Photo of the Day #129

Photo of the Day #128

Graduation Day

An Explanation About Photo of the Day

We all know what it means when someone tells us we need to stop and smell the roses.
It means we need to slow down and take time to appreciate the world around us. Of course, very few of us actually do stop and take in our surroundings, to enjoy a moment to its fullest and to gaze upon ordinary objects and events with the eye of an artist.

That's because many people believe they are not artists. I submit that those people are wrong — within the chest of every human being beats the heart of a poet. It's one of the gifts that has been given to us, if only we choose to use it.
We may not all be able to draw a figure, or write a song and play an instrument, or write a line of poetry that makes the masses weep with joy at the beauty of it, but there is art in everything we do, if we only look for it.

That's what I'm trying to convince myself, anyway. At the beginning of the year, I started on a project in which I promised myself to take a photograph every day during 2015. As of today, I'm up to 127 photos.

Anyone who has photography as a hobby knows that firing off 127 frames is pretty easy, I've shot hundreds of frames of the sunflowers in my yard trying to get that perfect shot. The exercise, though, is to select a photo each day that I kind of, sort of, like.

The primary idea behind the project is to force myself to slow down and smell the roses. After five months in, though, I'm finding there are other discoveries about this project that I'm making.
At first, I thought that I wanted to take photos of the things I encounter every day as I go about living. Some of these photos include filling up at the gas station, shopping for groceries and eating breakfast. There are already plenty of photos taken at home and at work. What I'm finding is that the more mundane and ordinary the location, the more I work to make the photograph creative.

It's resulted in some interesting photos.

I've also discovered as I look back on the photos, I can see there are several that are really nice, real artistic. Looking at them as a whole, though, I see there is a story that is being told about me. You can see photos at council meetings, of my frightened dog hiding under a table, of the game closet in my home.

I can't decide whether I like this story or not. While there is a very large part of me that wants to preserve my privacy, to hide my world view from the world, the other part of me knows that the act of creating art comes from exposing ourselves, to put away our fears and vulnerabilities, and revel in our vision. That's why so many people avoid their artistic impulses — it can get pretty messy and the worst thing that can occur is when you pour your heart out, throw art into the world and the world responds with disinterest.

However difficult it is to put aside those fears of apathy, we should all tap into our inner artist, because art is not created with an audience in mind, it is made with its creator in mind.

Studies have shown that, on the whole, people who have creative pursuits are happier. I suppose that's probably true. I know that I've committed myself to a year-long art project and afterwards I plan to put it all together in a book that I doubt many people will be interested in seeing. That doesn't matter, though. It is giving me a chance to slow down and smell the roses.

I first started this project on my Facebook page, but decided to move it over here. For anyone who cares to look at all the photos from Jan. 1, I'll be posting them as I have the time, placing them in a dropbox file or you can go to my page at www.facebook.com/rory.mcclannahan.

Photo of the Day #127

Photo of the Day #126

Photo of the Day #125

Photo of the Day #124

Storm's coming

Photo of the Day #123

Photo of the Day #122

Photo of the Day #121

Photo of the Day #120

Editing

Photo of the Day #119

Photo of the Day #118

Photo of the Day #117

Hang in there

Writing is easy. We are all taught how to write in grade school and it's a skill we use throughout our lives.

So why does it seem like I can't write a simple blog post more frequently? The answer, my friends, is that writing is not always so easy. It is actual work. Yes, I know that I rarely sweat as I pound out brilliant prose on my laptop, and my ass looks a lot like the seat of my chair. But writing is work, and not only that, it doesn't pay very well. People who call themselves writers like to write, have to write.

So why does this mean that you, my fans – which I can count on a single hand – have to wait to hear from me? In a nutshell, I've been real busy. As most of you may know, my day job is that of a newspaper editor. At the beginning of the year, I also had the job of general manager tagged on to me. A little more pay and a lot more work. Now I have to create reports and presentations and do the whole corporate thing. I'm not complaining, (yes, I am) but it takes some time. Throw into that mix my “extracurricular” activities, such as serving on the board of the New Mexico Press Association, working on my own novels and short stories, parenting, husbanding, sleeping – you get the idea – and I can't find time. For those of you concerned about me burning the candle at both ends, you are correct. I do make an effort to set aside down time, although I usually end up paying bills or napping.

