THEN AND NOW — PART II

[This blogster is getting frugal in his retirement. If this post looks familiar to any of you it is because it was posted in my once lively, now defunct, Jay Squires Writer’s Workshop Newsletter. I think it has enough general interst that it should be included here. Curiously, I had an earlier blog post entitled THEN AND NOW (A WRITER’S LIFE) — a title which I totally plagarized myself by using in my Newsletter (fortunately, there’s a law against suing oneself or I’d lose what little income I have in my retirement — I had that good a case against me!) Even more curiously, I apparently had forgotten I used this same title, though the content in the two articles was entirely different. Anyway … hence the PART II here.]

* * *

(A Writer’s Life)

It was about 1961 or ’62. I had just moved from a comfortable room in my parents’ home to a flat in San Francisco I shared with three others, only one of whom I remember. His name was Joe, and I remember him because he, like me, left a comfortable home in Santa Maria, California, to experience life in San Francisco.
We were oh so ready to begin our suffering. Continue reading “THEN AND NOW — PART II” →

WARNING: CONTENT WITHIN IS POSSIBLY INFLAMMATORY

I am about to post something that has the potential to instantly polarize my followers, possibly to cause a goodly number of them to unsubscribe from SeptuagenarianJourney altogether. I hope that doesn’t happen. But, if it does …

So be it.

I didn’t approach the controversial nature of the subject-matter with the sense of adventure I might have shown as a younger man. You won’t find any courageous nose-thumbing from this corner! As a matter of fact, a thorough exegesis of both sides of the argument by an expert would have been welcome relief to me. But, with no such balanced analysis forthcoming, it is apparently left up to me.

I’m taking a risk that’s not easy. I’m sorry if I insult any of you. That is not my intent. On the other hand, it is impossible for me not to take sides, so I can’t even protect myself from the wrath of some of you by pleading for you to please “not shoot the messenger.”

Indeed, I am the messenger, but to some of you the stand I will be taking may be considered a shootable offence.

Again … so be it!

Fire away! Continue reading “WARNING: CONTENT WITHIN IS POSSIBLY INFLAMMATORY” →

SPRINGTIME … When a Young Man’s Fancy (Part I)

I’m sitting here in my office chair, at my office desk, my hands cupped to the back of my head, elbows up and to the side, staring out the glass office door where the stenciled letters spelling AUTO, HOME, BUSINESS & LIFE INSURANCE are backwards to me so the passersby on the sidewalk heading down to the 7-11 can properly read it and perhaps come in and spoil my reverie while I am thinking, “Well … another springtime is here.”

I’m also imagining how someone, staring at me from one of the apartment windows in the complex across Columbus butterfly man Street, might wonder at my hands so placed behind my head, my elbows high and out, my well-toned lats filling that part of my Hawaiian shirt and at the glazed look in my eyes, whether I might, instead, be a huge Monarch butterfly fresh-slithered from my chrysalis, which he can’t see, owing to the distance and also the fact that my former springtime home lies like a discarded garment at my feet, hidden behind my big, impersonal insurance desk.

Oh, yes it is most definitely spring.

My imagination flutters me about the room, dipping and rising and soaring and fluttering, and the man in the apartment has now vacated his window falsely believing he had not been staring at a butterfly at all, but an old insurance man sitting in his chair behind his desk.

* * *

I’ve experienced probably sixty springtimes, nearly all of which I might remember the magic of, if I really put my mind to it. Even if I were to try to recapture the memory of the springtimes earlier than that, it would be irrelevant. Why? Because you don’t need springtime when all of childhood—assuming it is not meddled with—is tender and fresh. All life is magic, or should be, to the pre-teen child.

My reality is that I’m 73 years old. But, then again, no one who’s reading this is likely to be cavorting around in the tender, fresh wonder of childhood, either.

So, I’m thinking we all need our springtimes. Am I right? What does springtime conjure up in your mind? Spring cleaning? Or, Easter? springtime wedding And, isn’t springtime the most popular season to marry? How about planting time? And, dare we omit nestlings chirping in the trees, or, butterflies flitting from flower to flower? What have I forgotten?

