There comes a point when a dream becomes reality and reality becomes a dream.
Frances Farmer
****************
Hello Jen
*****************
I look at what needs to be done and I feel helpless. But I push on. Am I just cutting stones or am I building a temple? Am I designing spoons or spaceships? And what's the difference?
For various reasons I had to cut back on my life as an actor, so I started drawing. I took lessons at the Art Students League in New York. Eventually I started painting. All I was doing was keeping the creative strings tight and properly tuned.
I knew people who had had years of formal training as artists and here I was a rank beginner. I was intimidated by viewing the work done by the artists I knew. I didn't take my paintings seriously. Until one day, years ago, someone bought one of them. He asked me how much I wanted for it, gave me the money and took the painting. At first I was sad. I liked that picture and would have enjoyed looking at it for a long time. But then I thought that if I enjoyed it and he enjoyed it then others might also and it would be selfish of me to hoard it. That changed my perspective about my art work. My dream became a reality. Since then I've sold several others.
I wrote to a friend today that I wish I could get more training. There are so many things I would like to know: water color, sculpture, lithography and other graphic arts. That's my dream now. Will it ever become a reality?
I also began to write. Other than almost two thousand issues of Vagabond Journeys I have 2 novels and a flock of short stories. Nothing is published but some news items for a local paper. Even so it is much easier to think of myself as a writer than a painter. But maybe that's a reality that is really becoming just a dream. Maybe as I sit at the keyboard I'm just cutting stones, making spoons.
The most sturdy but scary perception I have is that of imagination, intelligence, natural law and the cosmic creative process all of which actually do the work. I'm just the harp. Something grander than I am plucks the strings. That's the reality.
DB - The Vagabond
Never give up.
*****************
Showing posts with label writing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label writing. Show all posts
Monday, October 1, 2012
Saturday, May 5, 2012
On The Boards
There's one more horizon out there, one more horizon that you have to make for yourself and let other people discover it.
Gordon Parks
**************************
Hello George
**************************
I want to go back to work. It makes no difference how good you are, if you're an artist there is always more to do, more ideas, more expressions, more experiences to describe, more truth to tell, more wisdom to share. The intelligence of the universe, of all creation, is unlimited, therefore there is no limit to the ideas which can be discovered and expressed.
I knew a broadcaster named Chester. He was very good. He was the only announcer I ever knew who could tell exactly what time it was without looking at the clock.
One day he retired. His family had grown, he had a healthy pension and some very solid investments. So off he went into the world of freedom and financial independence. It wasn't long before he was back for a visit and saying that he still had ideas inside of him that needed to come out.
I called my friend Diane last night. She and I did a season of stock together years ago. She is also living in a place, in her case Florida, that she wants to get out of. We talked of meeting up in New York and doing "The Gin Game" together. That would be a sight to see. Another friend, Charles, and I would like to do"The Dresser" some day, another sight to behold.
Me best memories are on a stage somewhere, the only place I ever felt at home. So here I am stuck in a nowhere town and itching to get out and back to New York where the auditions are. But I'm also stuck in a body that doesn't work and needs a complete overhaul. Alas, alack and woe is me.
I started painting in New York because I was encouraged to by one of my art instructors and by fellow artists. I always get a chuckle when I remember an actor I used to know who looked at the price of the paints I was using (Golden, the best acrylic paint in my opinion, and, no, they're not paying me, unless they want to, of course) and said "This is a very expensive hobby." To him anything other than acting is a hobby.
I started writing about 6 years ago. When I became unable to work as an actor because of physical problems, the only thing I had besides paints and brushes was my computer, which was a gift from a dear friend. I wrote a few sentences now and then and posted them. I'm also an avid reader. So I began to jot down quotes, and write comments about them. Then one day Linda in Washington State discovered me, told on me, people started sending me comments and that's how Vagabond Journeys was born, and now there are over 1,700 issues of it.
In my profile it used to say I'm a retired actor and broadcaster, but I realized not long ago that I am not retired as an artist so why should I say so. I am looking at the horizons I have made for myself. Ingrained into the creative process of an artist, like a tattoo, an extra rib or a sixth finger is an intense and controlling necessity to bring those horizons alive and palpitating, waiting for others to discover.
There is one more horizon, and when that is reached, there's one more, and then there's one more and then....
I'm stuck in a neighborhood I don't like, in a town I don't like, rattled with illnesses and no health insurance on a meager income and I think I going to get back to New York and start appearing on the stage, my home, again. Who are you kidding, DB?
Some day soon I'll do it. Watch me.
Dana Bate - The Vagabond
Never Give up
****************************
Gordon Parks
**************************
Hello George
**************************
I want to go back to work. It makes no difference how good you are, if you're an artist there is always more to do, more ideas, more expressions, more experiences to describe, more truth to tell, more wisdom to share. The intelligence of the universe, of all creation, is unlimited, therefore there is no limit to the ideas which can be discovered and expressed.
I knew a broadcaster named Chester. He was very good. He was the only announcer I ever knew who could tell exactly what time it was without looking at the clock.
One day he retired. His family had grown, he had a healthy pension and some very solid investments. So off he went into the world of freedom and financial independence. It wasn't long before he was back for a visit and saying that he still had ideas inside of him that needed to come out.
I called my friend Diane last night. She and I did a season of stock together years ago. She is also living in a place, in her case Florida, that she wants to get out of. We talked of meeting up in New York and doing "The Gin Game" together. That would be a sight to see. Another friend, Charles, and I would like to do"The Dresser" some day, another sight to behold.
Me best memories are on a stage somewhere, the only place I ever felt at home. So here I am stuck in a nowhere town and itching to get out and back to New York where the auditions are. But I'm also stuck in a body that doesn't work and needs a complete overhaul. Alas, alack and woe is me.
I started painting in New York because I was encouraged to by one of my art instructors and by fellow artists. I always get a chuckle when I remember an actor I used to know who looked at the price of the paints I was using (Golden, the best acrylic paint in my opinion, and, no, they're not paying me, unless they want to, of course) and said "This is a very expensive hobby." To him anything other than acting is a hobby.
I started writing about 6 years ago. When I became unable to work as an actor because of physical problems, the only thing I had besides paints and brushes was my computer, which was a gift from a dear friend. I wrote a few sentences now and then and posted them. I'm also an avid reader. So I began to jot down quotes, and write comments about them. Then one day Linda in Washington State discovered me, told on me, people started sending me comments and that's how Vagabond Journeys was born, and now there are over 1,700 issues of it.
In my profile it used to say I'm a retired actor and broadcaster, but I realized not long ago that I am not retired as an artist so why should I say so. I am looking at the horizons I have made for myself. Ingrained into the creative process of an artist, like a tattoo, an extra rib or a sixth finger is an intense and controlling necessity to bring those horizons alive and palpitating, waiting for others to discover.
There is one more horizon, and when that is reached, there's one more, and then there's one more and then....
I'm stuck in a neighborhood I don't like, in a town I don't like, rattled with illnesses and no health insurance on a meager income and I think I going to get back to New York and start appearing on the stage, my home, again. Who are you kidding, DB?
Some day soon I'll do it. Watch me.
Dana Bate - The Vagabond
Never Give up
****************************
Tuesday, April 17, 2012
Writers Cramp
Most writers who wait until they are inspired to write are just waiting for the fear to subside.
Barry Mann
****************
Hello Arlene
******************
Oh come now. It's just putting works together on a page What is there to be afraid of?
Plenty.
DB - Vagabond Journeys
Never Give Up
**************************
Barry Mann
****************
Hello Arlene
******************
Oh come now. It's just putting works together on a page What is there to be afraid of?
Plenty.
DB - Vagabond Journeys
Never Give Up
**************************
Friday, March 23, 2012
The Arts In You
Walk on. Walk on. Nothin' ever stays wrong that long
Reba McIntire
********************
Hello Jen
********************
The creative act should be a joyous one whether you're designing a tea cup or a temple. A person can sit feeling that their life is in shambles, take a pencil and make a few marks on a piece of paper, even if it's just a doodle, and things immediately start to get better. Maybe the improvement is barely noticeable but if the creative process picks up it will have a measurable effect.
Maybe drawing and painting isn't the right road for the pursuit of your particular form of jollity. Try writing. Put down on paper just how miserable you feel and then try to make it humorous.
No? OK, then try one of the other forms of creativity. Don't just nest in front of the TV and hope the distraction will make you feel better. It will, temporarily. But when the soporific horror story of personally uninvolved pursuit of justice wears off you will still be miserable. The endless playing of games is just as hypnotic as TV and robs us of many hours of life.
Art is a mixture of physical activity, imagination and discovery. As an actor it was always a pleasure to find the mental imagery that described the goal or desire that took me through a scene. It was graphic and interesting.
Dip the brush in blue paint and put it on the canvas. The color announces itself in graphic terms and asks to be spread around in your life and connected with others. There may end up being no blue at all in your picture, but that is a matter of discovery.
I'm a terrible typist. I make so many mistakes it takes me twice as long to write something as it should. Even so the process of writing is a pleasure for me, and often a necessity. I enjoy putting the words on the page because I know the words are there. When my life is miserable the words can say what my silent screams can't. I often wonder if my writing is important enough. Is it a tea cup or a temple? In the theatre there's a saying: There are no bit parts, only bit players. Miles Davis said that there are no wrong notes. And Reba McIntire says "Nothin' stays wrong that long." If you set out to design a temple and it comes out a tea cup, so what? You might start out with a tea cup some day and come up with a temple.
As human beings we have been given imagination, creativity, the ability to see, hear and think, to articulate what we think, to discover and design. It's an insult to life if we don't.
I miss the theatre very much and the people in it. I miss art class. I miss playing in an orchestra. But I can write and paint. I have a new home and a new life. Creativity lives here. Joy will follow.
DB - The Vagabond
Never Give Up
**********************
Reba McIntire
********************
Hello Jen
********************
The creative act should be a joyous one whether you're designing a tea cup or a temple. A person can sit feeling that their life is in shambles, take a pencil and make a few marks on a piece of paper, even if it's just a doodle, and things immediately start to get better. Maybe the improvement is barely noticeable but if the creative process picks up it will have a measurable effect.
Maybe drawing and painting isn't the right road for the pursuit of your particular form of jollity. Try writing. Put down on paper just how miserable you feel and then try to make it humorous.