When you get a lot of things going on, you have to prioritize projects. Blogging is just about at the absolutely bottom of that list and most weeks I just don't have the time.

So for those of you who care, thanks for checking back from time to time to see what I'm up to. For those who have given up on me, I ask you to be patient. For those who are waiting for my next book, I ask you to hang in there – it should be done in a couple of months. Once that project is complete, I'll be starting on the sequel to “Time in the World.”

And hopefully, posting here a bit more often.

R

Fixing a bridge

I've been working on my next novel for almost two years now. I know, that seems like a long time. It seems like a long time to me as well.

Fortunately, I think I can see the light at the end of the tunnel, but the past couple of days have been a struggle. The reason may not seem so clear to those who haven't gone down this road themselves. The simplest explanation is a credo coined by the great science fiction author Theodore Sturgeon: “Ask the next question.”

Basically, what Sturgeon was trying to impart was that when writing a story, it must progress forward, that each paragraph, each sentence, each word must serve to move the story forward on a logical course. I like to think of a story as if the author is writing about a journey the characters make, and I think of it in terms of a road map. If you are to follow a map to a destination, you chart out a route. If we think about the story in terms of the beginning, middle and end of a journey, there should not be any breaks in the road.

When I'm driving on a real journey, I like to get off the route and explore. I remember vividly once when my oldest son was just a baby a road trip we took to Idaho to see my brother and his family. This was the first time I'd attempted to drive a long distance with a baby in the car, but we assumed correctly that we wouldn't be able to push through long distances. We mapped out our route from New Mexico to Idaho thinking that no more than six hours in the van would be all the baby would stand. We planned stops accordingly throughout the trip and learned fairly quickly that if we left for the day's drive early in the morning, the child would sleep through most of the driving.

My wife and I studied the map, because that's what you do when you are stuck in a vehicle for hours at a time going through strange territory. Before the kids, it was not unusual for us to get off the route to check out what was down a road, or to see a tourist spot. On this occasion, there on the map was a road that turned off the highway and went to a place called Incline Point. And like the siren's song, it was calling to us. The map indicated the road was about 20 miles long and that it was paved.

With a nod to each other, we decided to see what Incline Point was all about. Five miles in, we learned the map had lied – the road was not paved. It was washboard gravel for 15 miles, which meant I couldn't drive faster that 25 mph. A 20 minute drive was turning into a hot, dusty, bumpy hour long experience. The baby woke up – of course – and started fussing. Our moods got worse and worse; and yet we were committed to seeing Incline Point.

Finally we made it. Incline Point was an overlook into Canyonlands National Park. It was an interesting view, I won't deny that; but there were two adults and a baby who were wishing they were sitting by a pool at a motel in Green River, Utah instead. After a quick lunch because there was no shade. We got back into the van and spent another hour or so getting back to the highway, and another two hours on the road still ahead of us. By the time we actually did make it poolside, we were hot, dirty and thirsty. And in a foul mood because we'd just listened to a baby scream for the past two hours.

When I write a story – either fiction or nonfiction – its elements have to be linear. (I know folks who write non-linear experimental stuff. If you like that stuff, good for you. Personally, I find it tedious.)

In the process of writing, though, I have a tendency to go down that gravel road to see what is there. Most times, it's nothing. Sometimes there is interest and some times you love where you've gone. That's when the act of writing gets frustrating. If a detour off the map still gets you to your destination, then everything is just fine; except for all those things you just went around. And oftentimes you end up down a cul-de-sac. It might be a very nice neighborhood that you wouldn't mind visiting a bit longer, but it doesn't get you where you need to go.

That's why the second and third drafts of a book can be excruciating and time-consuming. The writer is studying his map and constantly saying to himself: “Ask the next question.”

This past week, I found I had not written a clear route for my characters. I could see the road ahead, but there was a metaphorical bridge out. I had to repair the bridge.

