Posted by dtkrippene | Filed under Holiday Message, Musing
≈ Comments Off on May Your Muse Sparkle Throughout the Year
25 Wednesday Dec 2019
Posted Inspiration, Musing
inI miss childish times when believing was unhampered by the distractions of adulthood; making a living, raising a family – you know, the stuff of life. The little guy above; he doesn’t quite understand the meaning of a simple tree ornament, but he believes there is magic in his hand.
I attended holiday gatherings the last couple weeks with friends I hadn’t seen in a while. The inevitable question arose, “how’s the writing going?” I delivered the usual pitch; published a couple short stories; working on finishing another manuscript, etc. etc.
We’re expected to call ourselves writers when asked. It is part of shoring up the walls of self-belief. Folks who ask, respond as expected with, “Gee, that’s neat. What have you written?” Cue awkwardness. “Oh – uh – I write apocalyptic, little paranormal – got a couple short stories in a mag you never heard of – oh, there’s my wife. Can you excuse me a moment?”
For those of us who write but have few if any credentials to show for our hard work, the magic of believing wanes over time.
When I first embarked on this venture decades ago, it was to prove that I had it in me to write a book. I had fun doing it. Wrote another. I believed in myself. I graduated to magazine articles and crafting words for new stories. A real full-time job and being a parent kept the effort to stolen snippets of time. I wrote without a clue how the book industry worked, blissful in my belief that I was ready to test the literary waters.
I discovered myself afloat against a tsunami of content and woke up on a desert isle of disbelief. Reality set in with the chain of five-percenters – five percent of all writers finish a book, five percent of that never submit, five percent of that never land an agent, five percent of those never see the publishing light of day …
What the hell was I thinking? Even if I managed to flag down one of many gatekeepers, I was up against seasoned professionals. That childish belief melted like a snowman in a winter thaw.
Imagining stories and writing them down had always been easy for me. Who knew there were rules, lots of rules, pretty rules for the gate-keeping cadre? Took the next few years to learn how to write, but at least I kept at it. It changed my writing style, some of it good, some of it that chipped away at my writing voice. I emerged as a self-taught gatekeeper and entered a mobius strip of write, edit, critique, prune, rinse, repeat. I’d write ten-thousand words, and trash about eight. Where once it took me six-to-eight months to finish a book, now swelled to a couple years.
Then someone asked, “Why are you still at it after all these years?” It was the same as asking, why do you still believe? Good question. I didn’t have an immediate canned reply. In a moment of self-reflection, I rephrased the question. What plants me in front of an empty screen starving for words? I found the answer in the bio I’d written many years ago.
With an imagination that never sleeps, DT has a muse who refuses to be hobbled as a mere dream.
I’d forgotten that I write because I can’t help myself. I don’t need a reason. All I need is to believe I can translate the muse in my head and create magic on a page.
As for swimming the murky waters of publishing, cue line from the movie, Galaxy Quest. Never give up, never surrender. If the current project doesn’t float, I’ll move on and write something new. For me, the real fun is in the creating.
To my fellow writers, may your holiday spirit be amply laced with a child-like belief in yourself.
30 Sunday Jun 2019
Posted Blogging, Inspiration, Musing
inTags
Fourth of July, Freedom of Speech, Good Intentions, Media Overload, Social Media, Unsplash.com, Writing
On July Fourth, we celebrate our country’s basic human freedoms – one of which is Freedom of Expression. We live in sensitive times, however, where words can inflame or incite reactions from others who take deference to those words.
That’s why I write fiction, where …
… names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or locales is entirely coincidental.
It’s a cop-out, but it keeps the litigation worms from getting into the creative literary food bin. Of course, there are times when someone might ask – “what was really on your mind when you wrote this?” Um – sounded like a good idea at the time?
I revisited an article I posted five years ago, titled: The Fourth of Fantastic, where I wrote about the imperfection of our freedom of expression.
Right versus left, up versus down, it is enough to make your head spin. That’s what makes it great. People voicing opinions, standing up and saying what for. Democracy is chaotic, inclusive, confusing, open-minded, batty, and downright fantastic. Like all large families, a potpourri of multi-generational next of kin comes with large doses of squabbling and that crazy uncle we whisper about. And man, do we love to bicker.
Just for the record, I’m that crazy uncle they whisper about.
I didn’t shy away from espousing opinions in my younger years. It’s the passion of youth. Winston Churchill never actually said it, but I like the quote: “If you’re not a liberal when you’re 25, you have no heart. If you’re not a conservative by the time you’re 35, you have no brain.” I like to think of myself as having one foot in, one foot out. Guess that means I have half a brain.
As an older man, I tend to avoid espousing my opinion in public forums. It’s not healthy for a writer beginning to emerge like me. Why piss off a potential reader? I don’t want to be one of those curmudgeons who grouse at a newspaper article, then proselytize my differing opinion to anyone who happens to walk by. I save all that for my long-suffering wife, who has learned to shake her head and follow-up with, “did you cut the lawn yet?”