No? OK, then try one of the other forms of creativity. Don't just nest in front of the TV and hope the distraction will make you feel better. It will, temporarily. But when the soporific horror story of personally uninvolved pursuit of justice wears off you will still be miserable. The endless playing of games is just as hypnotic as TV and robs us of many hours of life.
Art is a mixture of physical activity, imagination and discovery. As an actor it was always a pleasure to find the mental imagery that described the goal or desire that took me through a scene. It was graphic and interesting.
Dip the brush in blue paint and put it on the canvas. The color announces itself in graphic terms and asks to be spread around in your life and connected with others. There may end up being no blue at all in your picture, but that is a matter of discovery.
I'm a terrible typist. I make so many mistakes it takes me twice as long to write something as it should. Even so the process of writing is a pleasure for me, and often a necessity. I enjoy putting the words on the page because I know the words are there. When my life is miserable the words can say what my silent screams can't. I often wonder if my writing is important enough. Is it a tea cup or a temple? In the theatre there's a saying: There are no bit parts, only bit players. Miles Davis said that there are no wrong notes. And Reba McIntire says "Nothin' stays wrong that long." If you set out to design a temple and it comes out a tea cup, so what? You might start out with a tea cup some day and come up with a temple.
As human beings we have been given imagination, creativity, the ability to see, hear and think, to articulate what we think, to discover and design. It's an insult to life if we don't.
I miss the theatre very much and the people in it. I miss art class. I miss playing in an orchestra. But I can write and paint. I have a new home and a new life. Creativity lives here. Joy will follow.
DB - The Vagabond
Never Give Up
**********************
Wednesday, February 15, 2012
I Write
Why do I write?
Dana Bate - The Vagabond
*****************************
Hello Mark
*****************************
I write to stay sane in an insane world.
I write to love in a hateful world.
I write for my life in a deadly world.
I write to find peace in a cruel world.
I write for joy in a sorry world.
I write to think in a thoughtless world.
I write to be safe in a dangerous world.
I write to chase phantoms from my brain.
I write to squeeze passion from my heart.
I write to forget the malignant smile.
I write to save the suffering child.
I write to revise the pain I feel.
I write to seize my old age with strength.
I write for light in a gloomy world.
I write to creep away from lies.
I write to remember the never again.
I write to clear the table before me.
I write to sting the vipers.
I write to avoid the ignorant.
I write to see the mountain top.
I write to decorate my solitude.
I write for truth in a dishonest world.
I write to understand my words.
I write to beautify my friends.
I write to calm the raging in my soul.
I write to scream at heaven.
I write to find my place.
I write to lose my stupidity.
I write to try to forgive myself.
I write to banish treachery from my sight.
I write to signal angels.
I write to silently weep.
I write for rightness in a wronged world.
I write for freedom in a world of slavery.
I write to mourn my life of trouble.
I write for goodness in an evil world.
I write for the death of evil.
I write to pray for bliss.
I write to ask for help.
DB - Vagabond Journeys
Never Give Up
Dana Bate - The Vagabond
*****************************
Hello Mark
*****************************
I write to stay sane in an insane world.
I write to love in a hateful world.
I write for my life in a deadly world.
I write to find peace in a cruel world.
I write for joy in a sorry world.
I write to think in a thoughtless world.
I write to be safe in a dangerous world.
I write to chase phantoms from my brain.
I write to squeeze passion from my heart.
I write to forget the malignant smile.
I write to save the suffering child.
I write to revise the pain I feel.
I write to seize my old age with strength.
I write for light in a gloomy world.
I write to creep away from lies.
I write to remember the never again.
I write to clear the table before me.
I write to sting the vipers.
I write to avoid the ignorant.
I write to see the mountain top.
I write to decorate my solitude.
I write for truth in a dishonest world.
I write to understand my words.
I write to beautify my friends.
I write to calm the raging in my soul.
I write to scream at heaven.
I write to find my place.
I write to lose my stupidity.
I write to try to forgive myself.
I write to banish treachery from my sight.
I write to signal angels.
I write to silently weep.
I write for rightness in a wronged world.
I write for freedom in a world of slavery.
I write to mourn my life of trouble.
I write for goodness in an evil world.
I write for the death of evil.
I write to pray for bliss.
I write to ask for help.
DB - Vagabond Journeys
Never Give Up
Saturday, August 6, 2011
Write Your Heart
The writer, when he is also an artist, is someone who admits what others don't dare reveal.
Elia Kazan
********************
A man asked if I would read and critique his play. I had been recommended. The play was about a famous assassination and the way he described it I thought it might be interesting so I agreed. What I thought was going to be a drama turned out to be a musical, of sorts. It opened with a chorus of guys in a pub. The dialogue was cliched and predictable, the characters were two dimensional and the plot was boring. I fell asleep while reading the first act.
Among the worst things about it was that he tried to reproduce English accents: "Oi" instead of "I" and "eer" instead of "here." And at one point he brought George Bernard Shaw into the pub.
The play had no drama. It was a piece of history trying to be a play. There was no point of view and not a single word from his own heart. There was no suspense, no justification for the assassination and virtually no reaction among the other people to it. I told him all this and I also said that if he wants to bring Shaw into the play he had better write dialogue that is at least as clever as Shaw's.
Another fellow, one who had successfully written a few plays, had just finished one about an S&M relationship. I was in the first public reading of the play. In the discussion that followed it was felt by many that he did not sufficiently cover the subject. He had written more about the effect of the relationship on the main characters instead of the relationship itself. He admitted that, said that he was a pipe and slippers sort of man and didn't really want to have to think about such a relationship in his life even though the story was important to him. But he took the criticism properly and did some good solid rewriting.
I was cast in a film about a father daughter relationship in which the girl had been abused and was confronting her father about it years later. The major scene in the film was this confrontation. The director was also the writer and I'm sure the story was autobiographical.
Every time we rehearsed this scene there was a long discussion about what my character thought and felt. She never seemed to be satisfied with my answers. I pointed out to her that since she wrote the script she should be the one with the answers. But it didn't take long to realize that she was trying to psychoanalyze her father through me. She never discussed the scene with the actress playing the daughter nor did she give her any notes. As a result actresses were getting disgusted with all the time wasted on figuring me out and they left. Girls went through that role like people through a revolving door, each one of poorer quality that the last. The final girl didn't even play the scene to me.. It didn't matter to the director who played the girls part, she was only interested in my character.
There was no scene in the script depicting the abusive moment that had taken place and I told the director that she had to write it in to the story or no one was going to understand or believe the drama.
She did, and the scene she came up with was so simplistic, minor, innocent, accidental and easily forgivable it didn't justify the confrontation. That's when I left the job. I know she interviewed other actors but I don't think the film was ever made.
Verisimilitude for an artist is an important and sometimes scary thing. One does not need to experience murder, perversion or child abuse to write about them when the artist's creative imagination supplies the materials. Shakespeare was certainly not squeamish about writing of lust, violence and cruelty.
I have written and will write about parts of my life that some men would not dare admit to about themselves, the dark places, where fools fear to tread. That's all right, all as it should be. I am blessed/cursed with being a creative person. I have no choice.
DB - The Vagabond
Never give up.
**************************
SUMMER QUESTION
Summer is moving along, people.
It's a long, hot, sticky summer, so here's a hot, sticky question for you. Don't let the recent New York State decision rob you of your thunder.
Same sex marriage. Should it be legal or not? If so, why? If not, why not?
dbdacoba@aol.com
13 answers so far.
You have until the last day of summer, but don't dally.
I eagerly await your answer.
DB
************************
Elia Kazan
********************
A man asked if I would read and critique his play. I had been recommended. The play was about a famous assassination and the way he described it I thought it might be interesting so I agreed. What I thought was going to be a drama turned out to be a musical, of sorts. It opened with a chorus of guys in a pub. The dialogue was cliched and predictable, the characters were two dimensional and the plot was boring. I fell asleep while reading the first act.
Among the worst things about it was that he tried to reproduce English accents: "Oi" instead of "I" and "eer" instead of "here." And at one point he brought George Bernard Shaw into the pub.
The play had no drama. It was a piece of history trying to be a play. There was no point of view and not a single word from his own heart. There was no suspense, no justification for the assassination and virtually no reaction among the other people to it. I told him all this and I also said that if he wants to bring Shaw into the play he had better write dialogue that is at least as clever as Shaw's.
Another fellow, one who had successfully written a few plays, had just finished one about an S&M relationship. I was in the first public reading of the play. In the discussion that followed it was felt by many that he did not sufficiently cover the subject. He had written more about the effect of the relationship on the main characters instead of the relationship itself. He admitted that, said that he was a pipe and slippers sort of man and didn't really want to have to think about such a relationship in his life even though the story was important to him. But he took the criticism properly and did some good solid rewriting.
I was cast in a film about a father daughter relationship in which the girl had been abused and was confronting her father about it years later. The major scene in the film was this confrontation. The director was also the writer and I'm sure the story was autobiographical.
Every time we rehearsed this scene there was a long discussion about what my character thought and felt. She never seemed to be satisfied with my answers. I pointed out to her that since she wrote the script she should be the one with the answers. But it didn't take long to realize that she was trying to psychoanalyze her father through me. She never discussed the scene with the actress playing the daughter nor did she give her any notes. As a result actresses were getting disgusted with all the time wasted on figuring me out and they left. Girls went through that role like people through a revolving door, each one of poorer quality that the last. The final girl didn't even play the scene to me.. It didn't matter to the director who played the girls part, she was only interested in my character.
There was no scene in the script depicting the abusive moment that had taken place and I told the director that she had to write it in to the story or no one was going to understand or believe the drama.
She did, and the scene she came up with was so simplistic, minor, innocent, accidental and easily forgivable it didn't justify the confrontation. That's when I left the job. I know she interviewed other actors but I don't think the film was ever made.
Verisimilitude for an artist is an important and sometimes scary thing. One does not need to experience murder, perversion or child abuse to write about them when the artist's creative imagination supplies the materials. Shakespeare was certainly not squeamish about writing of lust, violence and cruelty.
I have written and will write about parts of my life that some men would not dare admit to about themselves, the dark places, where fools fear to tread. That's all right, all as it should be. I am blessed/cursed with being a creative person. I have no choice.