One doesn’t have to go too far to find the common thread running through all these? Springtime is a time of new beginnings.

At the risk of belaboring the obvious with the above statement, I’d like to take it a step further and suggest that the first day of spring should be the true New Year’s Day. Sure, a few things would have to be tweaked, but I’d wager that once done, the rational mind of man would have a closer association with the truth of new beginnings that reside in man’s soul. And, because of that … I’d wager another thing: our New Year’s resolutions would have a far better chance of succeeding because our souls are already geared toward change, improvement, betterment.

We’d have to do something about the college bowl games. I’ll put my people on it.

* * *

How do the seasons play out in our creative life? As a writer I wonder, is it just me, or do the fresh sprouts nudging the soil of our creative minds seem more abundant now? Notwithstanding, we may be still pregnant with undelivered projects of springs and summers past that we’ve been pushing through one more exhausting winter of fitful contractions.

No one said creative project-bearing would be easy!

And, now, as if to confound us, these new ideas are germinating in our minds with surprising ease and are as fresh as a peach-blossom-wafted breeze. With that tingling in our nostrils who could be blamed for wanting to take a break from all the pushing and grunting?

(Can I hear some of you complaining that the old coot is waxing awfully poetic? Well, you young whippersnappers, springtime’s the reason. Blame it on springtime!)

Complaints aside, though, are we beginning to see there just might be a downside to springtime for the creative mind I hope you’ll explore that with me next time. monarch butterflies

Until then … be kind to old men and young butterflies.

Pssst! You made it this far so why not bounce clear to the top of the right-hand side bar and subscribe to my FREE newsletter? Until I get other people to voluntarily rave about it, I’m gonna have to be the first one you’ll read as saying: “Jay’s newsletter’s a hoot!” and “Chock-full of writing tips, it’s information rich, while entertaining and funny!” and “You’re gonna wanna jump aboard before Jay discovers how great it truly is and starts charging a huge subscription fee!”

THE MYSTIC CLOWN

(If you can’t laugh at yourself, you’ll be the only one not laughing…)

Oh ho! Oh ho! the mystic clown,

I mimic waves

And now spew Foam;

And, spilling madness,

Bite the ground;

Monocular, I strut

My one good leg,

Watching through

My one good eye

The Saprophytic faces.

They don’t even smile,

While I heap myself

A splendid sun of sawdust,

Then around it revolve.

They yawn as I, unfolding,

Disobey the Cosmos —

Stop their world to meditate —

My ruminating finger

In the slush-swamp of my nose.

I AM

The mystic clown:

Oh ho!

Pssst! You made it this far so why not pop over to the right-hand side bar and subscribe to my FREE newsletter? Until I get other people to voluntarily rave about it, I’m gonna have to be the first one you’ll read as saying: “Jay’s newsletter’s a hoot!” and “Chock-full of writing tips, it’s information rich, while entertaining and funny!” and “You’re gonna wanna jump aboard before Jay discovers how great it truly is and starts charging a huge subscription fee!”

A COUPLE O’ POETIC NIBBLES

STEPPING OUT

[A Haiku]

when fog shrouds pier’s end

Christ may bid your walk test Death’s

sweet promised reward

LOVE RECYCLED

[Not A Haiku]

Love descends –

Cocoons herself

In passion’s ashes,

Longing for her mythic rise

On Phoenix wings.

CONFESSIONS OF A BLOG JUNKIE : An Alchemy of the Profoundest Intimacy

During the waning hours of last evening, I read Peggy Bechko’s excellent blog, Adding That Novel Punch and when I finished it I was moved to comment on its helpful content. Now, before you race over to her blog site to test the veracity of my statement, let me head you off at the pass and tell you that you won’t find anything by me there.* But it wasn’t for want of trying. I filled the comment box three times, and though I must say the quality of each comment was better than the preceding (which went far, I suppose, in supporting the point of her blog—read it and you’ll see what I mean), the sad fact was that nary a comment got posted. The good gatekeeper systematically rejected my log on three times with words (and, I will be forgiven for not remembering them exactly) to the effect of “Log on not authorized”—and each time the content **POOF** vanished. I should say—and will—that I imagine most readers will have already thought, “a person with even a modicum of intelligence would have copied the second post after the first one failed, would certainly have copied the third one (especially as it was the best of the lot) after the second had ethereally imploded.” In my defense, though, I didn’t think of it ….

