Perspective

It’s always a rousing moment when you find perspective. That’s exactly what happened to me this week at work. I was going about my day early on around 9am and then it hit me! BAM! I knew which direction to take the memoir. Just like that! No second guessing. No talking myself out of it. It was the right decision at the right time.

I’ve been taking notes and talking with my dad and doing research for about a month now, just getting as many words on the page as possible. But I had yet to find my angle. I wasn’t sure how to approach the material. It has to feel authentic to him and to me, as well as anyone who may read it. Early on these first few chapters have felt like reading a history book of my dad’s life thus far. They were informative, but something just hasn’t felt quite right.

Then an epiphany! In order for this to work it has to be just as much about today and it is about the past. What I mean by that is how the information is gathered and told is just as important as said information. We’ve been getting together every Saturday and talking on the front porch, which is really a deck, and I’ve been taking piles of notes on everything he says and does. Every detail matters and when that fact hit me, it was pure euphoria.

There is nothing better than having a revelation about a project when your mind is elsewhere. That’s what creativity is about. Those first few chapters will have to be altered, but I’m glad I’ve recognized it early instead of three months in. Good times await.

Living Like A Writer

I took three days off of work this week to relax a bit before our busiest time of the year hits at work. It had to be now because there won’t be another chance until sometime in October. It builds slowly starting in August and then explodes and I’m left dragging ass back home every day for three weeks, just trying to catch my breath.

But it’s cool. It happens every year. I expect it. I’m used to it. I even enjoy it because it keeps me busy. There’s not much thinking involved, just moving forward. And given how unusually steady it’s already been thus far, I’m expecting big things. Fingers crossed I don’t pull a muscle.

During my time away I delved deep into research on my dad’s memoir, burying myself in family history. I visited my Aunt and Uncle who have possession of a lot of family memorabilia and antiques, working my way through those. Then we jumped into a full genealogy that my Uncle has spent years assembling. He showed me stacks of marriage certificates, birth and death certificates, military discharge paperwork, last will and testaments, and a slew of other historical documents.

I even learned about Matthew McCauley, great-grandfather of mine seven times removed. He emigrated from Ireland, fought in the American Revolution, and donated 150 acres of the land on which UNC Chapel Hill is built. He was even involved in the laying of the cornerstone of the Old East, first building of the university erected. I even drove out to the McCauley Family Cemetery in Carrboro, NC, to snap some photos and document my findings.

The time off has proved to be really wonderful. I’ve lived like a writer, one that makes a living at his craft, lost in constant research, putting together the next chapter, no other responsibilities, just the work. I’ve also slept a lot, which leads me to believe that I’m sleep deprived during my normal weeks, something I should probably work on rectifying.

It’s been eye-opening and fun, but it’s back to normal on Monday. My goals are all in front of me. There’s no better feeling.

Off and Running

I knocked out the introduction to my dad’s memoir this week and it has definitely reinvigorated my love for writing. There’s always been a tendency with me to take extended periods of time away after completing a project because I usually burn myself out with an unhealthy, hectic pace. I’ll consistently talk myself out of moving forward, believing that I need just a little more research or just one more day to relax and think.

“Ashbrooke City” is a perfect example of this habit. I never had a solid writing schedule, just writing whenever I found the time or when the spirit moved me. Sometimes I would get home from work around five or six in the afternoon, write until three in the morning, get three hours of sleep and then go back to work. I would also binge write on the weekends for twelve hours a day. It wasn’t uncommon for me to take weeks off in between writing sessions. I did that for three years. It’s probably the reason it took so long to write the damn book. If I had been more consistent I might have completed it in half the time.

But you live and you learn. With my dad’s new memoir I’ve adopted a writing schedule that I absolutely love. One hour a day is all I ask of myself. One hour a day. Every day. No exceptions. No excuses. I try to hit at least 500 words per session, but if I don’t there’s no beating myself up, which has been a problem for me in the past. When I get to the weekends I can do more because things lighten up a bit. It’s really working for me thus far.

