Category Archives: Life

Writing Life: No reason to procrastinate

© 2013 by Raymond Alexander Kukkee   [caption id="attachment_2320" align="aligncenter" width="480"]A black suncatcher with winter scene Suncatcher in Winter     photo© 2013  rakukkee[/caption]  

 " The blank mind  stares you in the face...what to do?"

 

Writing Life:  No Reason to Procrastinate

Writers.   Truth be known, it’s becoming ever more apparent we’re a strange bunch, --although admittedly creative.  We write, struggle, procrastinate, drink too much coffee, and have an unquieted thirst for knowledge. We may appreciate news, drama, foibles of human nature, even foolishness at times, but above all else, life.  We observe and write simply because we love to, no matter the topic. Bitty-small, large or megalithic, hot or not, ideas of all descriptions flood the creative mind,  ideally  overflowing  onto paper and screen alike.  A veritable river.  Alas,  the same creative mind arbitrarily and inexcusably shuts down, goes on sabbatical, or even an extended vacation…usually at the worst possible time. The blank mind stares you in the face, what to do?

When creative pickings are slim, fluff   just doesn’t cut it, disappearing into that big hole in the sky. Some ideas are fleeting, disappearing before being fully understood.  Has that ever happened to you? Some are static, almost motionless,  akin to a slow river, forget that idea, I don’t have waterfront property to stimulate the mind.  Lazy ideas move, with the lifelessness of deadwood. Really bad ideas cause even more procrastination; they drift until they become  waterlogged and submerge themselves in files, the ones in dusty cardboard boxes  labeled dull and unviable;  re-read,  re-think, re-write,  research.  Hm…search old files, another excuse to procrastinate. Happens all the time.

Interestingly, and a contradiction,  ideas may be dead weight,  sunk as expected –but curiously pique and fester, stuck in the craw like a fishbone. We play word games and pay attention to those.  Some may be worth reconsidering, yank them back into the boat. Perhaps they are intended to act as signposts or anchors to keep us from fleeing the incredibly interesting writing life.

Anchors are necessary at times to keep us from drifting over waterfalls to disaster, or into other, frankly less-interesting occupational choices.  Would you assemble bicycles down at Wheelies or fry high-end hamburgers instead? Want cheese with that? Become a rodeo clown hiding  in a rubber barrel?  Weld beams on 120-story office towers or stay grounded, be a  crusty 20-team mule-skinner,  a prospector in Canada, or a farmer?

The fact is, every occupation  in existence, however dull it may seem  offers another life experience. With open mind, every material thing from slick, virtual touchpad- qwerty- screens  to clackety old brass typewriter keys, the old round silver ones with capitals under plastic, guns and roses,  ancient creaking wooden wagons -- has a place and raison d'etre in the writing life Feel the keys. See the screen. See anything?  Look again. You know what I mean. It’s all in the observation. There’s really no reason to procrastinate.

A Dearth of  Topics?  Not believable.

“But I don’t have a thing  to write about!”  is a common complaint, but think about it; perhaps  it’s really just a reason to procrastinate, to delay committing to writing something.

Need a topic?  They surround us dailyGet out of the garret for an hour. Watch people, their reactions, how they speak, how they act. What remains unsaid is often more important and handily demonstrated by body language.  Observe carefully.  Topics are everywhere. Ideas are yours for the choosing. Think magic.

Look for topics variable in  anything and everything;  controversy, love, politics, space, rural life, city streets, crime and punishment,   ladders to the stars,  romance, fear, fiction, poetry, people,  disaster,  time, freedom, movies, banality, modernity, ancient rhymes, modern times, nurseries and bursaries,  dusty old novelists, beautiful, hot, modern poets,  Mother nature,  religion, apple pie and mom, music,  families,  the promised land, explorers, sand, fire ants, the world’s sexiest islanders,  volcanoes, war, peanuts & popcorn, gardening and green thumbs, education,  bread and sweet butter pickles, things that tickle.  Serious wedgies,   stir-fried veggies, candy-apple red paint jobs on Mustangs parked at drive-in burger joints and mini-skirts on roller-skates bringing icy root beer, "ain't she great?"  all come to mind.