DB - The Vagabond
Never give up.
**************************
SUMMER QUESTION
Summer is moving along, people.
It's a long, hot, sticky summer, so here's a hot, sticky question for you. Don't let the recent New York State decision rob you of your thunder.
Same sex marriage. Should it be legal or not? If so, why? If not, why not?
dbdacoba@aol.com
13 answers so far.
You have until the last day of summer, but don't dally.
I eagerly await your answer.
DB
************************
Monday, April 18, 2011
The Free Artist
Artistry is possible only for those who acknowledge necessity as a condition of, rather than as a limit upon, their freedom to act.
Aaron Ridley
******************
Hello Bermuda
********************
You might as well make a pot of tea because this is a long one. Of course, you could skip it if you want to. But if you do that I won't send you any more cookies.
----------------------------
"Why do I keep writing?" I asked myself in my journal a few days ago. Naturally, the answer is "I write because I have to." Every morning two vicious, sinister guys in double breasted suits show up here with Tasers wanting to see what I wrote the day before. If I can't show them something I'm in for a lot of trouble. One day I said I was tired and needed to rest. That earned me a smack across the back of the head with a tether ball paddle.
The two men in suits are known as imagination and humor. I write because I must, because the ideas flow. It's like breathing. If you exhale you have to inhale. Every time I exhale it's another vagabond journey. If you inhale you have to exhale, there is only so long I can hold my breath.
If you walked in on me you would probably find me sitting on my bed staring aimlessly into space. At least that's what it would look like. (My mother used to think I was dopey.) But that's where the inspiration is, in the silent breath of ideas.
Like the lungs, the human mind works by itself. But also like the lungs we can control its workings. I have a quote somewhere which says that the reason people get lost in thought is because it's unfamiliar territory. A long time ago I decided that since my mind was going to work, as long as I was continuing to think, I had a responsibility to myself to think as clearly and as originally as possible. One doesn't have to be a great thinker, a genius, to utilize one's intelligence intelligently. It takes a little discipline and some getting used to.
Another thing I decided was that I didn't want to express myself through grand old sterling silver cliches. Most of them were invented by Shakespeare anyway, like "wild goose chase" and "eaten me out of house and home." His was a good example. If he can make them up, so can I.
So now I look forward to sitting down at the keyboard after staring into space to discover what this senior citizen's imagination is going to hatch. And I don't hold my breath.
---------------------------------
It was the same with my acting. I may have told this story before. (What DB? You're repeating yourself? Warn the Google censors.) If you've heard it before you can talk among yourselves or go out for a beer.
I was doing "A Christmas Carol" at a New York State theatre. There was a quick change in the show, when Scrooge goes from his bed clothes into the winter clothes he wears to visit Fred's family and on the way buy the goose for the Cratchets.
The production gave me one minute to make the change. On stage was a small group singing a hymn. My dresser was a retired actress who had been the understudy for some of the most famous actresses on Broadway. Quick changes are things that have to be carefully designed and thoroughly rehearsed. The first time we did the change it took about five minutes. But we gradually worked it down to about a minute, and that's how we opened the show. But as time went buy we got even faster with it, and one night we did it in about 30 seconds. I went out and joined the singers.
After the performance my dresser said she was very impressed that instead of resting for the 30 seconds I went back out on the stage and it showed that's where I really wanted to be.
I was well into my career when that happened, but early on I learned that being on the stage was the place where I was the most comfortable, the most at home. I was free to work through the words of the great playwrights, to depict the human race to itself in all its disguises, to offer messages of joy, healing, fresh ideas and fresh expressions of standard ideas, to invite the people who saw me into the strange and wonderful world of human life through art. It was my necessity.
Now I write and I paint. If you do what you love you will do it even when you're tired. If you do what you love because you must, you won't even know you're tired.
Thank you for reading my journal.
DB - The Vagabond
**************************
SPRING QUESTION
(This is not a contest)
NASA has planned to send a two man mission on an 18 month trip to the planet Mars. It would take 6 months for the astronauts to get there and after 6 months of exploration another 6 months to return.
Should they do it and why, and if not, why not?
dbdacoba@aol.com
4 answers so far
I eagerly await your answer.
DB
******************
Aaron Ridley
******************
Hello Bermuda
********************
You might as well make a pot of tea because this is a long one. Of course, you could skip it if you want to. But if you do that I won't send you any more cookies.
----------------------------
"Why do I keep writing?" I asked myself in my journal a few days ago. Naturally, the answer is "I write because I have to." Every morning two vicious, sinister guys in double breasted suits show up here with Tasers wanting to see what I wrote the day before. If I can't show them something I'm in for a lot of trouble. One day I said I was tired and needed to rest. That earned me a smack across the back of the head with a tether ball paddle.
The two men in suits are known as imagination and humor. I write because I must, because the ideas flow. It's like breathing. If you exhale you have to inhale. Every time I exhale it's another vagabond journey. If you inhale you have to exhale, there is only so long I can hold my breath.
If you walked in on me you would probably find me sitting on my bed staring aimlessly into space. At least that's what it would look like. (My mother used to think I was dopey.) But that's where the inspiration is, in the silent breath of ideas.
Like the lungs, the human mind works by itself. But also like the lungs we can control its workings. I have a quote somewhere which says that the reason people get lost in thought is because it's unfamiliar territory. A long time ago I decided that since my mind was going to work, as long as I was continuing to think, I had a responsibility to myself to think as clearly and as originally as possible. One doesn't have to be a great thinker, a genius, to utilize one's intelligence intelligently. It takes a little discipline and some getting used to.
Another thing I decided was that I didn't want to express myself through grand old sterling silver cliches. Most of them were invented by Shakespeare anyway, like "wild goose chase" and "eaten me out of house and home." His was a good example. If he can make them up, so can I.
So now I look forward to sitting down at the keyboard after staring into space to discover what this senior citizen's imagination is going to hatch. And I don't hold my breath.
---------------------------------
It was the same with my acting. I may have told this story before. (What DB? You're repeating yourself? Warn the Google censors.) If you've heard it before you can talk among yourselves or go out for a beer.
I was doing "A Christmas Carol" at a New York State theatre. There was a quick change in the show, when Scrooge goes from his bed clothes into the winter clothes he wears to visit Fred's family and on the way buy the goose for the Cratchets.
The production gave me one minute to make the change. On stage was a small group singing a hymn. My dresser was a retired actress who had been the understudy for some of the most famous actresses on Broadway. Quick changes are things that have to be carefully designed and thoroughly rehearsed. The first time we did the change it took about five minutes. But we gradually worked it down to about a minute, and that's how we opened the show. But as time went buy we got even faster with it, and one night we did it in about 30 seconds. I went out and joined the singers.
After the performance my dresser said she was very impressed that instead of resting for the 30 seconds I went back out on the stage and it showed that's where I really wanted to be.
I was well into my career when that happened, but early on I learned that being on the stage was the place where I was the most comfortable, the most at home. I was free to work through the words of the great playwrights, to depict the human race to itself in all its disguises, to offer messages of joy, healing, fresh ideas and fresh expressions of standard ideas, to invite the people who saw me into the strange and wonderful world of human life through art. It was my necessity.
Now I write and I paint. If you do what you love you will do it even when you're tired. If you do what you love because you must, you won't even know you're tired.
Thank you for reading my journal.
DB - The Vagabond
**************************
SPRING QUESTION
(This is not a contest)
NASA has planned to send a two man mission on an 18 month trip to the planet Mars. It would take 6 months for the astronauts to get there and after 6 months of exploration another 6 months to return.
Should they do it and why, and if not, why not?
dbdacoba@aol.com
4 answers so far
I eagerly await your answer.
DB
******************
Tuesday, December 7, 2010
It's In The Details
Nothing in life demands closer attention than the things which seem natural.
Honore de Balzac
**********************
I am currently reading, among other things, "The Black Sheep" by Balzac. If Balzac isn't the greatest French novelist, he is certainly high on the nomination list. One of his great gifts is in character descriptions. Before any action you know so much about the characters that you feel as if you know them personally.
It's an enviable ability. As a writer I tend to be more concerned with thoughts and actions than in my descriptions of characters. I suppose that is because I spent so many years as an actor where most of what I read were plays. Playwrights spend very little time on character descriptions. There is dialogue and speeches. From those the actor learns about the character and depicts him on the stage rather than in writing.
In both cases however great attention must be paid to details. An actor makes so many decisions from his imagination and intuition about the role he plays that would seem unimportant and useless to playing the role, and they are things the audience may never see, but they add dimensions to the life of the character that makes him more believable and therefore fuller and richer for his participation in the story. And as Balzac says these are often natural things that one would take for granted and not think about, such as which shoe does he put on first when dressing, what does he have for breakfast, what's his favorite music, does he bite his fingernails, what does he do that he's embarrassed about, does he like cats or not.
Each of the things the actor finds about the role he plays are tucked back into a sack of characteristics that he carries with him into the role. Some are more important than others, but all are useful.
In my current novel "The Savior" I have avoided character descriptions so far, as I concentrate on the plot, I am planning to go back and fill in the descriptions of the main characters. Balzac shows me that I better do it soon.
Then there's the matter of our personal characters. Could you write an honest, objective, third person description of yourself that would convince anyone of who you are? What would you leave out? What would you forget? And what is there to you that you don't even know about? Maybe there are habits you have, simple quirks of behavior that you consider perfectly natural (Doesn't everyone eat there peas with a knife?) but which other people might find strange and unnatural. How closely do you pay attention to your behavior and your life? The more natural it seems the more it needs to be observed.
DB
Vagabond
***********
AUTUMN QUESTION
(This is not a contest.)
At what event of the past do you wish you could be present? Why?
Only 8 responses so far.
dbdacoba@aol.com
Thank you.
DB
************************
Honore de Balzac
**********************
I am currently reading, among other things, "The Black Sheep" by Balzac. If Balzac isn't the greatest French novelist, he is certainly high on the nomination list. One of his great gifts is in character descriptions. Before any action you know so much about the characters that you feel as if you know them personally.
It's an enviable ability. As a writer I tend to be more concerned with thoughts and actions than in my descriptions of characters. I suppose that is because I spent so many years as an actor where most of what I read were plays. Playwrights spend very little time on character descriptions. There is dialogue and speeches. From those the actor learns about the character and depicts him on the stage rather than in writing.
