Untitled designWith time, the seed of envy can grow into a weed. Maybe this metaphor is the impetus for the saying, “green with envy.” Not likely.

I used to get it bad. When I had to work and my friends would head to the mountain without me on a fresh powder day, or the waves were good and my buddies went for a surf and I had to work. I’m shallow, or maybe simple. But I’m not simple when that weed of envy grows into resentment and disdain for responsibility. I get complicated and grumpy, and regress into adolescence.seed

Not to mention Social media — the envy machine. It used to get me bad when I’d see videos of professional surfers and snowboarders flying through waist deep fresh snow or catching perfect waves in some far off tropical climate. It would hit me in the gut when my feed populated with friends and family having fun in Europe, Asia, Mexico, Nicaragua or Colorado. I’ve deleted Instagram, Facebook and Twitter from my phone about four times in the past two years. Then, at some point this year, I finally decided that I was being silly. I’m an adult and I need it for work. So, self-discipline. It’s tough. Some days are easier than others, but for the most part I can manage my social media time.

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Nowadays, I catch envy before those damn seeds take root. But It’s also important for me to recognize the social media monster for what it is. Not real.  In fact, a contrived reality. How many people stop fighting to pose in front of the perfect backdrop or pause an argument to take a selfie? How many professionals suffered through terrible conditions to get the one two-minute take to post on their feed? I don’t know. But I do know what I’m seeing on social media are moments in a day, a full day with a spectrum of situations and moments. I’m glad people can stop arguing for a smile at the camera. I respect the professionals who go out there and suck it up on terrible conditions for a solid shot so they can get a bit of a payday from their sponsor. It doesn’t always work, this positive spin, but I’m trying.

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I occasionally remind myself that I live in one of the few places in the world where I can go snowboarding in the summer and drive to the beach for a surf all in one day — if I want. I just need to make time to do it. So goes the dance.

Summer

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In the Pacific Northwest it just stopped raining. Actually, it drizzled today, and there were thunderstorms. But the real rain, the cold, constant wet stopped on June 16th. Three days later it was 100 degrees. That’s how it works here. One day it’s spring, A.K.A raining, the next, it’s summer. That’s not what this is about; I can’t just complain about the weather. Yuck.

Summer is freedom, relaxation and time for reflection… oh wait, that was before kids. Summer is another kind of chaos. It’s good, fun, happy chaos, but it’s chaos. The routine is upended, the schedule is new and the kids are feeling restless. On top of that, I still have to work. As you can tell, those of you who read my blog regularly, I haven’t posted in two weeks.

I’m good with it though. I’ve allowed myself to set the restraints of expectation to the side and let life happen, I’ve also been fly fishing a lot—I need some summer fun too. I try to keep the kids away from the electronic nanny—iPad. My son caught his first fish on Sunday and my daughter caught two last Thursday. So, instead of “my work” I have been working as a parent, getting the kids out there and having a good time. It’s summer after all.

This post is for a story I wrote called, Big Fish. You can read it here or just click on the picture below. It’s a peek into the world of two contract killers who decide to use an unconventional method for the disposal of a body — a big body.

I hope you enjoy the read.  If you do, please like, comment and share.  It helps tremendously. If you don’t like it, do the same thing!

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The Adult Bully

Authority makes this villain dangerous.shutterstock_515170831

shutterstock_632121335You know who I’m talking about. There is one in everybody’s life. For the most part, these people were bullied as kids. They are angry, sad people.  So, in part I feel bad for them — but that’s as far as it goes. I waste no calories with concern for their wellbeing.

Hating this person, attacking this person or trying to help this person is more than a waste of time, it will hurt you, take time from your precious day. This person is an emotional vampire who wants nothing more than to rule the roost. They make everyone who they interact with miserable and afraid.

f334bd67d6762f55955703d2f0a2a112They abuse authority, contribute nothing of importance to society and create struggle for everyone else. Life is already full of struggle, so the adult bully can go extinct for all I care. Which I think can happen. With the access to information we have now, I think that people will evolve out of being like this. Regardless, these are fools we must suffer sometimes. It’s an unfortunate fact of life. There are just awful people in the world. Maybe they just need a hug — I probably won’t be the one to give it to them.

Some insight on how to deal.