Another quote I liked from an unknown author used to be pinned on my desk.
Speak with good intention. Remember your goal is to communicate, not just be heard.
I didn’t live up to it as I’d hoped. I was too busy waiting to spout something clever or funny, and not listening. It’s still a work in process.
I’ve historically been one of the loud ones, as if talking in a very loud voice ensured I’d be heard. Years ago, during a transfer to a new position, a colleague presented me a phone with a noise suppression device. Subtle. Loud didn’t work with the kids either. They’d often blink a lot when I got on a roll; their way of semaphoring a message, “Hey Dad, turn it down a notch”, followed by a negative post debate review. Too many years passed before I realized that which is spoken loudly does not equate to truth.
I sort of miss the days of flaming editorials limited to one newspaper and three TV channels. Today, it’s instant access to thousands of media “information” sites whether I want it or not, with more truer than fiction facts than the number of fleas on a herd of bison. As a responsible citizen, it’s up to me to sift for accuracy, some of which is more fiction than fact. When I add in opinions on social media platforms, one can get a migraine from all the freedom of expression.
My contribution to the world of social media opinionating is to avoid it (see curmudgeon on the porch comment above). Anything I contribute tends to be pictures of the grand-boys, family gatherings, something I just cooked, clever quotes, concept art, self-deprecating jokes, vacation pics, or a rare glorious sunset in a locale I’ve come to label as Wet-sylvania. We have plenty of podium prophets out there without my input.
What, you don’t stand for anything? Of course I do. When the time comes, I exercise that other American right.
Happy Fourth of July to you all. Wrap yourself in the symbol of our country that allows freedom of expression. I just ask you do it with good intention, strive to not be hurtful, and look the other in the eye to ensure you’ve heard their side as well.
**************************************************************
Author’s Note:
My thanks again to the talented photographers of Unsplash.com for allowing use of their work, in order of appearance.
30 Sunday Dec 2018
Posted Inspiration, Musing
in
It’s that time of year when I’m away from my writing desk to spend time with family out west. I had hopes to scratch a few lines between the happy helter-skelter of being with loved ones. I made a promise to my muse I wouldn’t desert her (see November’s article, A Writer Comes Home to His Beloved Muse).
Presents scattered on the floor like flotsam, bellies full, and kids down for the night, instead of quiet conversation, clutching mugs of hot beverages on a cold winter night, the adults had their eyes glued on smart-phones. I too browsed the cacophony of apps and media distraction. No wonder I can’t think creatively. I tried reading, but the oversized television screen on mute kept drawing my eye.
I stared at the Christmas tree in lazy thought, and shook my head. Peace of mind in the monochromatic world of all things life oriented can be elusive. Our heads are too often pointed downward in the bustling crowd. Even those who live in remote places are as burdened as city dwellers from the incessant distraction of a connected society. I needed to find some quiet – a place of reticence to air out the brain.
I set the book aside, closed my eyes, and imagined a small town, where new fallen snow muffled my footsteps, the only sound that of a hushed breeze though barren branches – and the occasional air pump of holiday yard blimps. I thought of a cardinal balanced on snow-laden boughs, its scarlet feathers a singular lighthouse in a sea of white, and a lantern post, its warm yellow light a beacon against a colorless palette.
The streets of the small town were deserted, and I marveled at the twinkle of holiday decorations that festooned houses. As if waiting for someone to notice, a lone white bulb was tucked inside a riot of colored lights. Like the cardinal, and the lantern, it impressed upon me the serenity of a simple light in an ostentatious environment. It’s where I needed to get my head at if I had a shot at writing anything.
I turned, and spotted lighted candy canes on the edge of thick forest. I trudged away from the brashness of holiday décor. Somehow, my whimsical town had disappeared, and I was on a deserted road in a thick forest. I shuffled my foot in the snow to find what powered this odd display, until my eyes revealed a single set of footprints leading into the woods.
30 Saturday Jun 2018
Posted Inspiration, Musing
in≈ Comments Off on Fireworks, BBQ, and Waving the Flag
Fireworks, Beer, Brots, and other things burned on an open fire — it’s ‘Merica, and the time of year when we celebrate Thomas Jefferson’s break up letter to King George.
Going to be a hot one for us here in PA, which will likely send me to the basement writing office to escape the heat. So I’ll keep it short, and wish everyone a fun, safe Fourth of July.
May Our Fields of Freedom Never Go Fallow — DT Krippene
Oh … and turn off the smartphone. Fireworks are best photographed by the mind.
31 Sunday Dec 2017
Posted Musing, On Writing
in
After finally finishing my latest novel, I see a whole new set of beginnings coming with it. No time to revel in joy for completing the novel, I’m already looking for that new spark in the wilderness of imagination.
But first, I must reset the way I do things. Productivity this past year was in the shitter. I could rail on with a few dog-ate-my-homework memes. Birth of a new grandson a few months ago, and losing a father-in-law in past weeks would certainly headline the list. Too many times I found myself looking back to say WTF.