In both cases however great attention must be paid to details. An actor makes so many decisions from his imagination and intuition about the role he plays that would seem unimportant and useless to playing the role, and they are things the audience may never see, but they add dimensions to the life of the character that makes him more believable and therefore fuller and richer for his participation in the story. And as Balzac says these are often natural things that one would take for granted and not think about, such as which shoe does he put on first when dressing, what does he have for breakfast, what's his favorite music, does he bite his fingernails, what does he do that he's embarrassed about, does he like cats or not.
Each of the things the actor finds about the role he plays are tucked back into a sack of characteristics that he carries with him into the role. Some are more important than others, but all are useful.
In my current novel "The Savior" I have avoided character descriptions so far, as I concentrate on the plot, I am planning to go back and fill in the descriptions of the main characters. Balzac shows me that I better do it soon.
Then there's the matter of our personal characters. Could you write an honest, objective, third person description of yourself that would convince anyone of who you are? What would you leave out? What would you forget? And what is there to you that you don't even know about? Maybe there are habits you have, simple quirks of behavior that you consider perfectly natural (Doesn't everyone eat there peas with a knife?) but which other people might find strange and unnatural. How closely do you pay attention to your behavior and your life? The more natural it seems the more it needs to be observed.
DB
Vagabond
***********
AUTUMN QUESTION
(This is not a contest.)
At what event of the past do you wish you could be present? Why?
Only 8 responses so far.
dbdacoba@aol.com
Thank you.
DB
************************
Saturday, November 6, 2010
The Creative Process
Action always generates inspiration. Inspiration seldom generates action.
Frank Tibolt
*****************
One of the amazing things to me about being an artist is to see the result. I can read someone's poem, see a picture or hear a piece of music and not know what went into making it. I can appreciate the result. But when I look at my own work and know the steps, the struggle, the doubts, the discoveries, the anguish and delight that brought it into existence, I am impressed if the result is good, but I'm more amazed at the existence of the creative process itself. It is a gift to me to be able to do the kind of work I do and have done all my life.
One draws a line on a piece of paper, picks out a tone on a musical instrument or puts a word down on a page and the famous thousand mile journey has begun with that single step. I do a lot of writing in my head before I approach the keyboard. There's an idea. I let it sit in my mind and draw nourishment from my life, my memories or what I've learned from other writers. Soon it begins to send forth shoots and blossoms. I start putting words down and joining them together, making patterns of thought. A patch of a mental garden begins to take shape. I decide what to put in it, what looks nice there, what is appropriate and what's not.
Then I stop and breathe. The creative process is afoot and I can trust that it is. It will supply me with the ideas I want because I have put down the right soil and nourished it propoerly. I can answer emails, delete spam, go to the market, wash the dishes or even take a nap and when I come back to it it's waiting and ready for me. In the meantime it has grown some more and I will see that when I type the next word.
As an actor getting a new script was like receiving a surprise package or a map to buried treasure. What was a printed book, with words and ideas, bound together by the hand of a playwright soon took on another life as my life was bound up in it. Eventually the book was once again just a book but the work of art was in the action on the stage. That is the alchemy of theatre.
DB - The Vagabond
********************
WEEKEND PUZZLE
Below are some familiar phrases. Only one of them is legitimate. Which one is it and what is wrong with the others? That is your chore.
EXTRA: You get bonus point if you can think of other illegitimate ones.
--------------------------
CLOSE PROXIMITY
CRIMINAL INTENT
FALSE PRETENCE
FREE GIFT
OPENING GAMBIT
PHILHARMONIC ORCHESTRA
PIN NUMBER
SPOTLESSLY CLEAN
UNEXPECTED SURPRISE
Good luck
DB
*************
Frank Tibolt
*****************
One of the amazing things to me about being an artist is to see the result. I can read someone's poem, see a picture or hear a piece of music and not know what went into making it. I can appreciate the result. But when I look at my own work and know the steps, the struggle, the doubts, the discoveries, the anguish and delight that brought it into existence, I am impressed if the result is good, but I'm more amazed at the existence of the creative process itself. It is a gift to me to be able to do the kind of work I do and have done all my life.
One draws a line on a piece of paper, picks out a tone on a musical instrument or puts a word down on a page and the famous thousand mile journey has begun with that single step. I do a lot of writing in my head before I approach the keyboard. There's an idea. I let it sit in my mind and draw nourishment from my life, my memories or what I've learned from other writers. Soon it begins to send forth shoots and blossoms. I start putting words down and joining them together, making patterns of thought. A patch of a mental garden begins to take shape. I decide what to put in it, what looks nice there, what is appropriate and what's not.
Then I stop and breathe. The creative process is afoot and I can trust that it is. It will supply me with the ideas I want because I have put down the right soil and nourished it propoerly. I can answer emails, delete spam, go to the market, wash the dishes or even take a nap and when I come back to it it's waiting and ready for me. In the meantime it has grown some more and I will see that when I type the next word.
As an actor getting a new script was like receiving a surprise package or a map to buried treasure. What was a printed book, with words and ideas, bound together by the hand of a playwright soon took on another life as my life was bound up in it. Eventually the book was once again just a book but the work of art was in the action on the stage. That is the alchemy of theatre.
DB - The Vagabond
********************
WEEKEND PUZZLE
Below are some familiar phrases. Only one of them is legitimate. Which one is it and what is wrong with the others? That is your chore.
EXTRA: You get bonus point if you can think of other illegitimate ones.
--------------------------
CLOSE PROXIMITY
CRIMINAL INTENT
FALSE PRETENCE
FREE GIFT
OPENING GAMBIT
PHILHARMONIC ORCHESTRA
PIN NUMBER
SPOTLESSLY CLEAN
UNEXPECTED SURPRISE
Good luck
DB
*************
Friday, September 10, 2010
Taking The Steps
It takes a lifetime to grow. People haven't the patience any more.
Lawrence Durrell
*********************
Anyone who has ever run a marathon knows that there is no other athletic event like it. It rquires strength, stamina, endurance and comfortable shoes. A marathon race is precisely 26 miles, 385 yards. To vigorously put one foot in front of the other for that distance without stopping is a formidable task.
At the New York City Marathon the finishers are given a light, plastic silver colored robe to wear. After the race one can see people wearing the robe around town. When you see someone with one of them you say "How did you do?" And the answer will be "7 hours, 29 minutes." "4 hours, 17 minutes." "3 hours, 36 minutes." And so on. You hardly ever see the front runners, the 2+ hours people, because they are scooped up and taken to celebration parties. It takes great skill to win a marathon race or to even come in close to the winner.
Yesterday I read an article which said that writing is like a marathon. It also takes strength, stamina, endurance and skill. There is one big difference however. The marathon runner doesn't take a break. He doesn't make another cup of coffee, answer the phone or go down for the mail. A writer has a powerful advantage that he is able to stop what he's doing and think about it.
There are some similarities to both activities. At the start of the race the runner may wish to be at the finish line and all his energies are focused on that. The starting gun of an idea may provoke the writer to begin and wish the novel or essay was finished. On the other hand when the runner crosses the finish line he knows the race is over. The writer is never quite sure. Nobody is going to ask the writer "How did you do?" And even if they did the answer is not going to be "5 hours, 47 minutes."
There are two qualities they both absolutely have in common: faith and patience. The runner has to call on reserves of strength and energy he doesn't feel he has, to trust that those reserves are there and to keep running until they appear. And when the writer gets stuck and can't seem to proceed he must ask himself what the words and phrases, the ideas are that he needs and then wait patiently for them to occur to him.
I, like most writers, will enter a word knowing it's the wrong word, just to keep writing, to keep running, knowing that the right word will occur to me eventually. And it does. Sometimes after I think I've finished the piece I get a sudden knock on my mind and there's the word I want.
And just as a marathon is not an aimless run of 26 miles with no direction but a clearly defined path from beginning to end, so writing is a precise art form where every sentence and every paragraph should be a precise equation of thoughts and ideas. (So mine aren't always, I admit it. But I'm getting better.)
Another great, silent harvest of running a marathon or writing a novel is that when doing it you learn a whole lot about yourself that you didn't know. a growing of yourself, a self discovery. And that is a grand, life changing thing.
Dana Bate
The Vagabond
******************
WEEKEND PUZZLE
Here we go.
A man is walking down the street and comes upon a store that sells coconuts. He goes in and buys half the coconuts in the store plus half a coconut. When he gets home his wife shakes her head and wonders what she's going to do with all those coconuts.
He gets an idea and goes out and buys a bottle of rum. But on the way he passes the same store with the coconuts, goes in and buys half the coconuts in the store plus half a coconut. When he gets home his wife has opened one of the coconuts and is ready to make a nice cocktail with the juice.
The man is so delighted that he goes out again and buys half the coconuts in the store plus half a coconut. Upon returning home he finds his wife has made them some delicious rum and coconut cocktails.
He drinks one which inspires him to go to the store again and buy half the coconuts in the store plus half a coconut. When he leaves the store that time there are no coconuts left. No one else bought any coconuts. They're all kiwi or papaya freaks or something. Who knows.
Back home he and his wife have a very pleasant evening drinking their rum and coconut cocktails.
"Yoo poot thee rum in thee coconautt and than yoo dahnce cahleepso.
Questions: How many coconuts were there in the store when he went in the first time?
Goog lub.
DB
*******************
Lawrence Durrell
*********************
Anyone who has ever run a marathon knows that there is no other athletic event like it. It rquires strength, stamina, endurance and comfortable shoes. A marathon race is precisely 26 miles, 385 yards. To vigorously put one foot in front of the other for that distance without stopping is a formidable task.
At the New York City Marathon the finishers are given a light, plastic silver colored robe to wear. After the race one can see people wearing the robe around town. When you see someone with one of them you say "How did you do?" And the answer will be "7 hours, 29 minutes." "4 hours, 17 minutes." "3 hours, 36 minutes." And so on. You hardly ever see the front runners, the 2+ hours people, because they are scooped up and taken to celebration parties. It takes great skill to win a marathon race or to even come in close to the winner.
Yesterday I read an article which said that writing is like a marathon. It also takes strength, stamina, endurance and skill. There is one big difference however. The marathon runner doesn't take a break. He doesn't make another cup of coffee, answer the phone or go down for the mail. A writer has a powerful advantage that he is able to stop what he's doing and think about it.
