(warning...i'm about to shoot my mouth off...try not to take it personally...it's not about you...mostly, i'm just trying to justify myself...to myself...)
let's get this straight from the start...there are bloggers who can write...really well...damn well...and they're serious about their writing...
i just don't see a lot of writers taking blogging too seriously...
what's the difference...if you spend your days sifting internet wheat from chaff and then linking the good stuff...that's blogging...if you post pictures of your life...that's blogging...if you spend your days tracking...and commenting on socio/political events...that's blogging...if you're obsessed with hit counts...the future of advertising...the rankings of other bloggers...and what they're writing about...that's blogging...actually that's metablogging...
writers just seem to want to tell a story...maybe their own story...maybe something made up...maybe a little of both...maybe talk about writing...maybe promote their work...or the work of others...
none of these are small ambitions...so...why the distinction...who needs it...i guess i do....
in the tradition of this journal...there is no criticism without self critique...so, what am i...writer, or blogger...writers write...everyday...until recently i could boast that i did...but situations change...and the one i'm in will change again...and i will be writing everyday again...very soon...whenever i do sit down at this keyboard to write...i ask myself that same question everytime...what are you...most days...i can answer that question with no trace of self delusion...i am a writer...
on other days i look at myself and see...a writer who is distracted by blogging...make no mistake...posting everyday is not the same thing as...writing everyday...make no mistake...not everything written is worthy of the light of day...most of the time...the words need prodding and polishing...make no mistake...while there are bloggers who can write...being a blogger is not the same thing as being a writer...
which one are you...which one do you want to be...
Johnny Cash Loves You!
January 4, 2006
December 31, 2005
the year in review...2005...
i've heard a lot of people grumbling about what a lousy year this was...sure...if you lived in new orleans...or pakistan...or sri lanka...or london...or...if you lived or worked in the white house...or if you were an elected republican...
i must be walking around lucky...and don't know it...beccause i've had a pretty good year...
marry a wonderful woman...
check...
get the job that i've wanted for years...
done...
and so many other very good things...
no i have forgotten that my step father died...even that worked out for the best...I got the chance to make peace with him...before saying goodbye...
and no i haven't finished the book yet...but i'm damn close...
so farewell '05...i'll remember you well...
here are some of the books, movies, television, and music i've enjoyed this year...
Johnny Cash Loves You!
i must be walking around lucky...and don't know it...beccause i've had a pretty good year...
marry a wonderful woman...
check...
get the job that i've wanted for years...
done...
and so many other very good things...
no i have forgotten that my step father died...even that worked out for the best...I got the chance to make peace with him...before saying goodbye...
and no i haven't finished the book yet...but i'm damn close...
so farewell '05...i'll remember you well...
here are some of the books, movies, television, and music i've enjoyed this year...
Johnny Cash Loves You!
December 28, 2005
kinda used to be...
the other day the wife and i were making out on the couch...yeah, it's like that...we make out like teenagers on the couch...like drunken strangers who picked each other up at a bar...!...and for no apparent reason...an old short i wrote...older than i care to admit...flitted across my mind...and then today...i found out that a favorite blogger of mine moved...and again the story came back to me...this thing is about sharing...so...here ya go...a blast from the past...
ICED CREAM OF WHEAT
I am four again.
I’m sitting in the warmth and comfort of my mother’s kitchen. Outside, it’s a bright winter morning. It snowed last night and everything is covered in a blanket of white moisture. School is canceled for the day and my best friend Eddie and I are anxiously awaiting our celebratory bowls of warm Cream of Wheat. Eddie lives next door.
Two years from now, with cool sweat running down my back, I’ll get my first kiss from Charlene Arroyo playing house in Eddie’s basement.
After spending all morning shoveling neighborhood sidewalks, Eddie’s older brother Will comes into the house peeling off his coat while my mother brings us our steaming breakfast. As Will sits at the table, he rubs his little brother’s nappy head and asks for a bowl.
On Will’s eighteenth birthday, the three of us will sneak out and “borrow” his father’s car for a rambunctious midnight joy ride.
As we say grace, Eddie and I poke at each other like inattentive boys at Sunday school. I look at my cereal and know that it isn’t complete. I add a lump of butter and watch it melt into a yellow pool. I pile a pyramid of sugar on top and remain unsatisfied. I turn towards the kitchen window to the backyard and realize what I need.
When I am nine, I’ll run home screaming with blood gushing from my head after falling into the basement of one of the unfinished houses being built in the field where we used to play baseball.