This is where a lot of writers get bogged down and tend to quit. I'm not judging, I've done it more than I care to admit. But I found that if I can talk about the problem, a solution usually presents itself. This is when my family really suffers.

For the length of our marriage, it has been my wife who has had to listen to me ramble on about the piece I'm working on. It helps that she is an artist and doesn't question my creative process even those hers is much different. (I'm extremely verbal and talkative about what I'm doing, she says nothing until her work is done.) She is great at helping me; invaluable really. She knows how I think and knows the right questions to ask. She knows that I usually need to talk it through so my mind can tell me what needs to be done. Sometimes she makes suggestions that don't make sense at first, but then lead to solutions. She keeps me going with encouragement and nagging.

That's why every book I've written is dedicated to her.

I also feel guilty because I ask this of her. So I'm trying to train my two sons to fill that role as well. I've had mixed success with that, but it's progressing fine. The youngest, who is 12, will one day make an excellent editor if he chooses to do so. He questions and challenges everything. And while his suggestions for changes in a story are those of a 12-year-old, they are of a sophisticated 12-year-old. In a couple of years, he'll be really good at analyzing a story and identifying weaknesses and strengths. What makes him good at it, is that he thinks about a problem I'll bring to him as if it's a puzzle to be solved.

His brother – the baby from earlier in this essay – is 16 and a creative type as well. His forte, though, is music. This is something I really want to tap into, because if there is a way of thinking that I'd like to emulate in my writing, it is that of a musician. The problem, though, is that he hears his own muse and has little time for other people's. It's not that he can't be helpful, it's just hard to talk over the sound of music that is constantly playing in his head. I still come to him with my literary problems, though, not because I think I'll get help from him, but because I think I'm helping him. He's heading down the road of learning how to take his given talents and create something. He's independent-minded and will rarely ask for help.

That's not a judgment, it's and observation of how he learns – through observation and doing it himself.

So even though I've been talking about this book for the past two years, my oldest son still has no idea what it's about. Every time I try to get feedback on a tricky part, I have to explain the whole thing over again. While this exercise can be frustrating, it also serves a valuable purpose. Not only am I teaching him about the problem I'm facing, I'm teaching myself.

So yesterday, I was doing a lot of talking and I came up with the solution. Then I spent several hours on the manuscript tweaking here, rewriting there and adding new things. I fixed the bridge and now can continue on my journey.

Writing can be a lonely vocation if you let it. I imagine, though, that those who are most successful at it do not do it in a vacuum. Writing is a reflection of people and our desire to tell and hear stories. How can you do something like that by yourself?

I need Serenity

I'm not a religious person; faith has always been something that eluded me. That doesn't mean there aren't certain Christian aphorisms I find appealing.

One such is the Serenity Prayer:

“God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change,

The courage to change the things I can,

And wisdom to know the difference.”

I like it because of its existential underpinnings, something that has always appealed to me. I've only recently started taking a conscious effort to live under the principles of existentialism, and I don't know that I even understand it fully. What appeals most to me, though, is that the responsibility for my life lies solely with me. With the Serenity Prayer, we are asking God to grant these things, but the serenity to accept changes, courage to make changes and the wisdom to tell the difference comes from within.

Some of you may have noticed that it has been some time since I've written anything, and what I have written may have seemed … off. If you hadn't noticed this, you probably haven't been as distracted as I have over the past month, and I'm happy for you. Usually, when I go through stressful times, I take up pen and paper, or to the word processor, to make sense of things. Much of these scrawlings will end up in a piece somewhere and no one is the wiser.

Over the past six weeks, though, I've not felt like writing; but now that I'm out on the other side and had some time to think about all that has happened, I can get back to work. If you are expecting a narrative of all that has gone on, you can stop now. I can't impart that because I am only a minor character in much of what has gone on in the past six weeks. I have been the witness to events; the impact on my life remains to be seen, but like the Serenity Prayer says, I'm looking to find the serenity to accept the things I cannot change. And a lot of this I can't change.