There are some similarities to both activities. At the start of the race the runner may wish to be at the finish line and all his energies are focused on that. The starting gun of an idea may provoke the writer to begin and wish the novel or essay was finished. On the other hand when the runner crosses the finish line he knows the race is over. The writer is never quite sure. Nobody is going to ask the writer "How did you do?" And even if they did the answer is not going to be "5 hours, 47 minutes."
There are two qualities they both absolutely have in common: faith and patience. The runner has to call on reserves of strength and energy he doesn't feel he has, to trust that those reserves are there and to keep running until they appear. And when the writer gets stuck and can't seem to proceed he must ask himself what the words and phrases, the ideas are that he needs and then wait patiently for them to occur to him.
I, like most writers, will enter a word knowing it's the wrong word, just to keep writing, to keep running, knowing that the right word will occur to me eventually. And it does. Sometimes after I think I've finished the piece I get a sudden knock on my mind and there's the word I want.
And just as a marathon is not an aimless run of 26 miles with no direction but a clearly defined path from beginning to end, so writing is a precise art form where every sentence and every paragraph should be a precise equation of thoughts and ideas. (So mine aren't always, I admit it. But I'm getting better.)
Another great, silent harvest of running a marathon or writing a novel is that when doing it you learn a whole lot about yourself that you didn't know. a growing of yourself, a self discovery. And that is a grand, life changing thing.
Dana Bate
The Vagabond
******************
WEEKEND PUZZLE
Here we go.
A man is walking down the street and comes upon a store that sells coconuts. He goes in and buys half the coconuts in the store plus half a coconut. When he gets home his wife shakes her head and wonders what she's going to do with all those coconuts.
He gets an idea and goes out and buys a bottle of rum. But on the way he passes the same store with the coconuts, goes in and buys half the coconuts in the store plus half a coconut. When he gets home his wife has opened one of the coconuts and is ready to make a nice cocktail with the juice.
The man is so delighted that he goes out again and buys half the coconuts in the store plus half a coconut. Upon returning home he finds his wife has made them some delicious rum and coconut cocktails.
He drinks one which inspires him to go to the store again and buy half the coconuts in the store plus half a coconut. When he leaves the store that time there are no coconuts left. No one else bought any coconuts. They're all kiwi or papaya freaks or something. Who knows.
Back home he and his wife have a very pleasant evening drinking their rum and coconut cocktails.
"Yoo poot thee rum in thee coconautt and than yoo dahnce cahleepso.
Questions: How many coconuts were there in the store when he went in the first time?
Goog lub.
DB
*******************
Monday, August 23, 2010
Embrace The Idea
Let your heart be without words, rather than your words without heart.
Unknown
*******************
It has been said the reason for Shakespeare's abiding success as a playwright is because he loved all of his characters, even the nasty ones. I think that's true. How could he have written the serpentine maneuverings of Iago, the flamboyant character of Richard the Third or the electrifying ravings of Falstaff if he didn't thoroughly enjoy their company.
And yet I think there was probably a lot more to those characters in his mind than he could include in his limited traffic of the stage. Once the image moves from the mind and takes it's place in the heart the writer is faced with carefully crafting the words and engineering the plot to tell the stories of those characters. But their lives remain in the writers heart.
In my novel, "Brian and Christine" (which someone had better publish one day soon because it's damn good) I introduce the character of Mother Magda, the faux nun and arch villain of the story. When I first invented her I sort of knew what she looked like and how she sounded. She doesn't appear until late in the story. You only know about her as a silent voice on the telephone, which means all you know of her is how the main character reacts to talking with her. She gradually took shape. When she finally does appear she doesn't say much but you are ready to treat her with the disgust she deserves. I love that character.
I have been asked who I fashioned the character of Christine on. The answer is no one. She is a pure invention of mine. I don't know any 10 year old girls. Unlike Mother Magda who gradually came to life in my thoughts, Christine showed up magically, right away with no invitation and quickly won my heart.
That is the way it is with writing, art and any worthwhile endeavor. The idea must live in one's heart until it becomes beloved before the words and deeds that truly articulate it can be found.
Dana Bate
The Vagabond
*********************
SUMMER QUESTION
(This is not a contest.)
Who are the 2 (two) most important people alive today? Why?
Only 7 responses so far.
dbdacoba@aol.com
Thank you.
DB
********************
Unknown
*******************
It has been said the reason for Shakespeare's abiding success as a playwright is because he loved all of his characters, even the nasty ones. I think that's true. How could he have written the serpentine maneuverings of Iago, the flamboyant character of Richard the Third or the electrifying ravings of Falstaff if he didn't thoroughly enjoy their company.
And yet I think there was probably a lot more to those characters in his mind than he could include in his limited traffic of the stage. Once the image moves from the mind and takes it's place in the heart the writer is faced with carefully crafting the words and engineering the plot to tell the stories of those characters. But their lives remain in the writers heart.
In my novel, "Brian and Christine" (which someone had better publish one day soon because it's damn good) I introduce the character of Mother Magda, the faux nun and arch villain of the story. When I first invented her I sort of knew what she looked like and how she sounded. She doesn't appear until late in the story. You only know about her as a silent voice on the telephone, which means all you know of her is how the main character reacts to talking with her. She gradually took shape. When she finally does appear she doesn't say much but you are ready to treat her with the disgust she deserves. I love that character.
I have been asked who I fashioned the character of Christine on. The answer is no one. She is a pure invention of mine. I don't know any 10 year old girls. Unlike Mother Magda who gradually came to life in my thoughts, Christine showed up magically, right away with no invitation and quickly won my heart.
That is the way it is with writing, art and any worthwhile endeavor. The idea must live in one's heart until it becomes beloved before the words and deeds that truly articulate it can be found.
Dana Bate
The Vagabond
*********************
SUMMER QUESTION
(This is not a contest.)
Who are the 2 (two) most important people alive today? Why?
Only 7 responses so far.
dbdacoba@aol.com
Thank you.
DB
********************
Sunday, August 1, 2010
Until It's Right
No authority is higher than reality.
Peter Zarlenga
*****************
The teleology involved in a work of art is not hard to identify. It isn't Judgement Day or the end of the world, although it may seem that way sometimes to the artist. The culmination of a lot of effort is something finished and good enough for the artist to sign his name to. There is no way for an artist to know how hard the journey is going to be from the first stroke of the brush to the moment of signing.
It is a curious thing that some stories, paintings and other works seem to create themselves while others offer nothing much to the artist but struggle and frustration.
My two long stories, Brian and Christine, and Brian On The Road, seem to have written themselves, whereas some of the others, like the one I'm writing now, The Savior, is asking a completely different dimension from my imagination. It's one of those pieces that needs to be told, retold and retold again until it's right.
I used to have a similar experience as an actor. I did a lot of plays by Eugene O'Neill. Two of the major roles fit me Hogan in A Moon For The Misbegotten, and Con Melody in A Touch Of The Poet were roles I felt were written for me.
For the actor to make a successful work it must be honest, a recognizably real person within the style of the drama. It's the reality of human life and it's articulation by the playwright and the actor that gives the theatre it's vitality and authority.
I understood Con Melody at the first reading of the play, but I wasn't cast in the role. I was given a different part. The actor who had the role didn't understand him and dropped out. I took over the part on a day's notice.
In the case of Hogan I thought I had a good grasp of the character but there was still something missing. One day the director handed me a corn cob pipe, a tin of tobacco, a knife and a box of matches and said "Play with these." I cut the tobacco, stuffed it in the pipe and lit it a few times until I was comfortable with the business. It was the simple act of stuffing the tobacco into the pipe with my finger that opened up all the rest about that character I needed to know in order to play him.
On the other hand I twice played James Tyrone in A Long Days Journey Into Night and each time in order to get to the reward of the silvery poetic writing of the last act I found the first three acts a hard struggle.
The question is why do some things come easily and others don't. Someone watching from the outside might say "You're putting up barriers to yourself." That is probably true but what are those barriers and why do we erect them? I've heard many nonsensical reasons. "You're being to serious." "You aren't taking it seriously enough." "You're too angry." "Use your anger." "You're being too self-indulgent." "You need to put more of yourself into it." And so on.
The easy days are tempting us. One day we stride across home plate amid the cheers of the crowd and the next day we can't get to first base. We forget that we have to work at it and keep working at it until it's right, thumb our noses at frustration, take the dog out for a walk, have a shower, make another cup of coffee and go back to the task.
And we also have to ignore the voice that keeps saying "Look at you. You're a joke. You're a dunce. Whoever told you you could write? Give it up."
For the artist there is no such thing as "give it up."
DB - The Vagabond
**********************
WEEKEND CONTEST
Gotcha
Here are the first two words of song titles.
"I got" or "I've got"
The person who comes up with the longest list of song titles that begin with those two words will be the winner. In the case of a tie duplicated prizes will be awarded.
good luck
DB
Peter Zarlenga
*****************
The teleology involved in a work of art is not hard to identify. It isn't Judgement Day or the end of the world, although it may seem that way sometimes to the artist. The culmination of a lot of effort is something finished and good enough for the artist to sign his name to. There is no way for an artist to know how hard the journey is going to be from the first stroke of the brush to the moment of signing.
It is a curious thing that some stories, paintings and other works seem to create themselves while others offer nothing much to the artist but struggle and frustration.
My two long stories, Brian and Christine, and Brian On The Road, seem to have written themselves, whereas some of the others, like the one I'm writing now, The Savior, is asking a completely different dimension from my imagination. It's one of those pieces that needs to be told, retold and retold again until it's right.
I used to have a similar experience as an actor. I did a lot of plays by Eugene O'Neill. Two of the major roles fit me Hogan in A Moon For The Misbegotten, and Con Melody in A Touch Of The Poet were roles I felt were written for me.
For the actor to make a successful work it must be honest, a recognizably real person within the style of the drama. It's the reality of human life and it's articulation by the playwright and the actor that gives the theatre it's vitality and authority.
I understood Con Melody at the first reading of the play, but I wasn't cast in the role. I was given a different part. The actor who had the role didn't understand him and dropped out. I took over the part on a day's notice.
