May 6

Profound Fucking Sadness

Profound Sadness

What man needs to cry? Maybe all men need to cry. I’m going through couching right now, a type of couching that looks inward. It can be a bit like therapy at times. Other times, it can look like business coaching. My coach tore open an old wound. The years of stress and unexplained anxiety that I feel everyday was washed away with sadness and tears, just like that. Instead of being stressed and a little bit angry all of the time, I’m just very sad now. Maybe I’ve always been sad. Not maybe, definitely. I’ve always been sad. At least now I can deal with that sadness, instead of the unexplained stress.

I suffered from childhood trauma, and all of my life I just seemed like I was a little bit angry and maybe a little bit dead inside. I’m just as emotional as anyone around me. I have the soul of a poet, and I’ve finally realized that while I’m rough and strong on the outside, I’m still gooey and mushy emotionally.

I know I’ll come out the other side as a better more enlightened person, but this is really fucking difficult and strange. Luckily, the sadness makes me want to write more.

Has anyone else out there gone through emotional transformation?

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May 1

Transformational Writing

Transformation

At the Ottawa Writer’s Fest, I had the pleasure of hearing Cherie Dimaline speak. She restored my faith in fiction, saying that it can be transformational. I take that to mean that it really changes a person in a core way. It’s not like when you see photos of chocolate then you eat nothing but chocolate for a month. I mean, that will transform you, but not in any positive sort of way. Transformational fiction is writing that makes you think about real life situations, and sometimes you’ll want to help people or join a cause because of it.

I didn’t really think of fiction as transformational in the past. I love to write it and read it, but I often think of it as a bit of waste of time. You can write a story that parallels modern day horrors on this planet and subtly or even brutally put your readers in a scene that causes enough discomfort to spark a change in ideology or practice.

From now on, everything I write is going to start with the condition that it’s transformational, and I hope you’ll give it a try too.

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April 8

Punishment vs Reward

Writer

Writing should be fun and inspirational, but how do you do it more often. I often think of writing like exercise:

  1. It’s something I want to do;
  2. It’s something I need to do;
  3. It’s something that will benefit me;
  4. If I build it into my routine it becomes easier;
  5. It’s something I don’t have time for;
  6. I just don’t feel like it right now.

Number 5 and 6 can make you go years without writing. Either you don’t have the time or just don’t feel like it. A lot of people will set about to punish themselves. In almost every case, this is a bad solution and won’t work in the long term. Sometimes punishments can masquerade as time management or self improvement. Some examples of punishment might be:

  1. I’ll stop watching television;
  2. I’ll spend less time hanging out with my friends;
  3. I won’t play video games ever again.

Taking something out of your life that you enjoy isn’t a permanent solution. You might find yourself writing more, but you might also end up being more unhappy. Certainly if there are things that waste your time that you don’t enjoy, cut those out. That would be a reward, so go for it. Otherwise, think about rewards that work for you.

  1. Once I complete my first chapter, I’m going to buy myself that new pair of shoes I’ve been wanting;
  2. I’m going to watch an hour of television right after I write a poem;
  3. Once I’ve completed that short story, I’m going to play video games.

For those who have very little time, keep in mind the time where you wait. Almost everyone has to wait for something at some point. You wait for the doctor, the dentist, friends, business meetings, family members, husbands, and wives. For those who take buses, trains, or planes, you can write while you’re commuting. In all of this time you spend waiting, you might be able to get a full novel complete within 2 years.

Good luck, and starting writing again. Feel free to contact me if you want to chat about your next project.

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December 2

Toasted honey sandwich #poetry

The sweetest type of honey drips down that delicious golden brown.

The tip of my tongue licks the drop, tastes it.

I press my lips to it, spread it open, just a bit.

My eyes close, the smell, intoxicating.

I slide my tongue inside, licking and tasting every bit of honey inside.

A bit drips down my chin, and all I can do is look up and smile.

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December 1

#Write everyday – no excuses

Here I am writing a blog post between sets on my phone. So what’s your excuse?

Whatever your excuse, I understand, truly, no judgement. For the last twenty years, I’ve had more excuses than actual time writing. I did manage to squeak out a couple of novels, some poetry and short stories, but the real key to writing is routine, at least for me.

I’ve probably gone a whole year at a time without “putting pen to paper.” If you can set aside time to write, even if it’s between sets while working out, five times a week, that accumulates. That’s a novel every year or two.

Careers in writing are built in years not months. Whatever your excuse to not write, find time. Find five minutes before bed. Take 15 minutes at lunch. Keep doing it frequently. If you really don’t have five to fifteen minutes a day to spare, reach out and get help. I mean that seriously, not to make fun at all. Everyone needs some free time. Find the time and write.

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November 28

How to Keep Peace

She takes your dreams,

Steals your time,

Makes you mad,

Bloody irrational.

She’ll take your health,

Then your life.

Breathe.

In, she’s translucent.

Out, she’s transparent.

Breathe. She’s gone.

She whispers in your ear.

Breathe.

In.

Out.

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November 27

Reset Button

I sometimes need a little button.

A little button on the back of my head.

I would reach back there,

Fiddling around though my hair,

Screwing my fingers around.

I would press it once, nothing.

Twice, nothing.

Three times!

No stress, warm sand between my toes.

No routine, the taste of ocean salt on the thighs of my love.

No responsibility, the bright sun warming my nearly nude skin.

I would press it once, nothing.

Twice, nothing.

Three times!

I’m back.

I’m happy.

I know who I am.

