What I’m Blogging

It’s the birthday of humorist and essayist P.J. (Patrick Jake) O’Rourke, born in Toledo, Ohio (1947). He chose to be a writer because he said, “It was the ’60s—there was no quality control on anything. If I wrote, who’s to say that I wasn’t a writer?”

He said, “Humor is a terrific tool for explaining things, especially when what you’re explaining is frightening or dull and complicated.”

O’Rourke’s most recent book is Peace Kills: America’s Fun New Imperialism, which came out last year, in which he wrote, “Wherever there’s injustice, oppression, and suffering, America will show up six months late and bomb the country next to where it’s happening.”

From the Writer’s Almanac by Garrison Keillor
Available by e-mail daily.

Further very funny reading available at Amazon Canada, US and UK

The road must be trod, but it will be very hard. And neither strength nor wisdom will carry us far upon it. This quest may be attempted by the weak with as much hope as the strong. Yet such is oft the course of deeds that move the wheels of the world : small hands do them because they must, while the eyes of the great are elsewhere. - Elrond - The Lord of the Rings - Book II Chapter 2 by J.R.R. Tolkien.

Thirteenth night and the cracks have started to appear in the wall that was, until recently, a very solid case of writer’s block. Flow is moving again, however I find my story falling back and forth through time. At one moment I’m in the present where the story happens only to find myself in the next breath far in the character’s past discovering why he thinks, acts and feels the way he does. It’s a little like a temporal roller coaster.

I’ve given up on he idea of writing in a linear fashion. I can’t seem to get my mind around it. When I sit in front of the keyboard I just start writing what ever comes out. I used to try and force myself to carry on from the point I left off at, but that quickly lead to slowdown and a blockage forming. Now I’m just writing whatever section occurs to me. I will stitch the component parts together in the edit phase, after all isn’t that how Dr. Frankenstein got started with his monster?

One of the things that I really enjoy reading about is fantastical homes. Whether it is the description of Hobbit holes in The Lord of the Rings or the Neverland tree fort from Peter Pan magical homes have cast their spell on my imagination. This book is a fantastic pictorial of homes from around the world that are real and magical at the same time.

Kahn, Lloyd. 2004. Home Work: Handbuilt Shelter. Shelter Publications. ISBN 0936070331.

What I liked about this book: This is an absolutely luscious photo essay on the topic of hand made shelters and homes. The structures span the globe and each has an enchanting magical quality that blends it to the surrounding environment. The photos are warm and inviting and you wish that you could dive into them and live in these buildings if only for a day.

What I didn’t like about this book: Of all things, the binding. It is a softcovered book and I would have preferred a hardcover coffee table style. This was inconsequential, however, because the contents more than make up for it.

Available from Amazon Canada, UK and US

November 11 was originally called Armistice Day because it was on this day in 1918 that the First World War came to an end. The armistice was signed at 11:00 AM, on the eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month of the year. After four years of brutal trench fighting, nine million soldiers had died and 21 million were wounded. It was called “The War to End All Wars,” because it was the bloodiest war in history up to that point, and it made many people so sick of war that they hoped no war would ever break out again.

…all without imagination or heart…

Many intellectuals and artists were disillusioned by the war. The philosopher Bertrand Russell said, “All this madness, all this rage, all this flaming death of our civilization and our hopes, has been brought about because a set of official gentlemen, living luxurious lives, mostly stupid, and all without imagination or heart, have chosen that it should occur rather than that any one of them should suffer some infinitesimal rebuff to his country’s pride.”

From the Writer’s Almanac by Garrison Keillor
Available by e-mail daily.

There was a time when the characters were speaking to me. The words flowed across the keyboard if I just sat in front of the damn thing long enough. This is not happening, and I am suffering from the sound of a silent pen. Ink well all dried up. It is soddenly frustrating. I have not been able to put word to electronic file in two days. Everything I’ve typed has been crap. Have I whined sufficiently enough yet? Are there any offers of cheese coming?

…too many balls in the air to juggle…

Part and parcel of it is that I’m particularly tired. Work has been draining this week on both a physical and intellectual level. There are just too many balls in the air to juggle and I sense a shutdown coming. My wife senses something similar, mind you she senses that I’m getting sick. Coming down with a cold or flu (again) is the current theory. Manifesting an illness as a coping strategy to deal with all the stress. I of course scoff at the idea, as my head and joints ache, my sinuses start to fill, and I descend into a massive heap of grumpy helplessness as can only be achieved by a man under the weather. The kind of crappy ill feeling that turns early forties fiercely independent males into seven year old children looking for their mum and a bowel of chicken noodle soup.

So here I am, further behind. Feeling like crap. Feeling worse for being behind. The spiral downward is becoming more rapid, but there is hope. Hope for the weekend, hope for feeling better, hope for the muse’s return.

Snow Day! No, it’s not the cheer of jubilant children who have just heard their school announced on the morning radio as one of the schools closed due to bad weather. As a boy I lived for those days. No, today is about the sight of first snow.

another Canadian Winter approaches

I got ready for the office, gathered all my papers and my two laptops and proceeded out the front door where I was greeted by mother nature with tidings of the coming winter. Lovely white snow falling from a gray November sky. It was cold enough this morning that the snow was actually staying on the ground and covering the roof tops. Oh Joy, another Canadian Winter approaches. On a more positive note, I can realistically get away with not cutting the grass this weekend.

Nine days into NaNoWriMo and I’m falling behind. The last two days have been all work and no play, at least not of the writing kind. Work has reared it’s ugly head and expanded to fill all available time. My hope is that I can recover some lost ground this weekend. On a positive note I managed to find some time to work on my outline and get it firmed up a little more.

OK I’m grasping at straws here… outline schmoutline… I need words! Somebody give me some words. Just like the muse to bugger off in the middle of things.