So, Peggy, this is in way of apologizing for not leaving a comment on a blog that was truly comment-worthy. I’ll try to recapture the flavor of my third comment, but you’ll have to take my word for it that the original [third] draft was a true work of genius.

Your blog appealed to the writer not to distance himself from the reader by telling the reader what the character is feeling instead of letting the character’s behavior express those feelings. Your blog contains so much more, but this is the part on which I choose to focus.

As I studied your post I reflected that when fiction is perfectly executed, little squiggly black marks on white paper move through a direct conduit from the character’s emotional response to the reader’s exactly corresponding emotional affect. No thought intervenes. It is metaphor directly injected, not simile with all its “likes” or “ases”. It allows—no, it causes!—the reader to be that character. However briefly, an alchemy of the profoundest intimacy takes place, as anyone who has experienced it can attest.

Knowing this, I asked myself: “Why do we all, as writers—knowing what is at stake—have to perennially guard against the tendency to distance ourselves from our readers? Aside from the fact that it’s easier to shovel out a dish of “tell”, I believe the roots travel to a deeper source. In order to directly transfer that level of alchemical intimacy from character to reader, the writer must first experience it in himself … And the necessary degree of intimacy with the truth of one’s emotions, along with the vulnerability that entails—laying everything out bare—can be (in keeping with the season) pretty spooky. I know it is for me.

There is a nail somewhere in my paragraph that I have failed to hit directly on the head. I know that! But, I’m going to leave it with shank bent for someone less intellectually challenged to straighten out and drive it home.

* * *

As for me, I’m going to allow that paragraph to be a segue into another blog which nudged me into its presence with the intriguing title, Happy Birthday, Mom … A Remembrance. The blog is the child of Teresa Cypher, I use the words “nudged me” advisedly. There is something serendipitous about the fact that her blog wormed its way into my awareness shortly after I had read Peggy Bechko’s posting.

Aside from the fact that two of the readers who left comments spoke directly of the transfer of emotions (“Teresa, this post made me cry,” and, this one: “I can’t see the keyboard for my tears.”), two other comments, with one of them being answered by the blogger, plumb deeper into the mystery of emotional intimacy I’ve been struggling to describe.

The first one observed, “Had to be hard and heart-soothing at the same time to write that entry.”

And, the second: “A very personal post and at first it felt a little ‘intruderish’’ to comment on that.” (Emphasis mine) … to which Teresa replied, “Looking at the post now, it does appear that I was having a conversation with myself.” (Again, Emphasis mine.)

Friends, I challenge anyone to read her post without at the very least getting a lump in your throat, or if you’re an “unliberated” man, perhaps that tickly thing in the solarplexes that warns, wordlessly, “Watch it! Watch it! Blink, take a deep breath, think of something else.”

And, now that I think about it, perhaps that unliberated-writer-man I’m talking about is one of the people Peggy Bechko is directing her suggestions to, after all, about not distancing himself from his reader.

* Interesting dilemma … after saying this, I decided to give it one more try posting a comment on Peggy Bechko’s blog. You guessed it. Now, all of paragraph one is sham!

Take a U turn at Near Death

We have a river called the Kern and nicknamed “Killer Kern” that races and roils just north of our city. There are two signs at the mouth of the canyon, one in English, one in Spanish that simply shows the running count of people who have lost their lives in the Killer Kern. I Googled it just now, wanting the number. I found it: (216) along with the picture.

None of this seems to matter. No one heeds the warning of the signs. Two or three people die each year, nearly all during the baking Bakersfield summer, when the temps can soar to 110 or higher. Some bodies are not found until late fall, early winter. It’s a terrible waste.

The Killer Kern scares the bejesus out of me. I won’t so much as stick a toe in it for fear of it sucking me in. I’ve often wondered at what a horrible death drowning in the Killer Kern would be. None of the 216 will ever tell us. I’m a writer, but for that I prefer to exercise poetic license.