Write about  diamonds, cabbages and kings,   drive-in theatre sex, drugs in the sky, Sun-catchers in winter-- why?  Peach pie, green eyes, revelations and revolutions, baking  pork chops,  pyramids and Cheops, pizza, poverty and politics,  races, sleds, king-sized beds, Olympians,  fishing fools and fun,  thought-streaming education of minors, Asian carp, musical harps big and small, occupations and distractions, lemonade stands in July, or earthquakes, desires, sloughs and quagmires, migrations of  geese,  tsunamis,  race horses,  college courses,  authors, books,  and the homeless in New Orleans. How to raise chickens in the back yard might come in handy too. Art Nouveau,  the history of pajamas,  buildings with  outlandish gargoyles,  plundering dinosaurs,  the Red Light district in Amsterdam,  Russian brides,  gay pride,  bronze monuments in D.C.,  why vitamins were invented,  Fukushima vented, the Renaissance, water, Einstein,  pollution  solutions, Great Walls, wallabies  and whackos –are all homeless ideas wandering about, waiting for you to offer them a word, a sentence, a flash peek, some insight, a paragraph, page, or even a whole book. Still stuck?  Take a minute, make a sandwich, munch on cookies. Pet the cat, cruise the net, run the dog, read the list again. Get it?  Glean as you clean. Write stuff.

Failure to float an idea is not an option; write ten lines about snoozing on a luxury yacht in the Mediterranean –quickly now, before you realize that yes, you’re still sitting up there in the mother-in-law’s  garret in sweats, the pet house- mouse nibbling your last crust of bread  before your bloodshot eyes.   If all else fails, write about compounding grey matter, synapse development, getting smarter, how to be a genius in one easy lesson,  mind-seizure in hot, dry garrets, ‘brain for rent cheap’.   Why writers shouldn't live in hot, dry garrets.... Let us not forget writer’s block, the last remaining subject and port of call for the dejected, rejected and worried writer with a blank screen and that itchy cursor that annoys both cat and wireless mouse.

What will I write about next?  How about what hasn’t been said before? Rant or recant.  "The world is my apple"  I say,  " I’ll happily share it with you, take a bite. Get a taste."  You may like it. Eat and savour everything but the seeds if you like—always save the seeds. Start your own collection.

As an avid gardener I like collections of seeds. Piles of them. A moving, morphing hill of ideas that germinate when sprinkled with unabated ambition.  They offer hope, and even the most decrepit, unlikely seeds grow sometimes,  creating new variations of the same old same old  --and offer amazing surprises.  Forgotten and unique varieties emerge, each with it’s own beauty, flavour, quirks and benefits. Planting seeds and ideas hurriedly, even tossed haphazardly into necessarily disjointed, imperfect rows and ignored totally- does seem to work miracles upon occasion if they fall upon fertile soilAdd the bewares, pull the tares.

Writing is like that. You never know what is going to sprout from an offhand  comment, a whisper,  an overheard argument, or an  ‘I got-kicked-in-real life’  complaint,  which can hold whooping revelations.

Psst….as in gardening, it does help to have a sketch, a plan, and direction.  In the writing life, you need a plan-- but not one written in stone or even scratched in dirt. Timing is critical. Write furiously when inspired. Haven’t we all heard that?  Get out the notepad and jot down a few ideas, dream up a few pointers, combinations, permutations.  Think freely. Thought-streaming. Check out your unexplored mind. Yes, we all have one.

There’s no reason to procrastinate, so let’s get to it. The first ten words are the most important to me.   Done.  You can do it too,  so now-- what will your word #11 be?

Go ahead, take a chance, hazard a guess. You’re a writer. A strange one.

Is that Incoming I hear?

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Posted in Life, Reflections, The Human Mind, Uncategorized, Writing Life | Tagged , , , | 2 Comments

Senate Scandal: Rotters and Liars

©2013 by Raymond Alexander Kukkee   [caption id="attachment_2018" align="aligncenter" width="388"]A left arrow stating "not now". Oh, No!   Not now, Duffy ![/caption]

Senatorial School:  Mischief & Liars

 

Prologue 

Today, loyal readers, we're in Grade VI   "Wannabe-a-Senator" class with Mr. Stephen,  the Senatorial  coach, mentor, and teacher.  We are participating observers  in a class on Senatorial mischief, rotters and liars, an exercise  in criminal democracy, the  "I didn't do it if you can't prove it" participatory ethics kind.  To the embarrassment of all, wannabe student  Senators  Mikey,  Pammie,  and Patrick B  have just been  caught in the back room with their fingers in Mr. T. Axpayer's cookie-jar.  Mr. T. Axpayer is sputtering objections mad as hell and wants Mr. Stephen to resign.