I made a commitment to finish the book, “The Gravity of Light”, by October. That slipped to November, which then slipped to December. In order to keep up between life events, I slowed my Twitter and Facebook posts, and let this blog lapse for a couple months to focus on typing those final chapters. Didn’t help matters I was already on version four, and heading into version five after realizing I was caught in a blizzard of plot holes.
16 Monday Jan 2017
Posted Musing, Searching for Light
inTags
International Dark-Sky Association, Light Pollution, Milky Way, Night Sky, Searching for Light, Sky Guide, Stargazing
The Mobius Arch Loop Trailhead, by ©Clarisse Meyer via Unsplash
Ah, January – that time of year when the nights are longer, and if you live in a northern clime, you might be able to wander out to a hilltop on a clear, cold night, and be mesmerized by the stars above. I remember amazing nights on a fishing boat in the Philippines during my Peace Corps days, where it seemed I could reach up and take a handful of the cosmos, or hiking the Three Sisters Wilderness area under a moonless sky so bright with stars, we didn’t need flashlights. And nothing stirs the creative juices for a sci-fi story I’m writing like gazing at the heavens.
I miss the stars.
Last time I caught the majesty of the Milky Way with the naked eye, was a few years ago while visiting my park ranger daughter at Pipe Springs National Monument in Utah. I now use a smart-phone app called Sky Guide, a handheld planetarium of sorts, to view the constellations in real time. As if standing on a remote hill a thousand years ago, the app displays what we should see if the sky wasn’t hazy with light scatter.
Most of my adult working life was in or near major metropolises. It’s a little hard to stargaze with today’s countless malls, homes, and streetlamps. Though I’m fortunate to live in a small, eastern Pennsylvania town where I can stroll the streets and cul-de-sacs at night, there’s still too much light pollution to see constellations with any clarity.
How bad is it? Take a look at a before and after shot during a Northeast power outage in 2003.
Source: Darksky.org – Photo by ©Todd Carlson
It has me wondering why we need all that illumination. Apparently, I’m not alone.
30 Thursday Jun 2016
Posted Inspiration, Musing
inJuly Fourth is one of two holidays that are dear to my heart (can you guess what the other one is?). Our country’s independence is more than just fond childhood memories of BBQs and small town parades. It is the time when I take a moment to reflect how lucky I am to live in a place where I’m free to live as an individual. Not to say I don’t shake my head in befuddlement on occasion, but hey, who said life was perfect.
People ask what my fondest Fourth of July memory is. Was it a particular family event, fireworks on a small New Hampshire lakeshore, or my girls running around in the dark with sparklers when they were young?
Fresh out of college, when adulthood broadsided me, a biology degree didn’t offer much in the way of gainful employment at the time, so I chose a path less traveled and joined the Peace Corps. It promised adventure and a chance to do something special in a third world country. Being the impressionable young man with noble dreams and zero sense of reality, off I went to the Philippines as a Fisheries Biologist for a two-year, non-stop assignment without home leave. I left just after July 4, and returned two years later in mid July.
30 Wednesday Mar 2016
Posted Dystopian Subjects, Musing, On Writing
inTags
When out-of-town friends come to visit, sightseeing Amish country outside Lancaster, PA, is on our top list of excursions not to be missed. Each visit, I learn a little bit more of the simple life that survived inside our 21st century, helter-skelter world, and it re-stokes the scenic muse in my writing. We recently revisited our favorite back roads to observe the Amish farmers prepare for another growing season. The following article is something I wrote three years ago, and worth a revisit.
*****
It’s a great time of year to observe a friendly, humble people who resist the temptations of a modern life. They bear it well, but living in a fishbowl where the English “observe them” as anomalies of society, has to be somewhat nerve wracking. Shunning electricity and other modern conveniences, the Amish have carved a unique niche in a country gone amok with technological advances. Where most of us gather food from sterilized packages in gleaming stores, ride around in motor vehicles, wear clothes made in a third-world sweatshop, and entertain ourselves with endless media options, our modern selves are anything but simple. Turn off the switch, and most of us are likely to fumble in the darkness.
03 Friday Jul 2015
Posted Inspiration, Musing
in≈ Comments Off on Star Spangled Memories
Fourth of July will always be the bandstand of summer for me. Men burn meat over an open fire, beer flows like the Mississippi in spring, pools slosh with white caps, hotdogs become an endangered species, ice cream puddles in vats, and fireworks cloud the sky with enough phosphoric haze to create its own weather pattern. Doesn’t get any better than that.
Memorable fourths fill a dozen photo albums in our family. The kids spent most of their summers at grandpa’s place, where the mossy scent of lake water and drone of motorboats still bring a smile. Grandpa used to start July 4 by lighting a string of black cat firecrackers by our bedroom window. Clothing for the day had to include red, white and blue. Children vied for the honor of carrying the flag in the annual parade between the houses, all to John Phillip Sousa blasting from the house of a retired neighbor. The parade ended at a flagpole, where the kids recited the Pledge of Allegiance and gave thanks to the men and women of the armed forces who help us keep the freedoms we enjoy.
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