you the most. It’s different for everyone. You can’t get any information from that. So don’t bother Googling your Lit Crush and see what they liked. If you do, keep an objective eye.

Books to Film has actually taught me a lot. Some TV series have taught me really good lessons. Some books made the jump to movie and actually improved upon the concept. That’s your candy. There is the “they just destroyed the book I love” movie. Like cockroaches. But what you need to look for are the rare “this was done so much better on film” shows. Sometimes, it’s because the book just didn’t capture what the film could. Sometimes it’s because the book was just limp, and they are the luckiest motherfuckers on the earth to have a network pick it up. Bad movie and bad books are excellent teachers, showing you what to not to do and how not to do it.

Then there is Fan Fiction. Whether what you’ve just read or watched was good or bad, you see a hole, and it must be filled. This is a new, grey area for me. So let’s just say I’m experimenting.

Learning to play an instrument and studying music theory has helped. That one may be obvious to some, but if it’s not, then try it. You will never see patterns the same. Relying on a certain song can help sustain a mood. Sometimes, it’s a lightning strike, and you just see what needs to happen, or feel where the character is at in the story.

Watching how other artists make decisions with their work puts your process in perspective. In a film, if it’s a really good film, you can see all three layers. Where the director made decisions, where the screenplay holds its own in writing, and where the actors carry the material through their entire being.  

I mean, after all this, and that’s scratching the surface, if you still don’t have something to write about…there is always crochet.

You Watch Your Phraseology!

I love word meaning in the writing process. How a whole sentences structure, meaning, and impact can change with just one word, or switching two words in thier placement.
The first example is a quote from Disney's Tron. I really don't care how you feel about the film. It's allegorical techno sex, a basic, recognizable story frame and simple dialogue that let the visuals of where the story is being told stand out. I digres.
In the beginning, As part of his intro, he says "I kept dreaming of a world I thought I'd never see." In trying to quote this, I would flip flop the order of two words to make it "a world I never thought I'd see."
The first implies exactly what's going on, Flynn making a world with the hopes of one day experiencing it. But switch those and it gives it almost a disregard for that world, an apathy that would have changed our idea of how much we should really be interested, too. Eh, never thought I would see it.
Or, I thought I would never see, but I was working toward it the whole time.

My favorite in word changing is Once Upon A Dream. Hmm, didn't intend for them to both be Disney.
The line is "I know it's true that visions are seldom all they seem." I always accidentally changed it to "seldom what they seem."
I love how this vastly changed how the vision is seen.
When visions are seldom all they seem, you still have a vision on your hands, even if it's not as fantastical or spectacular as you think. And you know this about your vision, but fight the dragon and dance in the ballroom anyway.
But when your vision is seldom what it seems, at best it's not what was intended, but it's doing a good job fooling you. At worst, you are being horribly deceived by whatever you are imagining whatever this is to be, but it's certainly no vision.

Never underestimate the power of word order and word useage.