Discovery: Rotters & Liars

"Oh, my, that is a no-no!"  Mr. Stephan smooths his hair down, admiring his coif in the gold-plated  magnifying makeup  mirror on his desk,  winks at himself, primps,   and turns to admonish the class. "This is so embarrassing." he says, double-checking the mirror. Mr. Stephen thunders and stutters."Class, It has been reported that someone has been caught  practicing self-entitlement, hooking goodies  from  the cookie-jar with  my permission. As you know, we have rules,  self-entitlement is good when  I approve it, but the first rule is  that we  must never, never, never,  ever get caught with our fingers in Mr. T. Axpayer's cookie-jar! The rest of the Senatorial school has a reputation to uphold so our hog trough  self-entitlements  school  isn't shut down! " The sleepy class gasps, eyes suddenly now wide open. "Who, us?" The children shout in unison. "Never! We're innocent Senators merely holding our cushy red velvet seats for fun and profit forever!"  Crocodile tears fall. "Whatever shall we do, Mr. Stephen, our pork-barrel Senatorial school will be shut down,  our lifetime hog-trough  of self-entitlements will dry up!" * A collective gasp is heard. . "Who would commit such a foul deed, Mr. Stephen ? "  Teaching  assistant Mr Nigel almost choked upon his tea and crumpets. "...er....a hair in my crumpet would be scandalous!" he stipulated. Mr. Stephen rolled his eyes and winked at Mr. Nigel. "That's what I want to know right now, Mr. Nigel,  which of these rich Senatorial  children is dispensable  guilty?"  All of the children slide and sink  lower in their seats and refuse to look Mr. Stephen in the eye. " Are there rotters and liars  in this class?"   Silence reigns.  "Shhshhhhh" someone whispers loudly, "we're all rotters and liars   but if we stick together and we don't admit it, nobody can prove it ". "We cannot have rotters and liars in Senatorial class,  Mr. Nigel,  someone has to be found guilty, cookies are missing,  Mr. T. Axpayer knows everyone is lying, some of you are habitual liars, class,-- maybe all of us are rotters & liars!"  Mr. Stephen thunders. He turns livid red and blinks thirteen times.    " Oops!...er....I mean  some of YOU---er.... have to be liars !   He clears his throat. "ahem".  He stares at Mikey, Pammie, and Patrick.   "Tell the truth now, you three liars, did you steal any cookies?  We'll have to boot you out of class if you're rotters and liars." "Impossible, Mr. Stephen",  Mr. Nigel clears his throat and winks, I offer you a riddle;  as you suggested, I have remedied the situation with checks, appropriate party slush funding and prepared lies.  Mikey's problem has already  been taken care of exactly as you suggested."  *wink *wink "Me?  Not me, fellow Senators, "  says Mikey,  a  frown and devious, worried look on his chubby little face.  "I  do all my homework, I  work hard ,  I like this job, especially the self-entitlements and  soft red velvet chairs and  the pension ten times that of Mr. T. Axpayer and his friends,  I'm honest, I didn't steal cookies, honest, I just--er--borrowed some like Mr. Stephen said I should tell you!  See?  I have this note here from Mr. Stephen, telling exactly what to say,  and it says  to say 'Not me' ,   wanna see it? "Oh no, Mikey, we certainly don't want proof",  Mr. Stephen says, turning red,  " What is to be accomplished now by wasting valuable class time by telling  the truth? uh,,,er...shut up now, Mikey,,,,,,and,,,, ..moving on, now, class, who else has been finger-filching the financial cookie-jar?" "Not me" says Pammie, her eyes shifting right to left as she primps her hairdo, watching to see if her classmate are watching,    "I do important stuff" , so  I only took a few handfuls, but I  already put the cookies back in the jar".  "Besides, Mr. Stephen, you appointed me to do important stuff,  and gave me permission to travel everywhere and filch cookies too, and never mind, when everyone was watching, did you see how I cleverly took the bus home yesterday instead of the limo to demonstrate how clever I am at covering up details?" "Very good, Pammie, but ....well, it's not necessary to bore the class with details of how clever we are at making the school look good, dear Pammie", Mr. Stephen says, winking,  shifting from one foot the other,  and once again,  smoothing his coif spray job. "Damned rooster tails keep popping up for everyone to see" he said as an aside to Mr. Nigel standing behind him and slightly to the left.  "How embarrassing!" The class twitters.   "No twittering" Mr. Stephen advises. He clears his throat, "And who else?" We cannot have rotters and liars in this school!" "Not me!  "  says Patrick, suddenly standing up with an arrogant, brassy  smirk, adjusting his sunglasses. "In this class I can do anything I want, you said so yourself, Mr. Stephen, and what are friends for?  " Mr. Stephan smooths his hair out again and sighs a big one.  He takes a potty break  in Europe.  He can't stay there forever.  Monday arrives and he has to go home. 'What to do?' Mr. Stephen ponders to himself in the back room once again,  while nibbling on yet another cookie,  ' This is embarrassing, it looks like I got caught lying and could get fired;  I don't know how to run a country OR Senate,  never mind a lemonade stand senatorial school......... I know, I'll keep lying,  I don't wish to look incompetent, so   I'll go out there and give them a speech, and a few scapegoats, a few red herrings,  that oughta' do it '. He wags his finger at Mikey, Pammie and Patrick.   "tch-tch-tch.....You naughty children got caught, don't you know  it's bad to get caught?  We cannot tolerate scandalous behaviour.   It makes ME look incompetent  the Senatorial class look bad, so we'll have to punish you, get it?  Someone has to be punished.  We have to look good.   Meantime, as you already know, Mr. Nigel, my teaching assistant here,  will give you checks, and  craft  excuses for you  extra cookies to put back in the jar, as many as you need,  so nobody in the principal's office will find out  they're missing." "But you knew about it", you said it was okay" Mikey blurts out, choking, "I'm feeling trapped,  I might have to go home sick  so nobody can point fingers at me". "Not now,  not now,  Mikey, no point in adding more lies discussing embarrassing unnecessary details, is there, I already decided you're it." "Good idea",   Mikey says, relief all over his chubby sweating face,  "Thank God,  I  ate a lot of cookies, I do have a tummy-ache -- but ---but---I got checks and I work hard and am honest so....". "Shut up, we caught you, Mikey, you just admitted  you're guilty!"  said Mr. Stephen.  "Class, see what happens?  Never admit you're guilty of filching anything, that's our  lesson for today." " Mr Stephen won't blame me, after all, it's  the impression of honesty that counts Pammie whispers, smiling secretly, then winking at Mr. Stephen's Cheshire Cat smile,  as she shifts her eyes about and primps  her hair.  "Later, baby" she whispers.    Mr. Stephen reacts instinctively  by blushing and primping his hair too.   "Let's all look good and honest and nobody will figure it out" he says out loud. "Oh, we'll look good,  --- I took the bus yesterday  instead of the limo to show how frugal I am",  did you see that, Mr. Stephen ?  I hope everybody in Canada  was watching"  Pammie whispers loudly. "I don't care if we look good, or honest, or anything "   smirks Patrick. "Who's gonna do anything about it anyway? Nobody can touch us, we're the senate  in Senatorial  class, my friend Mr. Stephen said so,  and Mr. T Axpayer will be here this afternoon with my limo  to fill up the cookie jar again anyway. What a fool,  what a School!  Isn't it great to be in Senatorial school, learning how to become systemic rotters and liars?   The class breaks into raucous laughter, clapping. Mr. Stephen smiles, winks at Mr. Nigel and coughs. "Psst..."no problem, Nigel, we have lots of checks" "Okay, children,  we shall lie enough to get away with it this time;  we're sure the class for systemic rotters & liars has been a success.  Now if you'll just open your  "How to Sell  Major Resources to China and Other Foreign Nations "  instruction book, I'll demonstrate  how to sell our natural resources to China and Asia at giveaway prices without  environmental restrictions --so we can get rich!  Won't that be fun children?   The best part?   Mr. T.Axpayer won't even know the difference!   "psst.....Meanwhile, anyone want a cookie? " All hands in the Senatorial class go up immediately....   Is that Incoming I hear?  
Posted in Ethics, Life, Major Issues, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , | 2 Comments