There are many things I do control, and anyone who knows me may think of me as a control freak. The truth is that I love control and I do not lack the courage to make changes I can make. For the most part, that control I exert is over my own life, but there are certain responsibilities I have to my family, employer, and to the public through my role as a journalist.

What I strive to do is live my life authentically. Each day, we all make millions of decisions; most of which are minor and inconsequential and done with little thought. We may come into the office every morning and say hello to everyone and go about our day. But we may not say hello to one person in the office because that person made us angry last week, or maybe she is racist, or a homophobe. Regardless, we determine that our anger is such that we won't say hello. Here's the rub, to be authentic, to live my life in a manner which is true to me, I have decided that I want to be friendly to people regardless of how other people treat me. So, to be authentic, I have to say hello to those who make me angry. It doesn't mean I have to agree with them, but just that I will be courteous.

There is no higher moral authority telling me to be friendly other than my own desire to live an authentic life. It's not always easy.

So, for those of you traveling along through constant existential crises, thanks for sticking along. For those of you waiting patiently for my next fictional work, the writing of my next book has been hit and miss lately. The good news is that I will soon let loose a long, short story called “All Hail King Jerry the Greeter! King of Walmart!”

I'm working out some formatting issues, but it should be available in the next couple of weeks.

See you all in the new year!

Selling Out

A lot of people aren't familiar with the Modest Mouse song “Gravity Rides Everything” until they see a certain Nissan minivan commercial. Most folks have heard their song “Float On” – it was everywhere for awhile; commercials, movies even one of those stupid “Kids Rock” CDs.

The licensing deals brought Isaac Brock, the guy who wrote those songs, quite a bit of money and a reputation in the indie rock circles as a sell out. That may be, Brock said in an interview with the A.V. Club in 2004, but he doesn't have to worry about money while he goes about writing and performing what he wants to write and perform.

"People who don't play music for a living can criticize my morals while they live off their parents' money or wash dishes for some asshole,” Brock said in the A.V. Club interview.

“Figuring out ways to pay the rent isn't really a tough decision. Around the time we did the beer commercial and the shoe commercial, I thought, 'Am I compromising my music by doing this?' And I think not. I like keeping the lights on in my house. … Principles are something that people are a lot better at checking in other people than keeping their own.”

I bring this up because, in the literary world, this same sort of artistic purity argument makes its way around the Internet, causing arguments among friends and turning normally benign writer forums into seething pits of hate and animosity. I've have people accuse me of selling out, although I'm still not quite sure why. It might be my attitude that if some large publishing company wants to pay me a lot of money to write books and work with one of their editors, I would be happy to do so.

As it is, I'm going the indie route, not so much as a choice, but out of the necessity of building a following, no matter how small. I'm doing it myself right now because no one has stepped forward to offer to do it for me. Honestly, it would be great for some publisher to worry about marketing and such – although I understand that isn't always the case anymore.

I do see where those casting aspersions about selling out are coming from. There are some things some writers will do, such as writing vampire romance novels, in order to tap into a book market that is hot. Currently, the rage in publishing is young adult books. I suppose that anything I have written – with some editing – could be changed into a YA novel. Would I do that to make a sale to a publisher? Probably not, unless a large amount of money was thrown at me to do it. My reasons aren't necessarily greedy, but basic laziness. “Time in the World” took three years to write and edit. After that amount of time, I'm kind of tired of the characters and the book. I really don't want to revisit it and change it. Unless someone paid me to make it worth my while. Not every person may have a price, but I certainly do.

I guess that probably makes me a sell out who hasn't sold anything. Actually, in a lot of eyes it makes me someone willing to compromise my art. So be it. While there are certain aspects of “art” to my writing, I like to think it is more vocational in nature because it is hard work. I write stories I find entertaining and hopefully other people will as well. I'd like to be paid for the work I do.