In the case of Hogan I thought I had a good grasp of the character but there was still something missing. One day the director handed me a corn cob pipe, a tin of tobacco, a knife and a box of matches and said "Play with these." I cut the tobacco, stuffed it in the pipe and lit it a few times until I was comfortable with the business. It was the simple act of stuffing the tobacco into the pipe with my finger that opened up all the rest about that character I needed to know in order to play him.
On the other hand I twice played James Tyrone in A Long Days Journey Into Night and each time in order to get to the reward of the silvery poetic writing of the last act I found the first three acts a hard struggle.
The question is why do some things come easily and others don't. Someone watching from the outside might say "You're putting up barriers to yourself." That is probably true but what are those barriers and why do we erect them? I've heard many nonsensical reasons. "You're being to serious." "You aren't taking it seriously enough." "You're too angry." "Use your anger." "You're being too self-indulgent." "You need to put more of yourself into it." And so on.
The easy days are tempting us. One day we stride across home plate amid the cheers of the crowd and the next day we can't get to first base. We forget that we have to work at it and keep working at it until it's right, thumb our noses at frustration, take the dog out for a walk, have a shower, make another cup of coffee and go back to the task.
And we also have to ignore the voice that keeps saying "Look at you. You're a joke. You're a dunce. Whoever told you you could write? Give it up."
For the artist there is no such thing as "give it up."
DB - The Vagabond
**********************
WEEKEND CONTEST
Gotcha
Here are the first two words of song titles.
"I got" or "I've got"
The person who comes up with the longest list of song titles that begin with those two words will be the winner. In the case of a tie duplicated prizes will be awarded.
good luck
DB
Tuesday, June 9, 2009
Mastering Mayhem 6/09/09
A writer is somebody for whom writing is more difficult than it is for other people.
Thomas Mann
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
Good, You're here, Now I can begin.
------------------------
Before I started writing seriously I had a lot of respect for writers. I enjoyed and still enjoy reading books, magazines and newspapers when they are well written. I like reading news, both current and ancient. I enjoy reading various opinions on subjects that interest me. I love to follow a philosophers chain of thinking to an ultimate and sometimes surprising conclusion. And I enjoy a good tale.
Now that I'm writing myself and have to do all the creative work, making real literary events out of the stuff that swirls in my imagination, finding and retaining the right word that fits in the sentence, forming and shaping the phrases to clarify the thoughts of the sentence, crafting the sentences to express the ideas and events of the story and keeping the unraveling of the totality in a logical, believable pace, I have come to have even more respect for those who do it well.
I've read the flippant advice from other writers; less is more, cross out every other word or every other line, eschew obfuscation, etc. All of it is true up to a point. But the actual process of writing is far from flippancy. It's difficult work.
I was in a production of Shakespeare's Twelfth Night. We had the blessing of one whole week of table time. Table time is what it sounds like. The actors sit around a table, read the play and discuss it. It's an excellent way to become familiar with the script, the other actors and the director's vision of the play, before facing the problems of memorizing the lines and dealing with the physical relationships. (In most productions one is lucky to get one morning of table time.) A day came that the director (Charlie Hensley, one of the best) had us read the play using our own language. I came away from that rehearsal not only with an even greater respect for the brilliance of Shakespeare's writing but a fascination of why he chose the words and phrases he did to convey what was being said. He didn't just choose words to fit the verse. Much of the play is in prose. In his plays, with his language, the characters are grander, grosser and more complex than in the average supermarket dramas of today.
From there I began to ask the same question of other writers and also of myself. A sentence is like a mathematical or chemical equation. The right words must be in the right order to achieve the desired effect. Being a beginning writer, I'm discovering these equations as I go. It's difficult.
Another chore a writer has to face is the matter of frankness and honesty. A writer must grasp every detail of what he's writing and test it on the touchstone of his own life experience. Mysteries must be revealed and secrets exposed. That means going back and challenging everything, making sure it's a truthful expression, conforms to the story and even adds some special color or tone to it. Everyone knows that brooks babble and thunder rumbles. But what do they really sound like to the character that's hearing them. The writer owes it to his reader to write the truth and not slide through an event on the skate board of the ordinary.
I feel a sense of obligation and responsibility. I have been given the gift of the English language. I want to use it to the best of my ability and beyond, no matter how difficult it is.
DB - Vagabond Journeys
____________________
Save a slice for me.
************************
Thomas Mann
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
Good, You're here, Now I can begin.
------------------------
Before I started writing seriously I had a lot of respect for writers. I enjoyed and still enjoy reading books, magazines and newspapers when they are well written. I like reading news, both current and ancient. I enjoy reading various opinions on subjects that interest me. I love to follow a philosophers chain of thinking to an ultimate and sometimes surprising conclusion. And I enjoy a good tale.
Now that I'm writing myself and have to do all the creative work, making real literary events out of the stuff that swirls in my imagination, finding and retaining the right word that fits in the sentence, forming and shaping the phrases to clarify the thoughts of the sentence, crafting the sentences to express the ideas and events of the story and keeping the unraveling of the totality in a logical, believable pace, I have come to have even more respect for those who do it well.
I've read the flippant advice from other writers; less is more, cross out every other word or every other line, eschew obfuscation, etc. All of it is true up to a point. But the actual process of writing is far from flippancy. It's difficult work.
I was in a production of Shakespeare's Twelfth Night. We had the blessing of one whole week of table time. Table time is what it sounds like. The actors sit around a table, read the play and discuss it. It's an excellent way to become familiar with the script, the other actors and the director's vision of the play, before facing the problems of memorizing the lines and dealing with the physical relationships. (In most productions one is lucky to get one morning of table time.) A day came that the director (Charlie Hensley, one of the best) had us read the play using our own language. I came away from that rehearsal not only with an even greater respect for the brilliance of Shakespeare's writing but a fascination of why he chose the words and phrases he did to convey what was being said. He didn't just choose words to fit the verse. Much of the play is in prose. In his plays, with his language, the characters are grander, grosser and more complex than in the average supermarket dramas of today.
From there I began to ask the same question of other writers and also of myself. A sentence is like a mathematical or chemical equation. The right words must be in the right order to achieve the desired effect. Being a beginning writer, I'm discovering these equations as I go. It's difficult.
Another chore a writer has to face is the matter of frankness and honesty. A writer must grasp every detail of what he's writing and test it on the touchstone of his own life experience. Mysteries must be revealed and secrets exposed. That means going back and challenging everything, making sure it's a truthful expression, conforms to the story and even adds some special color or tone to it. Everyone knows that brooks babble and thunder rumbles. But what do they really sound like to the character that's hearing them. The writer owes it to his reader to write the truth and not slide through an event on the skate board of the ordinary.
I feel a sense of obligation and responsibility. I have been given the gift of the English language. I want to use it to the best of my ability and beyond, no matter how difficult it is.
DB - Vagabond Journeys
____________________
Save a slice for me.
************************
Sunday, May 10, 2009
Joyous Joining 5/10/09
It is always the garden that makes the gardener, never the other way around.
Wendy Johnson
******************
Take a seat please, I'll be with you in a moment.
------------------------
I was speaking with a friend the other day about writing. She's not a writer, and yet she had formed a few sentences of a beautiful description and wondered where it came from and what it was. She couldn't tell if it would make a good poem, or short story or novel. In my response I explained that the writing would tell her what it is. Unless you're doing an exercise for your college English professor, most writers don't sit down to write a poem or a story. They write and the words become what they are destined to become. When we write we put words out into the universe and those words talk back to us. That's natural law. It's a natural communication. We listen to the words and the words listen to us. It's a conversation we can become totally lost in. It is as if the words were writing themselves.
What's really being discussed are ideas, images based on observation and thought, The words are a conduit for those ideas, sometimes great ones, sometimes not. But the writing itself always listens and talks back. This is one of the mysterious things about art and why a fine artist is so absorbed in his work.
I've found the same thing with painting. If there is an unfinished painting on my easel it will insist that I spend time with it. If I walk past it it will catch my attention and indicate somewhere on the canvas that needs my attention, that needs to be worked on or fixed. It's as if the painting said "Psst! You! Over here, dummy." The painting has something to tell me about itself.
It's the same way in theatre. Michael Chekhov wrote a very interesting book called "To The Actor" and one of the concepts in that book is about characterization. He states that to understand your character in order to play him you have to make a journey. Starting with nothing more than some dialogue, some description and maybe a few facts about the character, you start out on a journey to find him. What you don't realize at first is that the moment you started that journey the character also began a journey to find you. At one point you meet, bond and from that moment you begin to give that character life and the character gives you who he is, what he thinks, how he feels and what he does.
In short, the creative process is a friendship between you and the thing you're making. Whatever tones, words or pigments that you use, watch and listen and the garden will tell you what it is.
DB - Vagabond Journeys
_____________________
Go a little bit crazy today, you have my permission.
************************
Wendy Johnson
******************
Take a seat please, I'll be with you in a moment.
------------------------
I was speaking with a friend the other day about writing. She's not a writer, and yet she had formed a few sentences of a beautiful description and wondered where it came from and what it was. She couldn't tell if it would make a good poem, or short story or novel. In my response I explained that the writing would tell her what it is. Unless you're doing an exercise for your college English professor, most writers don't sit down to write a poem or a story. They write and the words become what they are destined to become. When we write we put words out into the universe and those words talk back to us. That's natural law. It's a natural communication. We listen to the words and the words listen to us. It's a conversation we can become totally lost in. It is as if the words were writing themselves.
What's really being discussed are ideas, images based on observation and thought, The words are a conduit for those ideas, sometimes great ones, sometimes not. But the writing itself always listens and talks back. This is one of the mysterious things about art and why a fine artist is so absorbed in his work.
I've found the same thing with painting. If there is an unfinished painting on my easel it will insist that I spend time with it. If I walk past it it will catch my attention and indicate somewhere on the canvas that needs my attention, that needs to be worked on or fixed. It's as if the painting said "Psst! You! Over here, dummy." The painting has something to tell me about itself.
It's the same way in theatre. Michael Chekhov wrote a very interesting book called "To The Actor" and one of the concepts in that book is about characterization. He states that to understand your character in order to play him you have to make a journey. Starting with nothing more than some dialogue, some description and maybe a few facts about the character, you start out on a journey to find him. What you don't realize at first is that the moment you started that journey the character also began a journey to find you. At one point you meet, bond and from that moment you begin to give that character life and the character gives you who he is, what he thinks, how he feels and what he does.