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September 19

A Powerful Disagreement

Grey City

I sat there, alone in my board room, looking out into the grey city. It’s a city that I once loved, more than anyone or anything. I loved this grey cold beast. The more I schemed, lied, cheated, stole, the more I gave in to my darkest side, the more the beast gave back to me. You don’t change that beast. It keeps changing you.

Now, at 40 years old, I wish I had chosen some other way to spend my life. Could I have been a farmer, probably not, I hate any sort of manual labor. Maybe I could have run a charity, but I was way too selfish for that.

“You have a look of regret on your face.” I look over to see a tall medium brown haired man with a light skin tone but healthy looking complexion talking to me.

“I’m sorry, who are you?” I ask.

He laughs a little before he says: “don’t be sorry.”

This fucker is going to come into my fucking boardroom, laugh at me, and engage in mother fucking word play with me but not answer my question. I look at the ground, take a deep breath, reorient my eyes back towards the man and say: “what is it that I can do for you?”

“I’m here for you Tim, whatever you want. I ask for nothing in return.”

“I’m supposed to be impressed that you know my name? I’m the richest man in this city. Everyone knows my name. Here’s the thing, I don’t do business with people I don’t know and don’t trust, so why don’t you leave, now!”

“I’ll leave when I’m ready,” he says, somehow without any tone of arrogance.

I pick up the phone to call security; it’s dead. I try to open the boardroom door, locked.

“What do you want?” I ask.

“What do you want?” He parrots back.

“Ten gorgeous clean hookers and an extra large pizza.”

I take a deep breath and close my eyes, out of frustration. As soon as my eyes are open again, there are ten beautiful young women, glammed up, wearing very tight business attire, and there is a God damned pizza in the middle of the table.

“What the hell?” I ask.

“I’m here for anything you want.”

“Anything?”

“Pretty much. You can have anything that a human being has at some point in their life had, and if it’s something that can be kept, you can keep it.”

“This is where I’m supposed to ask for money?”

“If that’s what you want,” he replied.

“I don’t need any more money. Can you send me back in time?”

“No. Humans can’t time travel.”

I look at him curiously and ask: “how do you know?”

“There are magical hookers in the room. Trust me, I know.”

He grabs a slice of pizza, walks over to where three hookers are making out and begins to open his pants.

“I don’t want the hookers.” Just as I utter those words, they disappear, so I continue with: “and no pizza either,” and it too was gone.

He turns around with his erect penis exposed, attempting to tuck it back into his pants but not ashamed to show me while saying: “I thought you were going to be fun.”

“I don’t actually have sex with hookers.”

“How about revenge? We could get back at everyone who once wronged you.”

“Well…” I say while pondering it for a moment.

“I’ve been alive for longer than all of humanity; please take your time. I’m patient,” he says with an erection that is still somewhat visible through his zipped up pants.

“Do I have to make some sort of deal with you first? Do I have to give you my soul? I won’t do that.”

“You people and your contracts. There is no deal. There is no such thing as signing over your soul. I’m here for you. Whatever you want to do, we’ll do it. Then, I’ll leave. Simple, no contracts, understand?”

I worry that there is some sort of catch that I’m missing here, but if he is some mystical beast who can give me almost anything I desire, I would be a fool not to take him up on that.

“OK. Did you see my secretary on the way in?”

“Yes, she’s the nice lady who is hiding an obvious black eye by wearing too much makeup.”

“Yeah. Her boyfriend gave her that black eye. Can you take him out of the picture?”

“Sure. Done.”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that,” he said before walking out.

I guess that’s it. I guess I only get one thing, and I selflessly used it on someone else. I’m good with that. My life has been about making money, about taking what I want. Now, I did something for someone else.

I went home after that, poured myself a rather tall glass of port and binge watched Mad Men. After my day, I totally deserved it. I thought about calling up the neighbor lady to come over and have sex with me, but she’s married, and I’m trying to do the right thing now. Look at me, practically mother fucking Theresa. Maybe tomorrow I’ll start a charity.

Time to make a phone call.

“Hello.”

“Hey. Is your mom home?” I ask.

“No.”

“So, you’re alone?”

“Yeah.”

“You want me to come over?” I ask.

“Yeah.”

It’s the married ladies daughter. I know it’s wrong, but she turns 18 next month, and I deserve this.

It was a fun night last night, but I have to get back to business, back to the office.

I shout for my secretary, “Emily.”

The man with the magical powers comes in: “yes?”

“You again? I thought you were done. Where’s Emily?”

“Oh, she’s at home, mourning the loss and all.”

I look at him with screwed up eyes and say: “what loss?”

“I killed the boyfriend. You know they were in love, right?”

“I didn’t tell you to kill him. I told you get him out of the picture.”

“You can’t use word play with me. I’m powerful, damn you. I knew what your intentions were. I can read thoughts and emotions. You wanted him dead. He’s dead. Now, Emily is at home with her hands over her face, crying uncontrollably, while the police question her.”

“Why are the police questioning her?” I ask, angrily.

“You always suspect the girlfriend first.”

“This is not what I wanted. Fix it.” I said, in a very demanding voice.

“It’s what you asked for, and your actions have consequences. Like I said before, there is no contract. Life is a series of moments and choices, and when you make bad choices and bad things happen as a result, it’s on you. You are the sum of your choices.”

“So why are you here? You just want to gloat?” I ask.

“I met with a man this morning who found out about a week ago that his wife was cheating on him. He installed nanny cams in his house to catch her, to be sure. What he saw is one of his neighbors fornicating with his 17 year old daughter. When I told him he could have anything he wanted, he asked me to take that man out of the picture.”

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