There is one writer who might take you closer to the experience than you’d prefer to be taken.

On July 30^th, I opened Ellie Ann’s Spirit Saturday: Quiet Chaos blog and within the first few powerful words I found myself sucked into what — with just a slight change of venue — could easily have been the Killer Kern. I lived through it… barely, but with my value system tweaked by her message.

Here, come on it. The water’s fine….

” I never thought I’d die this way. Suffocating, struggling, drowning. The river pushed me deeper into its murky depths and white bubbles exploded around me. The thunderous roar of the rapids sounded muffled, a distant voice. The current whipped my body upside down. Pain shot through my shoulder when I crashed into a rock. I desperately wrenched my body into a fetal position, but not before my head slammed against the river bottom. Darkness and stars of pain filled my vision. I almost succumbed, almost sank into unconsciousness.” http://ellieannsoderstrom.wordpress.com/2011/07/30/spirit-saturday-quiet-chaos/

CONFESSIONS OF A BLOG JUNKIE

I’ve had my blog for a couple of months now. I’d been putting it off for at least that long. Perhaps twice that long. I think it was twice that long. As an insurance agent, if it had been my prospect who was waffling that much over getting a policy, I’d have told him, “You kinda have a hard time making up your mind, don’t you.”

But the difference is it was me having a hard time. And, I have to live with me, so I try to cut myself a little slack. I’m generous like that.

So, I attacked the problem logically. I did a Google search for free blogs. I admit, I’m not a quick study, so it made perfect sense that if I’m going to have to follow a learning curve, then why should I follow it on my dime?

Right off the bat three serendipitous events occurred in my blogging life:

First, I came across WordPress. It satisfied two important needs. If was free, so I figured I could afford to learn as long as I want. Bad idea … but it sounded good at the time.! The second need it satisfied was that it had hundreds and hundreds of free themes – backgrounds and column layouts and colors and widgets and snippets and snappets — and, I was in a kind of Disneyland for bloggers.

I spent the first week or two sampling this or that theme, you know, the all-important red letters on black background, pink on chartreuse, and whether my writing should shriek out in a size 48 font or whether I should have my reader lounge around my blogroom in a precious calligraphic script. Oh, so many decisions. But, oh so much time to entertain them, since, by gum!, my blog was free.

Which brings me to my second serendipitous event: Sonia Medeiros.

Let me explain. I met her, I think, when she retweeted something of mine. Totally unimportant on the Cosmic level. Vitally important to me because she adopted me. Of course she didn’t know it, still doesn’t know it (well, now she does!) She has become Mama Medeiros, my blog maven. It was with her encouragement that I posted my first blog. There have only been 5 or 6 since then and she has been there for each, with her party horn tooting and party hat cocked at a jaunty angle.

And, then she did something else. She told me you really must get to know Kristen Lamb, and you’ll do that by reading her books, We Are Not Alone: The Writer’s Guide To Social Media, and Are You There Blog? It’s Me, Writer. I went to Amazon immediately and bought both.

I needed to read no more than the first page of each to understand that she was to become the third serendipitous event in my blogging life.

Now… two months into my blogging infancy, what have I learned? I’ve learned to run before I crawl… What? What did he say? Is he dyslexic? No! Listen to the lad. I know him well! Left to his own devises, he would still be building the perfect blog theme and he would keep crawling to its dubious but flashy graduation, Pomping and Circumstancing his way into 2012.

So, throughout my first half-dozen or so flawed blog posts, I’ve had one die-hard regular. Thanks Mama Sonia! Oh, and, I followed another of her kernals of advice. I studied other blogs out there. And, in the course of following her advice I have officially become the title of this blog. I have scoured, analyzed, taken apart and put together so many blogs that I think in not too many more months I will be able to offer the world a fairly decent blog of my own.

In the meantime, I will share the blogs I find most appealing, helpful, entertaining, naughty, enlightening, colorful, eloquent and fun … above all, fun.

So won’t you drop by? And please invite your friends? And above all, why not turn me on to a blog or two that you especially like?

See you in a few…