"I got an Irish name and an injury A blessing and a curse cast down on me..."

I want to live

Epically.  Biblically.  Lovingly.  Daringly.  Morally.  Freely.  Sacrificially.  Fully.  Intentionally.  Longingly.  Emphatically.  Humbly.  Joyfully.  Poignantly.  Meekly.  Sincerely.  Gently.  Honestly.  Persistently.  Truthfully.  Abounding in grace, depth and soul.

When I die, I want my life to look like a Johnny Cash song.  ...The American Recording years.


The word 'drama' gets a bum rap.  We associate it all too often with volatile tweens feeding flames to social fires for the sake of something to do.  As in "OMFG they're so drama." I just threw up a little in my mouth...and rightfully so, needless, hollow drama is a waste of time..and I would even go so far as to say decays the soul.  But what we forget, is the word has positive as well as negative conontations, and unfortunately the positive all too often gets overshadowed by Lindsay Lohan.  What of it's sophisticated brother, the one that captures our hearts and speaks to our spirit?  As in the hallow arch of struggles and obstacles one must bravely and honestly cross to emerge at the other side of a desired destination.  Every person of note lives a life of good, engaging drama: every biblical character, every song, every book.

Our heroes are good drama.  Not needlessly dramatic, or even necessarily mindfully seeking drama...just simple men living as honestly as they can.  And as we know, the world hates nothing more than honest men...and the world seeks to break them down.  What makes good heroes isn't necessarily how many battles they win or obstacles they overcome, but the fact they keep fighting and persist through them.  They get back up even when they lose and try again.  Those are the ones that succeed on to the end.

Fuck TNT, that's good drama.



Song of the moment: Red At Night - The Gaslight Anthem (Sink or Swim)
The song is simple, but rounded.  A man living through blues and blessings.  When I die, I want this song played at my funeral.
This band knows the ins-and-outs of my soul.  It's one of the reasons I know there's a God...and He loves me very much.

"Through The Times I've Faded, And You've Outlined Me Again"

I have been feeling very misunderstood lately.

It's been a long time since I've had to introduce myself to new people, and a lot longer since I've actually cared what those people think.  And I'm not sure whether my current circumstantial pressures are coincidental or divine challenge, but regardless I'm faced with new people; and while I feel very blessed that these new people are in my life, I also am faced with the challenge of expressing myself to others who don't already know me like the back of their hand.  Which leaves plenty of room for comical misunderstandings as people are left to little else than literal interpretations of what I say or write.  People with whom I have not yet achieved that intimate, comfort level where you can say something incomplete, yet still be given the grace of having the thought finished for you.  It's not so much predictability as just being...understood.  And man, when you are, it's like fucking hot cocoa for the soul! 

Every person should be so blessed.  But I recognize those relationships take time to build, which these new additions and I have shared little of (though not to discount them because they have been deep encounters).  But till we get there, I fear I'm going to just be completely out of my element (Donny).

For instance, I've been meeting with a pastor lately.  Brad has been encouraging me to meet with someone since he's left...something I've been hesitant to do over the past couple of years for the obvious reasons.  There's not a whole lot of frickin' Brads walking around in the world.  But I know it's unfair to compare people with others, especially to someone who holds such a high place in my life, so it's something I'm fighting, but I can't help that it's there.

Anyways, I let him read one of my stories--something a bit more pastor friendly, you know to ease in the poor fella.  But immediately he started trying to attach the piece to my life and I got uncomfortable.  Even after I answered his questions and tried explaining, I'm not sure he believed me.  I know it's hard for people to understand fully if they don't do it, but not everything you write is a direct reflection of who you are as a person.  My favorite part about writing fiction is being able to write about someone or something so other than me.  I love thinking about people and figuring them out--I pose a lot of "why" and "what if" questions.  And I am a very emotional person.  Not psycho emotional...that's not what I mean.  I mean God just blessed (and cursed) me with an ability to feel strongly.  As a result I am a very empathetic person, I can easily put myself in another person's shoes and kind of figure them out.

I am also very thoughtful, detailed and analytical.  This, I think, is why I enjoy writing so much, and perhaps what actually even enables me to do it.  Each one of those previously mentioned characteristics/gifts gets put to use to tell a story and explore a topic--a sentiment I think is pretty magical and only possible by the grace of God!   Now of course I have to care about the topic to write about it, so that I suppose can serve as a reflection of myself.  However, it's very hard for people to imagine a person writing a character that isn't a mirror image of themselves.  But it's possible, and something I love to do.  And something that I think is even natural and spiritual.  I don't do it to avoid myself, but rather to find out more about myself and the world around me.