Typically I’m up at five every morning to workout. From there I have a day job throughout the week that keeps me away until after five most days. So by the time I get home I’ve been on my feet for twelve hours because I work in a warehouse. After carving out some time to make dinner and take a breather, I can sit down to write, usually around eight at night. And of course there are other responsibilities to take into account. It’s all a balancing act.

My secondary goal is a chapter per week on the memoir. If I can maintain this pace I can be done with the first draft by early November. I have no doubt I’ll get there. It’s been too much fun to think otherwise.

Onward!

It was a long week, but a revealing one. Sometimes you just have to move on, from ideas, from expectations, from people. I’m very proud of “Ashbrooke City.” It’s my first novel. It’s the project I’ve spent the most time on. It will always be the book that taught me how to write books.

But it can no longer consume my life if I’m going to meet my next self-imposed deadline. I’ll never stop supporting it. I’ll continue to try new marketing techniques. But I have to move on creatively. Content is King. And in order for me to produce new content I have to compartmentalize, which is a new concept for me. But I’m up to the task. I wanted all this and now I have to juggle.

My next project is much different. It’s personal and, hopefully, relatable. I’m not building a world from scratch or crafting characters from my own observations. It’s the true story of a man who has led a fascinating life through an era of human history in which things tend to change as fast you can blink, and the opinions that come along.

It’s a memoir about my dad. And boy does he have opinions! On everything. Even things he knows nothing about. It’s a project I began way back in early 2010 but had to abandon due to circumstance, and because I just wasn’t ready to fully tackle it. But now I am. And I couldn’t be more excited! To one day, when I’m his age, have a document that reminds me of him and the things he has seen and done would mean the world to me. Like a reference, an idea that can live forever.

I’m aiming for the end of the year. Fingers crossed.

Artistry

What does it mean to be an artist?

It’s a question I broached with a friend of mine this past week who is an artist herself. She’s quite the talented painter. I was curious if she saw things the same way. She seemed to but, admittedly, it’s hard to get in a word when I reel off about artistry. I think about it far too often, over-analyzing every minute detail.

But maybe that’s part of being artistic.

Whether you write or paint or dance or play music or woodwork or do anything creative in life, it all breaks down to the same core essence: expression. And there is a lot of fear and insecurity that come with any form of expression. Translating your inner-self, your soul, is difficult because the words are never right or the canvas is never big enough or the movement isn’t graceful. You’re bringing imperfection into the world; imperfection that is a deep part of you. There’s vulnerability in that.

But it needs to come out. That’s why we do it. It’s already inside; it just needs a path forward. In doing so you’re inviting other people into your world, most of whom won’t understand you, and they’re going to bring their own cynicisms and insecurities and issues along. And then questions are going to arise in your mind.

Is this good? Is this right? Am I saying what I want to say? Am I saying anything at all?

And there are no correct answers. There is no shortcut or quick pass. It’s all a journey into the unknown. And those are equal parts exciting and terrifying and mysterious and confusing and beautiful and horrible. And you always come out different on the other side. Every single time. It might be miniscule, but you are not exactly the same as when you started, for better or worse. Because a piece of you in now manifested in the physical reality. It’s still a part of you, but now others have access.

Something to think about as I gear up to tackle my next project.

Routine

It’s always strange having a holiday in the middle of the week. For someone that gets up around 5am Monday-Friday, sleeping in on a Wednesday felt odd. In fact, I overslept and felt kind of rough upon waking up. My body just isn’t used to it. I’m typically hitting the weights or starting a run or practicing some yoga no later than 6am, not sunken into the sheets at 8am. My system was rebelling against me, and it let me know the moment I opened my eyes, sore and lethargic before I ever moved a muscle.

But I quickly recovered and had a pleasant day off. I managed a lot of reading, a trip to the grocery store for supplies, and a simple hot dog/kielbasa cookout with my parents. Those dogs were loaded down, the more the merrier. And it was quite tasty. I did find it interesting that the first thing my Mom looks at in the grocery store is price, while the first thing I look at is ingredients. Is it a generational thing? Or is it a gender thing? Maybe it’s just an individual preference. I am a self-proclaimed ingredient snob and it’s possible to avoid a lot of harmful additives if you look around, but it’s going to cost you.