I walk outside in my flannel p.j.’s and slippers to where my father’s vegetable garden lies
dormant. Scooping up a handful of the chilly December snow, I look up into the hard blue sky and watch the sun’s rays glisten on the icicles hanging off the rain gutters. My dog Shep pokes his huge head out of his house and looks at me as if I’m crazy.
When I am at college, Shep will die from poison fed to him by thieves so they can break into my family’s home.
My mother asks me why I went outside. “I’m going to make Iced Cream of Wheat”, I tell her. The simultaneous burst of laughter from the three of them send the birds outside the window fluttering to the trees. I nervously glance at Eddie, and I find I am comforted by the understanding in his eyes. On my mother’s face there is a trace of bewildered surprise.
I remember that same look fading to sadness after both of us saw Eddie get gunned down in a drive-by shooting three years ago.
Johnny Cash Loves You!
ICED CREAM OF WHEAT
I am four again.
I’m sitting in the warmth and comfort of my mother’s kitchen. Outside, it’s a bright winter morning. It snowed last night and everything is covered in a blanket of white moisture. School is canceled for the day and my best friend Eddie and I are anxiously awaiting our celebratory bowls of warm Cream of Wheat. Eddie lives next door.
Two years from now, with cool sweat running down my back, I’ll get my first kiss from Charlene Arroyo playing house in Eddie’s basement.
After spending all morning shoveling neighborhood sidewalks, Eddie’s older brother Will comes into the house peeling off his coat while my mother brings us our steaming breakfast. As Will sits at the table, he rubs his little brother’s nappy head and asks for a bowl.
On Will’s eighteenth birthday, the three of us will sneak out and “borrow” his father’s car for a rambunctious midnight joy ride.
As we say grace, Eddie and I poke at each other like inattentive boys at Sunday school. I look at my cereal and know that it isn’t complete. I add a lump of butter and watch it melt into a yellow pool. I pile a pyramid of sugar on top and remain unsatisfied. I turn towards the kitchen window to the backyard and realize what I need.
When I am nine, I’ll run home screaming with blood gushing from my head after falling into the basement of one of the unfinished houses being built in the field where we used to play baseball.
I walk outside in my flannel p.j.’s and slippers to where my father’s vegetable garden lies
dormant. Scooping up a handful of the chilly December snow, I look up into the hard blue sky and watch the sun’s rays glisten on the icicles hanging off the rain gutters. My dog Shep pokes his huge head out of his house and looks at me as if I’m crazy.
When I am at college, Shep will die from poison fed to him by thieves so they can break into my family’s home.
My mother asks me why I went outside. “I’m going to make Iced Cream of Wheat”, I tell her. The simultaneous burst of laughter from the three of them send the birds outside the window fluttering to the trees. I nervously glance at Eddie, and I find I am comforted by the understanding in his eyes. On my mother’s face there is a trace of bewildered surprise.
I remember that same look fading to sadness after both of us saw Eddie get gunned down in a drive-by shooting three years ago.
Johnny Cash Loves You!
December 21, 2005
last year's unanswered christmas letters....little billy...
Dear Santa,
My name is Billy Peterson and I live in Highlands Ranch on 325 Rain Dream Hill Place. Please don’t confuse our house with the houses on Rain Dream Hill Court, Rain Dream Hill Avenue, Rain Dream Hill Lane, Rain Dream Hill Street, Rain Dream Hill Boulevard or Rain Dream Hill Circle.
All I want for Christmas is another play station for our minivan.
I’ve made cookies for you so get here soon because I will eat them if you don’t.
Billy
Johnny Cash Loves You!
My name is Billy Peterson and I live in Highlands Ranch on 325 Rain Dream Hill Place. Please don’t confuse our house with the houses on Rain Dream Hill Court, Rain Dream Hill Avenue, Rain Dream Hill Lane, Rain Dream Hill Street, Rain Dream Hill Boulevard or Rain Dream Hill Circle.
All I want for Christmas is another play station for our minivan.
I’ve made cookies for you so get here soon because I will eat them if you don’t.
Billy
Johnny Cash Loves You!
December 17, 2005
last year's unanswered christmas letters....bad phone rep...
Dear Santa,
We have been very bad this year, we have had a lot of opportunities to help people and we didn’t. We have been rude and mean.
I know we don’t deserve anything except for lumps of coal but if you can see it in your heart to bring us something we would really appreciate it. You see, we need a soul.
Qwest customer service department.
Johnny Cash Loves You!
We have been very bad this year, we have had a lot of opportunities to help people and we didn’t. We have been rude and mean.
I know we don’t deserve anything except for lumps of coal but if you can see it in your heart to bring us something we would really appreciate it. You see, we need a soul.
Qwest customer service department.
Johnny Cash Loves You!
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