Any person who has tried to write a character can tell you that no matter what divine plan you have set for it, the character ends up diverting from your narrow path and writing itself.  Sometimes it takes a darker plunge than you intended, but if you can still write it and you find there's a story to tell, I don't know why you wouldn't.  I personally find it really interesting to write these darker characters. You can write someone who you literally have nothing in common with, but if you research things enough and 'suppose' things enough, you can begin to understand why they do the things they do--and more often than not you can begin to identify with them.  It doesn't necessarily mean the character is myself, but rather I'm becoming more humane and sympathetic to things I didn't once understand.  It gives me a chance to stretch and grow.  I like that about writing.

Now, I know I can be a darker person as well--I see a lot of beauty in the shadows, but make no mistake, it's only because "the shadow proves the sunshine."  And I'm not delusional, I know I struggle with pessimism--a battle wound I'm working on healing--but people think I'm so unhappy because of what I write or quote or listen to.  And it's a little disconcerting sometimes.  I'm not.  I love God.  I love life!  I love beauty--and I like to explore its many facets.

I just can't help that sometimes the things that convict me most are emotionally charged and speak of darker places.  Those sad bastard lyrics, they remind me of what I've been through.  They make me feel validated which helps me move on and makes me see what God has delivered me from.  Those Cormac McCarthy and Dave Eggers books, they are earth shattering works of prose that shows me the very present tension between good and evil and the struggle for humanity.  I quote them because they inspired me and I found them encouraging, not to commemorate my misery.  That's not how I do.

The characters I write, they're not always a direct reflection of my life.  I am a creative person and I use characters creatively to explore various things and topics.  Sometimes it's simply a means of exploration.  Yet, other times, it is because I have something my life has inspired me to write or incorporate into my writing.  So just ask me...but believe whatever it is I tell you, I won't lie if there's something autobiographical in my work.

I guess it's not something that everyone will understand, and I guess I shouldn't expect them to, or get so frustrated at it...I understand how it happens and the human need to identify and label people and things. We are creatures of connection--and we like to draw them, even sometimes falsely.  I just hope that people will take the time to get to know me and will see there's something more and other about me.

Regardless though, I'll just keep being me. :)

Song of the moment: Cigarettes And Chocolate Milk - Rufus Wainwright (Poses)

Other than a woman, only a gay man could write this song.  He's a damn genius.

Black Rose Mix

I know it's a large no-no to name a mix after the first song in the line-up, but some rules beg to be broken...by me. Tracks go as follows:

1.) Black Rose - Blindside
2.) The Unwinding Cable Car (Acoustic) - Anberlin
3.) Tremble - Nichole Nordeman
4.) This House - Edison Glass
5.) Down Towards The Healing - Lovedrug
6.) Gloria/Us Appearing (Acoustic) - Acceptance
7.) Blue (Acoustic) - Ever Stays Red
8.) Broken - Lifehouse
9.) Where Do We Go From Here - Mat Kearney
10.) Combinations - Eisley
11.) We're So Far Away - Mae
12.) A Way To The Heart - Noise Ratchet
13.) You Have My Attention - Copeland
14.) Silence - Blindside
15.) All Around Me (Acoustic) - Flyleaf

"When Life Has Me Weary, Bring Me Your Tea""

It's summer time. You know what that means...sun tea, reading lists and [GASP!] a writing project!

Well, the sun tea is kind of a recent development. My mom used to do it all the time when I was a kid; it'd be so annoying, I'd be on a pretty damn life altering chapter of The Babysitter's Club and she'd call me from work to bring in the tea from off the diving board. Let's just say there were verbal consequences for this...you know, things that consisted of "pssshht" and extensive bargaining of chores I could exchange out for such a demanding task. Yeah, I tried to make it so she wouldn't ask me to do it again. Apparently Nellie and JR were better at that, 'cause she always ended up asking me. Despite my bitching though, the tea made my summers.

Peach, unsweetened, lots of ice.

I've been craving it lately. Yeah, that's right, I've actually been craving summer. Strange oddities. I guess I shall try my hand at it.

Speaking of trying...apparently I should be writing more extensive and demanding pieces. My professor has recommended I aim for writing a novella this summer; something 40-60 pages double-spaced. This frightens and excites me all at the same time. In all seriousness, I feel I have been ridiculously blessed this past semester, to garner such radical support from Mac (visiting professor Kevin McIlvoy). I don't think I've had someone believe in my talent that much before. It kind of feels good, like I've legitimately found my place in creative writing. I mean, he's served on the AWP board (Association of Writers & Writing Programs), is a well-respected author and has directed many MFA Creative Writing programs at various colleges and universities. He's a beast! And every conference I've had with him has been overwhelmingly supportive and encouraging.