In short, the creative process is a friendship between you and the thing you're making. Whatever tones, words or pigments that you use, watch and listen and the garden will tell you what it is.
DB - Vagabond Journeys
_____________________
Go a little bit crazy today, you have my permission.
************************
Thursday, May 7, 2009
Grounding Grasp 5/07/09
First they ignore you. Then they laugh at you. Then they fight you. Then you win.
Gandhi
****************
Knocking.
--------------------
Nothing is ordinary. Everything is strange. Every day, every hour there are shocks, surprises and delights. It's no use folding oneself up into a warm blanket of habit in life or in the mind. "Wake up" is the perpetual call of life. It pounds away outside your door and will keep knocking until you open up.
I have no use for habitual thinking, for old ideas and for the refusal to grasp the ever-evolving measures to find the never changing truth of existence and for those who deny the basic instinct to explore and learn, but replace it with some creed.
I will continue to write, even if, until or after I have no readers left, because it is in the process of writing that I uncover the strange things of knowledge, the extraordinary things. Every serious writer knows about that. Even as I sit here now my mind is at work searching for the pure and peaceful waters of enlightenment. The journey is more of an adventure than I would have imagined. Nothing is really what you think it is. It is only by uncovering the seeming that the reality appears.
I don't care if I offend the thinkers of old worn out ideas. One cannot achieve a grasp on the real by trying to please people. I wouldn't even try except that, since I started to investigate the real, the various voices in my head have begun to agree with each other and have been graciously inviting me to come out and climb the hills. If to follow means to leave people behind then that's what it means. Amen and amen.
I have more to write now than I have time or journal space to write it. I have gilded the philosophic pill and few have swallowed. I have kicked down rotten doors and walked through. Few have followed. I have left the security of the shore and taken the hard, dangerous sea route to new lands. Who is with me?
I hold on with as firm a grasp as possible to what I have learned as if it was Prospero's book and I will not drown it until the new shore is reached and the old prophets come out to greet me.
Let them ignore me, laugh at me, fight me. Right now, at this silver toned point in my life, it doesn't matter.
DB
****************
Hi, Come here often?
----------------------
Gandhi
****************
Knocking.
--------------------
Nothing is ordinary. Everything is strange. Every day, every hour there are shocks, surprises and delights. It's no use folding oneself up into a warm blanket of habit in life or in the mind. "Wake up" is the perpetual call of life. It pounds away outside your door and will keep knocking until you open up.
I have no use for habitual thinking, for old ideas and for the refusal to grasp the ever-evolving measures to find the never changing truth of existence and for those who deny the basic instinct to explore and learn, but replace it with some creed.
I will continue to write, even if, until or after I have no readers left, because it is in the process of writing that I uncover the strange things of knowledge, the extraordinary things. Every serious writer knows about that. Even as I sit here now my mind is at work searching for the pure and peaceful waters of enlightenment. The journey is more of an adventure than I would have imagined. Nothing is really what you think it is. It is only by uncovering the seeming that the reality appears.
I don't care if I offend the thinkers of old worn out ideas. One cannot achieve a grasp on the real by trying to please people. I wouldn't even try except that, since I started to investigate the real, the various voices in my head have begun to agree with each other and have been graciously inviting me to come out and climb the hills. If to follow means to leave people behind then that's what it means. Amen and amen.
I have more to write now than I have time or journal space to write it. I have gilded the philosophic pill and few have swallowed. I have kicked down rotten doors and walked through. Few have followed. I have left the security of the shore and taken the hard, dangerous sea route to new lands. Who is with me?
I hold on with as firm a grasp as possible to what I have learned as if it was Prospero's book and I will not drown it until the new shore is reached and the old prophets come out to greet me.
Let them ignore me, laugh at me, fight me. Right now, at this silver toned point in my life, it doesn't matter.
DB
****************
Hi, Come here often?
----------------------
Saturday, May 2, 2009
Becoming Breakthrough 5/02/09
The best way to outlive your past is to start living your future.
DB - The Vagabond
*******************
Hail. Some people, including myself, have had trouble getting into my journal. It seems to come and go, like phases of the moon. "Try again later" as AOL is fond of saying. It's apparently working right now. I don't know what made it work but I suspect it was because I marinated the modem in some high class Japanese saki.
---------------------------------------
Outliving the past. Yes. This is a topic I've been pondering for some time now. The memories keep stacking up. Mine come to me randomly, like a shuffled deck of cards; my loves, my successes, my failures, my regrets. It's very easy, if you are a crotchety old curmudgeon like me, to say "Well, most of my life has been lived." When, in fact, a lot of time has been spent either living your life or not living it. That's all.
That one cannot predict the future is no reason not to live in the present and look forward.to it. I simply want to do the things that my meager income and my physical infirmaries allow me to do and I don't care how much time I have left to do them. In writing this journal I often cite things in my past, but I think and I hope it is a healthy exercise, for a couple of related reasons. One is that it enables me to think back at those events and draw the values from them. And the other is that I can use the lessons learned and the observations made to illustrate some important point (or, at least, one that I consider important) for me and others. But, at the same time, writing is an act of pure futurism. It is something that I give out to the world to see tomorrow, or a year from tomorrow, or whenever, if ever.
Circumstance don't allow me to be a performer any more, unless miracles take place, but that doesn't mean life is over. You took a journey to someplace, and when you got there it wasn't where you thought you'd be? So what? Look around and see what there is to do and enjoy it.
As Yogi Berra so eloquently put it "The future ain't what it used to be." So toss out the "used to bes" and live it up, boys and girls. There are still a lot of mistakes to be made and successes to be achieved.
Yours truly.
____________________________
Sudsy blessings to you.
*********************************
SPRING QUIZ
THIS IS NOT A CONTEST
What do you think was the most important event of 2008? and
What was the most significant event in your life last year?
You have all Spring to answer if you wish.
15 responses so far.
Leave answers on my email dbdacoba@aol.com or on my journal
http://vagabondjourneys.blogspot.com/. Thank you. DB
DB - The Vagabond
*******************
Hail. Some people, including myself, have had trouble getting into my journal. It seems to come and go, like phases of the moon. "Try again later" as AOL is fond of saying. It's apparently working right now. I don't know what made it work but I suspect it was because I marinated the modem in some high class Japanese saki.
---------------------------------------
Outliving the past. Yes. This is a topic I've been pondering for some time now. The memories keep stacking up. Mine come to me randomly, like a shuffled deck of cards; my loves, my successes, my failures, my regrets. It's very easy, if you are a crotchety old curmudgeon like me, to say "Well, most of my life has been lived." When, in fact, a lot of time has been spent either living your life or not living it. That's all.
That one cannot predict the future is no reason not to live in the present and look forward.to it. I simply want to do the things that my meager income and my physical infirmaries allow me to do and I don't care how much time I have left to do them. In writing this journal I often cite things in my past, but I think and I hope it is a healthy exercise, for a couple of related reasons. One is that it enables me to think back at those events and draw the values from them. And the other is that I can use the lessons learned and the observations made to illustrate some important point (or, at least, one that I consider important) for me and others. But, at the same time, writing is an act of pure futurism. It is something that I give out to the world to see tomorrow, or a year from tomorrow, or whenever, if ever.
Circumstance don't allow me to be a performer any more, unless miracles take place, but that doesn't mean life is over. You took a journey to someplace, and when you got there it wasn't where you thought you'd be? So what? Look around and see what there is to do and enjoy it.
As Yogi Berra so eloquently put it "The future ain't what it used to be." So toss out the "used to bes" and live it up, boys and girls. There are still a lot of mistakes to be made and successes to be achieved.
Yours truly.
____________________________
Sudsy blessings to you.
*********************************
SPRING QUIZ
THIS IS NOT A CONTEST
What do you think was the most important event of 2008? and
What was the most significant event in your life last year?
You have all Spring to answer if you wish.
15 responses so far.
Leave answers on my email dbdacoba@aol.com or on my journal
http://vagabondjourneys.blogspot.com/. Thank you. DB
Tuesday, December 30, 2008
Trusted Transfiguration 12/30/08
Knowledge is the spirit that saves the heart from the darkness of ignorance, it is the light that saves it from the darkness of iniquity.
Abu Ali Thaqafi
************************
Yesterday was the Islamic New Years Day. May you have lasting peace.
-----------------------------------------
The only times during the day when I feel everything is all right is when I'm sleeping or I'm writing even though I'm a wretched typist.
My long story, Brian and Christine, http://db-vagabondtales.blogspot.com/ occupies me everyday. I know how the story ends but I don't yet know how to get there. I'm discovering the pathway as I go, one or two jumps ahead of my readers, cutting my way through the jungle of troubles, misunderstandings and injustices.
One of the big discoveries I've made along that route is that a lot of the trouble Brian has to deal with has come about through ignorance, his own and other people's. The story unfolds and conflicts get resolved by gaining bits of information, putting them with other bits of information, clearing up misunderstandings and thus gaining knowledge.
Backing away from my computer and looking out the window to the street below I see children going to the library. I note how fortunate they are to live in a country where there are libraries accessible to them, where they have schools and teachers, where they can easily gain information which will give them knowledge, and hence understanding and possibly even wisdom.
I also note how much iniquity there is in the world. Wrong doing by people who should know better and who would if they had the ability to learn right doing or who took advantage of the opportunity to gain the information that is available to them.
When I first began reading philosophy my main interest was in the field of ethics, a topic that has occupied philosophers since the beginning. It's a very complicated subject, it seems. And yet it's one of the most outward looking practices of the philosopher. It is germane to the subject of ethics that it address a conscientious and coordinated system of behavior toward other human beings and all living things. It necessarily focuses thought away from the self and onto one's place in society.
The world seems to be so filled with abuses: domestic violence, street gangs, robbery, rape, fathers attacking their sons' soccer coaches, teachers abusing their students, managers abusing their workers, child slavery and prostitution, owners abusing their animals, torture, graft and corruption in government and business, careless wasting of money by the rich, terrorism, racism, religious intolerance, fanaticism, revenge, the gouging of people's incomes by government, the shameless waste of natural resources, overpricing of necessary items, hatred, war and all other iniquities too many to name, that it seems most of the human race has never heard the word "ethics."