Because being healthy in America is far more expensive than the alternative.

The night before, on July 3rd, a collection of co-workers and I hit up Outback Steakhouse and then a movie. I was the only man of the group, and if you’ve ever been out with a bunch of women it’s hard to get in a word edgewise. The stream of chatter is constant, unlike men who tend to let things breathe. But they were all very lovely and quite entertaining. And the food was good, grilled chicken loaded with sautéed mushrooms and bacon and cheese. And free bread! Love that free bread!

The movie, though, was another story. Jurassic World: Fallen Kingdom was dumber than I thought capable. The acting was fine. The dinosaurs were fine. But the plot somehow managed to be more absurd than the prior film, and not in a clever way but rather asinine. No spoilers here but they make a decision at the end of this film that everyone should be shot for making, for the good of humanity.

They continue to chase the original Jurassic Park which still holds up today, twenty-five years later. I remember seeing that one in theaters in 1993, the year I turned ten. Good times.

Book Marketing

I met up with my best friend the other day that I had not seen in nearly a year. Circumstances sometimes keep people apart. Life gets in the way. Time flies when you don’t have much free time. There are a bunch of other excuses I could throw against the wall, but nearly a year is far too much time to be separate from someone you consider your closest ally and sometimes writing partner.

We went for Mexican food. I had the Pollo Tapatio, a chicken dish with roasted mushrooms and onions and some sort of cooked rice in cheese. It was phenomenal because it was food and I’m a human vacuum. Great service. Our waitress had the most adorable smile and couldn’t have been kinder. We had a fun time catching up.

Side note: Tapatio is what people that hail from Guadalajara, Mexico call themselves. I thought that was interesting.

“Ashbrooke City” is dedicated to this friend of mine that I met up with, so of course I had to bring him a copy. Then he asked me to sign it, which really makes me uncomfortable for some reason. Then he told me to get used to it because if I ever find any success as an author it’s going to be the norm. He’s right, but I apparently have issues with being important.

It’s like I want everyone to read everything I write and love it. But I don’t want them to tell me. I probably need therapy.

We briefly touched on book marketing, which I have yet to engage in but will soon. He has the marketing mind I wish I did. His suggestion was to start local, which makes sense. Hit up all those people we went to high school with for starters, and then branch out. It’s a solid foundation, but I haven’t done Facebook in seven years which makes it hard to really touch base with those people. However, where there’s a will, there’s a way.

I do know one thing: it’s all about getting eyes on “Ashbrooke City.” Building a reader base, even if you have to hand them a copy of the novel for free is the most important thing. I’m battling obscurity. I need to give people a reason to buy the next one.

And so it begins...

Everything in life really does seem to come full circle. I had a blog years ago that I updated regularly for about three or four months before I abandoned it completely. Its subject matter was all over the place which was in perfect sync with my mind. I wrote about my brother's wedding and my time on the jury of a federal criminal trial and the process of writing my first novel, among other things. There were funny pictures and clever quotes and even a book review.

It was all very obnoxious. Thankfully the only people who read it were family. They've been shaking their head at me for years, so it all came very natural to them.

Well, I'm back! And this time I have a reason for being here. The internet was struggling for a while, but things are about to pick up. Call it a feeling in the air.

I wrote a novel! And it's good! And I needed an "Author Website" to help interact with potential readers. I say "potential" because I don't have any at the moment.

But that’s alright. It’s a journey and good literature will always find an audience. In today’s world of social media, which I will admit is exhausting and aggravating, you’re never more than a click away from a new experience.

My aim is to be that experience.

This isn’t a test. This is not an experiment. I’m not going anywhere. I spend most of my days talking to myself, so I might as well jot some of it down somewhere. This seems like a good place. My intention is to update every Saturday.

What’s that? You don’t think I can do it?? You double-dog dare me???

You’re on, Internet!