What if?

What if I was actually able to write more than three sentences in a row without walking away from the keyboard?

Apparently I’m not.

Now to get back to the task at hand.  You would think that with the amount of time I have spent theoretically refining the craft of writing, some of the scathing criticism I have endured (after rightfully earning it), the cramped muscles and inflamed shoulder and the ton of software, books and everything else I have purchased that I would feel an overwhelming compulsion to sit down and furiously write.

After all, I love the creation of the written word, of the . . .

Hold on a sec.

Okay, I’m back.

What I’m talking about is some built in avoidance to physically sitting down and actually typing, sitting in front of the computer and pounding out whatever drivel trickles into my mind.  I am in desperate need of somehow being able to focus and not get distracted.

Sorry, baby break.

Currently I am actively writing two blogs, at least three short stories and a novel.  This is in addition to revising and submitting my resume as well as all the other things needed in finding a job.  (Ever apply for a government job?  The application process is very near to novel writing.)

Let’s see, I could budget my time.  Set aside a specific amount of time just for writing. Or a set number of words.  Some sort of achievable goal.

Hah!

Even before I was a father I wasn’t nearly that organized.  Now . . .

Back from baby pit stop.

I think the trick is to not give up, to not stop, no matter how long the  . . .  gap.

Test Drive's Healey on Chevy Volt tiff: Price is only real flaw - Drive On: A conversation about the cars and trucks we drive - USATODAY.com

Test Drive's Healey on Chevy Volt tiff: Price is only real flaw - Drive On: A conversation about the cars and trucks we drive - USATODAY.com:


"Oh, puhleeeze.

Knock off the carping, sniping and snarking about the Chevy Volt (see earlier post here that includes GM's full-throated defense). The attacks from Volt rivals and from writers seem so silly, so irrelevant.

They are about on par with criticizing a diesel railroad locomotive because its diesel engines turn a generator that runs the electric motors that turn the wheels that drive the train. Who cares? Works fine."


Excerpted from a USAToday article by Chris Woodyard.


So, the Chevy Volt is about to hit the market and more and more information is coming out about how it works and so forth.

And along with that comes every knucklehead and his cat's opinion on how GM lied, what car is better, who has the worst labor and what political party is allied with then devil.

The article above is one of a growing number of comments in the media telling these nutjobs to get over themselves.

Amazing.

What's more, in the comments attached to the article these most of the posters ignore what's written and ramble off on there own. Much like me but at least I'm interesting. I have realistic role models - Scott Adams and Daffy Duck. Seriously.

I just thought it should be pointed out.

There’s More To Life Than Being Stupid

I would say nothing makes you realize how unique you are in life than when you become a parent but my point of reference is biased.  How can you describe to someone who hasn’t felt it the overwhelming feeling of trust that engulfs you when you look deep into a child’s eyes, your child’s eyes?

I thought I understood it, but I didn’t.

Now I do and it scares the hell out of me.

It’s a good scaring the hell out of you because it is part of a larger (almost wrote lager there for a moment), a larger . . . “thing.”

It’s beautiful because it has allowed me to love my wife even more, something I did not think possible.  It has made me appreciate innocence and wonder more.  It’s made me “more.”

It’s also done one more thing, one new thing.  It has made me realize that part of me has to grow up.  Not the part that sees wonder and humor in every moment.  Not the part that let’s me and a six year old share a joke their parents don’t even understand.  Not the part that makes me young, but the part in me that lets me see what I need to be to the young, our young.  And that’s not a bad thing.

It’s quite an eye opener for someone who has been teaching, and I still believe successfully, young and old people how to allow themselves to be better people.

And me to be not as stupid a person as I have been.

I didn’t even know it had happened to me until it knocked me upside the head.  I can’t remember the last time I played with my trains.   Not because I haven’t, not because I don’t find it enjoyable any more.  But because I’m not as stupid and petty about my time as I once was.

I’ll still play with them, maybe, hopefully, share my passion for my hobby with my daughter.  I just don’t think I’ll be as stupid about it anymore.

Elizabeth Eleanor

On May 31st, 2009 my wife gave birth to our beautiful daughter, Elizabeth Eleanor.  It completely freaks me out to use the terms “my daughter” and more importantly “our daughter.”

Freaks me out in a good way.  A good, tingly, exciting, scary sort of way!

My Train of Thought

This is my train of thought.  You will notice that it is sitting on a siding, going nowhere.  This is a very important analogy.  This predicament came about when I was writing an article for my much more serious blog, “The Secret Life of a Martial Arts Instructor.”  A place of thoughtful reflection upon the subject of teaching positive values using martial arts.

Here, here is the place where I bitch and moan a lot, while teaching positive values to zombies.

At least that was the plan.

I’m not waiting for the zombie apocalypse.  Real zombies move too slow they can’t even sneak up on each other. What I am waiting for is my train of thought to stay on the same track as I am.  Life would move along so much easier that way.

Point in case, look back to the first paragraph and see what I was really talking about.  I was talking about getting distracted while writing a martial arts article.

What do zombies have to do with that?

. . . ?

Writing is a journey and sometimes I get frustrated when things take an unexpected detour.  I should just shut up and enjoy the ride, I haven’t been disappointed yet on where I ended up.

Monkeys with Hammers

You can’t go wrong with a monkey with a hammer.  The possibilities are endless.

• Politics – obvious but oddly necessary.
• Corporate culture – see example, or just go to work
• Music – wait, how can you tell anymore?
• Reality Shows – who wouldn’t want to see a monkey with a hammer go berserk on American Idol?

Dilbert by Scott Adams

The point is, if there ever was one, is that a monkey can get away with a lot more than we could.  And,  AND it’s as entertaining as hell.  Stick a hammer in his or her hand and the world is your oyster.  At least until the monkey hammers the snot out of it.

Stick a hammer in the hand of a normal person and all you end up with is a very bad horror movie or the evening news.

Your choice.

Back to monkeys.  I’m not a huge monkey fan, certainly not like some friends of mine.  I fail to see the appeal of a screaming, fuzzy simian that is often more coherent than some of my more distant relatives.  Envy?  Possibly.  But stick a hammer in their hand and they’re golden (or intoxicated.)

Maybe it’s the hammer . . .

I Have A Blog?

Okay, so it’s been a while.  If you follow this blog then you may be led to believe that I think there are only 10 months in the year.

Aren’t there?