People will talk about ethical behavior on the left side while they are cheating their neighbors out of something on the right side. Or what is even worse, they will use the idea of ethics to justify some unethical behavior: "an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth."
My story has given me a chance to look some of this immorality in the face and explore it directly or indirectly. I'm not a great writer but I'm learning. I'm gaining knowledge. And one of the things I've learned is that in order to convey knowledge and understanding a writer must tell the truth and reveal things about himself. Secrets must be told. While it's true that he who has more knowledge can do more evil, he can also do more good. There is no such thing as generic good or generic evil in this life. It all comes down to the individual, his knowledge of the world around him and his behavior in it.
Vagabond Journeys
Abu Ali Thaqafi
************************
Yesterday was the Islamic New Years Day. May you have lasting peace.
-----------------------------------------
The only times during the day when I feel everything is all right is when I'm sleeping or I'm writing even though I'm a wretched typist.
My long story, Brian and Christine, http://db-vagabondtales.blogspot.com/ occupies me everyday. I know how the story ends but I don't yet know how to get there. I'm discovering the pathway as I go, one or two jumps ahead of my readers, cutting my way through the jungle of troubles, misunderstandings and injustices.
One of the big discoveries I've made along that route is that a lot of the trouble Brian has to deal with has come about through ignorance, his own and other people's. The story unfolds and conflicts get resolved by gaining bits of information, putting them with other bits of information, clearing up misunderstandings and thus gaining knowledge.
Backing away from my computer and looking out the window to the street below I see children going to the library. I note how fortunate they are to live in a country where there are libraries accessible to them, where they have schools and teachers, where they can easily gain information which will give them knowledge, and hence understanding and possibly even wisdom.
I also note how much iniquity there is in the world. Wrong doing by people who should know better and who would if they had the ability to learn right doing or who took advantage of the opportunity to gain the information that is available to them.
When I first began reading philosophy my main interest was in the field of ethics, a topic that has occupied philosophers since the beginning. It's a very complicated subject, it seems. And yet it's one of the most outward looking practices of the philosopher. It is germane to the subject of ethics that it address a conscientious and coordinated system of behavior toward other human beings and all living things. It necessarily focuses thought away from the self and onto one's place in society.
The world seems to be so filled with abuses: domestic violence, street gangs, robbery, rape, fathers attacking their sons' soccer coaches, teachers abusing their students, managers abusing their workers, child slavery and prostitution, owners abusing their animals, torture, graft and corruption in government and business, careless wasting of money by the rich, terrorism, racism, religious intolerance, fanaticism, revenge, the gouging of people's incomes by government, the shameless waste of natural resources, overpricing of necessary items, hatred, war and all other iniquities too many to name, that it seems most of the human race has never heard the word "ethics."
People will talk about ethical behavior on the left side while they are cheating their neighbors out of something on the right side. Or what is even worse, they will use the idea of ethics to justify some unethical behavior: "an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth."
My story has given me a chance to look some of this immorality in the face and explore it directly or indirectly. I'm not a great writer but I'm learning. I'm gaining knowledge. And one of the things I've learned is that in order to convey knowledge and understanding a writer must tell the truth and reveal things about himself. Secrets must be told. While it's true that he who has more knowledge can do more evil, he can also do more good. There is no such thing as generic good or generic evil in this life. It all comes down to the individual, his knowledge of the world around him and his behavior in it.
Vagabond Journeys
Saturday, December 6, 2008
Whimsical Weighting 12/06/08
The reader's own life "outside" the story, changes the story.
David Wallace
*******************
Now that I'm writing stories I can see the truth of this statement, but only because my stories are serialized. I can read from emails and comments how readers are variously affected by the tale as it unfolds. I can sense one person's reaction to a certain character as compared with someone else's reaction to the same character. I can read how people are taking sides on certain issues as they arise. In fact, I can even appreciate and incorporate suggestions as to how the story should progress. I'll bet any serial writer has experienced the same energy from his readers.
The title of my main journal is Vagabond Journeys. One reason is that I have always thought of life as a journey, at least my life is. Whether it was hitchhiking across the country, following trails up and down the mountains of the Northeast, going from one theatre to another, walking along the sidewalks of New York City as if I was treading on the ledges of the universe or even going from one room to another, it has always been a journey to me.
This is the way I write. I have a beginning and I have a destination. I know how the story is going to end. Getting from the beginning to the end is the journey. That's where the creative work is done. Characters are introduced along the way as they are needed, some stay, some don't. Some are mentioned before they appear. But in every case readers will let me know how important they think those characters are.
The long story I'm writing now, Brian and Christine, is not about a plane crash, a small town in Utah, a major motion picture, an orphanage or the terrors that are coming. It's about a very unlikely relationship between two people. The last character to appear in this story has already been mentioned. I always appreciate the comments I get because I want the readers to be involved with the lives of all the characters, and to go along with me on this journey, and perhaps even point out some sign posts along the way.
My thanks to you.
DB
http://db-vagabondtales.blogspot.com/
David Wallace
*******************
Now that I'm writing stories I can see the truth of this statement, but only because my stories are serialized. I can read from emails and comments how readers are variously affected by the tale as it unfolds. I can sense one person's reaction to a certain character as compared with someone else's reaction to the same character. I can read how people are taking sides on certain issues as they arise. In fact, I can even appreciate and incorporate suggestions as to how the story should progress. I'll bet any serial writer has experienced the same energy from his readers.
The title of my main journal is Vagabond Journeys. One reason is that I have always thought of life as a journey, at least my life is. Whether it was hitchhiking across the country, following trails up and down the mountains of the Northeast, going from one theatre to another, walking along the sidewalks of New York City as if I was treading on the ledges of the universe or even going from one room to another, it has always been a journey to me.
This is the way I write. I have a beginning and I have a destination. I know how the story is going to end. Getting from the beginning to the end is the journey. That's where the creative work is done. Characters are introduced along the way as they are needed, some stay, some don't. Some are mentioned before they appear. But in every case readers will let me know how important they think those characters are.
The long story I'm writing now, Brian and Christine, is not about a plane crash, a small town in Utah, a major motion picture, an orphanage or the terrors that are coming. It's about a very unlikely relationship between two people. The last character to appear in this story has already been mentioned. I always appreciate the comments I get because I want the readers to be involved with the lives of all the characters, and to go along with me on this journey, and perhaps even point out some sign posts along the way.
My thanks to you.
DB
http://db-vagabondtales.blogspot.com/
Monday, November 10, 2008
Wayfaring Wisdom 11/10/08
We want to know who we are.
To know who we are,
we have to know who we used to be.
Andrzej Wajda
#################
All the world's a stage,
And all the men and women merely players:
They have their exits and their entrances;
And one man in his time plays many parts.
His acts being seven ages. At first the infant,
Mewling and puking in his nurse's arm,
And then the whining schoolboy, with his satchel,
And shining morning face, creeping like snail
Unwillingly to school. And then the lover,
Sighing like furnace, with a woful ballad
Made to his mistress' eyebrow. Then a soldier,
Full of strange oaths, and bearded like the pard,
Jealous in honor, sudden and quick in quarrel,
Seeking the bubble reputation
Even in the cannons mouth. And then the justice,
In fair round belly with good capon lin'd,
With eyes severe, and beard of formal cut,
Full of wise saws and modern instances;
And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts
Into the lean and slipper'd pantaloon,
With spectacles on nose and pouch on side,
His youthful hose well sav'd, a world too wide
For his shrunk shank; and his big manly voice,
Turning again toward childish treble, pipes
And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all,
That ends this strange eventful history,
Is second childishness and mere oblivion,
San teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.
Shakespeare
Can you find yourself on that list?
Things change, times change, people change, changes change. I don't like to think about some of the things I've been. But I know that my seven ages didn't particularly follow Shakespeare's plan. After infancy I became the soldier, fighting windmills and worried about my reputation. Then the judge, leveling my opinions right and left. In my 30s I was a crusty relic. One of my friends described me as sitting with a blanket around my shoulders, soaking my feet. That quickly changed in my mid 30' when I became the lover; passionate, jealous, suspicious and writing silly poems. I'm glad that age is over. Then I became the school boy, not unwillingly but zealously. Now I may be sans teeth, but I'm not sans everything. And one thing I know about myself is that I can no longer do some of the things old folks do. I'm not as old as I used to be.
I enjoy writing a lot these days. It must be a sin because I'm having too much fun.
DB - Vagabond Journeys
To know who we are,
we have to know who we used to be.
Andrzej Wajda
#################
All the world's a stage,
And all the men and women merely players:
They have their exits and their entrances;
And one man in his time plays many parts.
His acts being seven ages. At first the infant,
Mewling and puking in his nurse's arm,
And then the whining schoolboy, with his satchel,
And shining morning face, creeping like snail
Unwillingly to school. And then the lover,
Sighing like furnace, with a woful ballad
Made to his mistress' eyebrow. Then a soldier,
Full of strange oaths, and bearded like the pard,
Jealous in honor, sudden and quick in quarrel,
Seeking the bubble reputation
Even in the cannons mouth. And then the justice,
In fair round belly with good capon lin'd,
With eyes severe, and beard of formal cut,
Full of wise saws and modern instances;
And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts
Into the lean and slipper'd pantaloon,
With spectacles on nose and pouch on side,
His youthful hose well sav'd, a world too wide
For his shrunk shank; and his big manly voice,
Turning again toward childish treble, pipes
And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all,
That ends this strange eventful history,
Is second childishness and mere oblivion,
San teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.
Shakespeare
Can you find yourself on that list?
Things change, times change, people change, changes change. I don't like to think about some of the things I've been. But I know that my seven ages didn't particularly follow Shakespeare's plan. After infancy I became the soldier, fighting windmills and worried about my reputation. Then the judge, leveling my opinions right and left. In my 30s I was a crusty relic. One of my friends described me as sitting with a blanket around my shoulders, soaking my feet. That quickly changed in my mid 30' when I became the lover; passionate, jealous, suspicious and writing silly poems. I'm glad that age is over. Then I became the school boy, not unwillingly but zealously. Now I may be sans teeth, but I'm not sans everything. And one thing I know about myself is that I can no longer do some of the things old folks do. I'm not as old as I used to be.
I enjoy writing a lot these days. It must be a sin because I'm having too much fun.
DB - Vagabond Journeys
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