A lot of writer self-help books impart the advice to potential writers to look at the market and to write what the market wants. I don't do this with my projects, but I certainly will not judge anyone who does. Mostly because people who write to the market are in for a lot of work for a piece that – even if it sells – will not make you a successful writer. For instance, I know I could not write a convincing vampire romance novel for the simple fact that I don't read vampire romance novels. The same goes for young adult adventure novels. I've read a few because those with a science fiction tilt to them tend to be derivative of other stories and aimed at a younger audience. The good ones are really good, the bad ones are really bad; but on the whole, I don't much care for kids or their problems. (Yes, yes … I love my own children and am involved with their lives. But there's little of their “world” I find interesting.)

When it's done well, some of these books can be really entertaining, but let's not kid ourselves and call this high literature; although many of the themes are borrowed from Literature, with a capital “L.” There's nothing wrong with that despite what your English literature professor tells you. I suppose the literati have always looked down their noses at something that is popular, mainstream. But there is a reason some books are trashy and still popular.

It's those who write and read “Literature” who are the most derisive about selling out. I suppose I could accuse these people of being jealous, but I doubt that's the case. After all, us writers who are slogging along working at creating works of fiction are the ones who are jealous. We want to be accepted by the hoi poloi of the Ivy League literary set. Yet we still like a fun science fiction or romance novel. And frankly, I have fun writing them – when else can you sit for hours and think about time travel?

As writers, there is a large amount of people out there willing to tell you how to do things. Advice is fine, I suppose, and some of these books and articles have good advice. But the decisions you make in creating a writing career are yours alone to make. If you want to maintain your artistic integrity and sell nothing, go to it. If you want to write a teen ghost story because the market is looking for that type of book, you have my blessing.

Personally, I'm going to continue doing what I'm doing; which is avoiding work on my science fiction thriller and doing blog posts.

Veterans Day

This is a piece I wrote a couple of years ago to mark Veterans Day. Enjoy.

When I think of veterans, I think of guys like John Hoover.

Mr. Hoover was one of my first bosses; an elderly man who oversaw the summer youth work program in the town where I lived. He couldn’t hear too well because of mortar rounds he shot at the Japanese on Guadalcanal.

Or I think of my father-inlaw, Dave Hesse, who left his family while the Air Force sent him to Vietnam.

But who I really think of, though, is Mike McKinney. I interviewed Mr. McKinney several years ago when the movie “Saving Private Ryan” came out. He knew a thing or two about D-Day; he was there. As a matter of fact he was the second man on Omaha beach that day.

These men, and many others I’ve encountered throughout my life are veterans. Which makes it kind of embarrassing to me when someone thanks me for my own military service. I’ve never felt that my name should be mentioned in the same breath with those who have gone off to fight in wars and conflicts. My time in service came during Ronald Reagan’s largest peacetime military buildup. I was a Cold Warrior and no one so much as called me bad names, let alone shot at me.

The Air Force gave me three square meals a day for 4½ years, taught me a trade and threw a little money at me for an education. The military exposed me to people I would have never met and sent me to a country — Germany — that I would have never visited. After I got out, my military service made me eligible for a home mortgage. I have a hard time thinking that anyone, especially a regular taxpayer, owes me anything.

Me? A veteran? It doesn’t make sense.

But sometimes it takes a child to make us realize our follies.

For the past several years, Route 66 Elementary School has staged a Veterans Day celebration. I’ve managed to avoid the event in past years — like I said, it wasn’t something I felt I deserved. My kids wouldn’t let it go this year. They especially wanted to make sure that I stood up with all the other Air Force veterans.

I know the feeling of feeling pride for the accomplishments of a child of mine. I’ve had the pleasure of feeling the pride from a parent. But never had I encountered the pride a child feels for a parent. It was an odd and humbling feeling. Perhaps it was something that I had never taken the time to contemplate.

But there they were, my sons, showing me how proud they were to have had a father who once served in the U.S. Air Force. They both know — I’ve told them myself — that I sacrificed very little. The people we need to honor on Veterans Day are men like John Hoover, Dave Hesse and Mike McKinney, I tell them. And they know.

I’ve heard older generations talk about the youth and how they don’t understand the sacrifices veterans have made. Nothing could be further from the truth. These kids, especially the ones at Route 66, understand perfectly the freedoms they enjoy and who made it possible. You can credit their teachers and their parents.