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One must fail to succeed. I’ve been told this ad nauseum. It keeps me from quitting, because success hasn’t happened yet. I wouldn’t say I’ve failed necessarily, but the climb can be excruciating. I can’t help but to us the Mt. Everest or K2 metaphor, both difficult, if not seemingly impossible, mountains to climb where death is a real possibility. Clearly, death isn’t possible while sitting at a desk and making shit up, but the death of my soul when I get rejected or find a massive hole in my plot is real, and it hurts. What I’ve come to realize is that my ego is getting pummeled.

shutterstock_595617548Ego is the sense of self, self-importance, personal identity.  Well, mine is wrapped up in writing and succeeding at doing so. I’m 44. I have kids. They ask when I’m going to be done with my book. “About three more years or so,” I say. My ego cringes. They look at me like I’m nuts and my daughter says, “I’ll be thirteen?” I die a little inside and say, “Yep. That sounds about right.” She makes a sound of exasperation and gets on with her day while I try not to reel on the fact that when this book is finally done it will have taken me eight years — I don’t try to explain that I have finished the book twice but the rewrites are where the real magic happens. I didn’t start this endeavor with any notion that it would be easy, I started because on my death bed I didn’t want to regret not doing it; so, it’s a long game, a slow burn and hopefully people will like the what I write.

Okay. What If I finish this thing and its wildly successful? Hell if I know, but I’ve been told it’s a one-in-a-million chance and it’s no good for the ego because I’ll always be chasing the dragon of success. I wonder if maybe that wouldn’t be so bad, but in my heart of hearts I know it would most likely not be a good thing — at least that’s what I tell myself.

 

Inspiration

A honey trap.

renderedIt’s helpful, wild and wonderful when the sparks of inspiration fly. Creativity and motivation move through you with elegant perfection. The feeling can be transcendent. Lean back, absorb the endorphin rush and hopefully be inspired again.

shutterstock_417467353What about after the dust settles and the haze of inspiration is gone? The work still needs to happen. Whether it’s a creative endeavor, exercise or a work project, if you don’t do the work the inspiration that got you there means nothing. Inspiration comes when it comes. You can’t depend on it.

I used to depend on it, until I got serious. I’d like to say I can push through the tough times without wishing for inspiration, but I’m not there yet. I missed a blog post last week, I didn’t work on my novel and no short stories were submitted. Life got complicated and I let it get in the way of what I love to do. What happened my mind and my spirit was interesting, maybe even inspirational. I got depressed. Not severely, but life had no vigor, greens were less green and reds were less red. If I’m sticking with the color metaphor, I was blue.

Creativity needs inspiration, but can’t live on such a fleeting concept. Work is the purveyor, and part of what work means is getting through the many uninspired moments. It’s bleak, I know, but it’s reality. I try to recognize inspiration and ration it, use small amounts until it wears off. For example, after a writer’s retreat or conference, I used to come home and blast off with wild abandon; but the rush of being inspired wore off quick.  Now, I try to recognize the inspiration and use the tools I have acquired to control the drip. I know it’s nuts, but that’s how I view it.

 

 

Beauty

Not a villain, but can insight villainous tendencies.

shutterstock_607375682I can’t define it. As I’ve been told, it’s up to the beholder to define what is beautiful. This makes sense, considering I find my beat up old truck an absolute specimen of perfection and beauty, whereas other people cringe at how dirty and used it is — it’s funny when they shake their heads at me for being so “blind.”

In many a story, beauty will cause someone to falter from a righteous path, a heroic journey or be lured down the low road. This is the villainous side of the coin, so to speak. There are so many stories of beauty; my favorite being the siren song where the sailors of yore are so intoxicated by a beautiful sound, they steer off toward the rocks or jump overboard to their deaths. Transfixed and transmuted by such a beautiful sound, by their need, their desire for beauty, they die. In this, beauty is a dark magic.

In stories both real and imagined, beauty has caused war, strife, death and acts of barbarism so profound it’s difficult to think that beauty was the impetus. Never was it beauty’s fault, but the fault of humankind and our susceptibility to the allure of wanting to own, control and ultimately consume what we perceive as beautiful.

11137821_369397949918145_644810801_nI see beauty in the joy of my children, the smile and laugh of my wife. I find it in philosophy and dissent.  Yes, dissent, especially now, is beautiful. I find it in waves, mountains covered in snow, a clear lake or a river where I know the fish will be.  Whereas the dark side of beauty, for me, is hardly dark — I simply shirk responsibilities for surf, snow or fishing. Hardly villainous, unless being “unproductive” is a mortal sin these days.

shutterstock_590422925I ponder beauty many times a day without even realizing it. Life is a beautiful thing, even when it does kick you in the teeth.