And oddly, I'm not sabotaging myself yet. I'm not telling myself "I can't do it, he's crazy"...I mean, sometimes I feel it, but there is actually this little spark inside of me that believes I can. I actually feel confident that this is something I can do. I can be a writer. I will be a writer.

And I'm gonna write the fuck out of this novella.

First drafts are a bitch, and extensive pieces are challenging for me...but what better time than now to try? I have to start somewhere, I guess.

But I'm going to stop typing now 'cause I'm starting to sound like a crappy Canadian after-school special. And for those who like crappy Canadian after-school specials, don't get your panties in hitch...I watch Degrassi, too.

Oh! Quick note: I think I'm going to try and read Willa Cather's repertoire of novels in chronological order? I haven't committed fully to the idea yet (hence the statement in question form), but I'm gonna head to Barnes I think and check out what they have.


Song of the moment: Secret Garden - Bruce Springsteen (Bruce Springsteen Greatest Hits)
Despite what Shea thinks...this song is NOT about sex.

We’re Getting a Divorce, You Keep the Diner

It was one of those places with a rotating pie display. Triple pane thermal glass, fluorescent interior lighting…but the bathrooms were always out of soap. You’d have to order a slice of pie ‘cause it’d be the only thing that was safe—coffee was always burnt, eggs were always runny, and the milk I had reason to suspect was really water and half-‘n-half. But the pie lived up to its claim.
A faded billboard stood erect in the parking lot pronouncing “Best Pie in New Mexico”, not something that seemed to attract a lot of folks, but the way the crust crumbled we knew it must be true.
She said it felt like a country song. And with her hair pinned up in curls and her summer dress tied taut round her hips, I was fine with living my life caught somewhere between a Johnny Cash and Springsteen song.
Every Sunday I’d give her a dollar. She’d get up and saunter real slow to the jukebox—prop herself against its neon lights and flip through every song, tapping her fingers lightly against its aluminum sides, weighing her options. But she always settled on E-04, “Atlantic City.” I figured she had an affinity for The Boss. She called me her Johnny 99. So every Sunday I’d take her hand, pull her close to me and sway with her. I couldn’t two-step, four-step, or waltz so we just swayed. …But I’d always make sure to dip her real low at the end.

Then, one night I gave her a dollar and she clicked J-11. Nancy Sinatra came on and she told me she was seeing someone else—like the ring on her finger didn’t mean a damn thing.
Behind her I saw the waitress break down a Smith’s Marketplace pastry box for a Dutch Apple Crumb.

I don’t know what I was more upset about.

* * *

We saw it off the highway while heading to Albuquerque—wait, were we heading to or from Albuquerque? —I think we were heading from actually because I remember the stars being out and getting real tired, but not in need of coffee tired…more like…like a lonesome that’s exhausted its stay tired—tired in the soul—do you ever get that? Regardless, I was looking out the window and I saw a big ol’ piece of cardboard pie in the sky claiming to be ‘the world’s best’—or was it ‘Albuquerque’s Best’? Shit, I don’t know, but I thought to myself I want a piece of that. I guess I might have said it, too ‘cause next thing I know we were sitting in a booth.
The place was rundown and trashy, or maybe just trashed? I could never decide. The first time we went in the bell kept ringing till someone got up and closed the door all the way. There was a ketchup bottle in the ladies room labeled ‘soap’ with black sharpie, part of it washed off already. Scuffmarks from boots littered the floors. Everything else was so shitty the pie had to taste good.

…But I think the pie probably really did taste good, too—not just in comparison good, but good-good. Must have actually. Sometimes I’d wake up Sunday morning before him and I’d just lie in bed and wonder what would be tonight’s special—lemon meringue? Sour cream and apple? Pecan? Key-lime? Pumpkin Spice? French Silk? Strawberry Rhubarb? There were so many flavors with different notes; different textures satisfying the palette in different ways. I could lie there for hours thinking about the choices. Sometimes I’d be so focused on pie I wouldn’t see him wake. He’d ask me what I was thinking about—what man actually asks you what you’re thinking about? I’d turn to him real serious, look him in the eyes, and say ‘pie.’ He’d just laugh and kiss my forehead.

But that’s just the way things are I guess. Some things matter and some things don’t; but you never knew which is which till they’re both gone.