If you don’t believe me, just show up next year for the school’s Veterans Day assembly and listen to hundreds of small voices sing and recite poems. If it doesn’t move you, then you don’t appreciate the sacrifice veterans have made for this country.

Myself included.

The Netflix Effect

“Great Expectations” was serialized in the the periodical “All the Year Round” from December 1860 to August 1861. As far as we know, Charles Dickens wasn't harassed by fans for not giving up the whole thing at once. Not that he could have, he wrote it as he went along, only being ahead on the weekly installations by about a month.

A fashionable Charles Dickens

George R.R. Martin has been working on the sprawling “A Song of Fire and Ice” saga since 1996. “A Feast for Crows,” the fourth book in the series, was published in 2005. The next installment, “A Dance With Dragons,” was published six years later in 2011 and Martin has given no indication when the final two books in the series will be done.

Fans are upset with him. They want the whole epic story, and they want it now. Martin, for his part, has responded by not producing any new novels in the series and stating that they be out when he's good and ready.

Writers must have beards.

Dickens was fortunate – he didn't have the Netflix effect to deal with.

Netflix streams programing to our computers or television sets. Much of the programming available on Netflix are complete episodes of old television programs, and even original programs. So, if you want to watch all episodes of “Breaking Bad” in one sitting, you can. Netflix upped the ante with new episodes of “Arrested Development” and original series like “House of Cards” and “Orange is the New Black.”

So not only are we in a new era of epic storytelling with the creation of hundreds of hours of television, but it is all delivered to us instantly. That gives the illusion that the creative process is almost as instantaneous. Nothing about creating a work is instant, but the public wants its appetite fed.

It's convenient to blame Netflix for this, but the process started years ago with the release on DVD of seasons of televisions series. Except if you bought the set, you were probably a fan to begin with and probably already watched the show. With Netflix, you can sample something, then watch the whole thing from beginning to end. My wife does this, I don't have the patience. I generally like my television episodes to be self-contained stories. Large story arcs force me to become vested in characters I may or may not want to dedicate time to. I'm not against the idea, though, mostly when it comes to what I read. I must admit to having enjoyed the Matt Helm series by DonaldHamilton. (And the fact that the last one was written 30 years ago, so I don't have to wait for the next one to come out.) I was the kind of kid who would go to the public library to check out the book the teacher was reading in class. I hated to wait. I read all the Encyclopedia Brown series at once, and read the first three “Dune” books one after the other.

As I was writing my first book, “Blind Man's Bluff,” all I could wonder is why anyone would want to write a series featuring the same characters. I was so sick of my creation by the time I finished that I didn't want to speak to them anymore.

But then I started my second novel, “Time in the World.” The intention was to write just one and be done. A funny thing happened, though. It turned out there was more to the story than I had thought. I found that I liked the characters and the “world” I had created. As soon as I finished, I wrote out a detailed outline for two more books and made a couple of changes to foreshadow what I had planned.

With this book, I didn't give much thought to trying to sell it to a publisher – I didn't think any would take a chance on a time travel series from a new writer. So I published it by myself without high expectations. I thought it was pretty decent for what it was. But then I became pleasantly surprised that people have liked it. So much that I've been confronted by the Netflix effect.

“Loved the book,” was the essence of numerous comments. “Is the next one done yet?”

The answer, of course, is no. It's not done. I haven't even really started it and as a new fiction writer, I kind of feel like I'm letting momentum slip away. It'll be at least a year – and that's being optimistic – before I can have “Time Stand Still” done and out. The reason is because I'm working on a different project; one that's been on my radar for two years and one that I'll be shopping around for a publisher and agent and all that jazz. (It's that good.)

The trouble is that it's been slow going on getting it done. Lots of different responsibilities have been pulling at me and I've missed a couple of my self-imposed deadlines. Meanwhile, I get phone calls imploring me to finish my sequel.

“I've got to know what happens before I die,” one woman told me.

I'm flattered, and humbled. There's a part of me saying I should accommodate the few fans I've been able to acquire and put my current project on hold. The obstinate part of me, though, wants to complete what I've started before moving on to the next thing.

What would you do?