In Today’s Journal
* My Quote of the Day
* A Flash Autobiography, Part 1
* Of Interest
My Quote of the Day
“After I forced my way through the birth canal, I decided that was more than enough work. Everything I’ve done since then has been sheer pleasure. Why would I ever retire?”
A Flash Autobiography, Part 1
I intended to knock this out in a single post, but the essay grew to almost 2000 words.
That’s too much, so instead I’m breaking it into two segments: Part 1, The Prelude and Practice; and Part 2, The Transition into Writing and Teaching.
I also intended to space these posts. Then I didn’t.
The Prelude, and Practice
In every generation since the Boomers, many people have been concerned about “finding themselves.” Until now, I’ve never bothered with any of that. As it turns out there was no need. I was right here all along.
Although I’m an extreme introvert (my apparent extroversion is a much-practiced defense mechanism), fortunately I’ve spent most of my life looking outward rather than inward. In my opinion, that mentality is a much healthier and more satisfying way to live.
I mention this because that philosophy was instrumental in my eventually becoming a writer and writing instructor.
My Start
I was born in 1952 to a too-young mother and, to put it gently, an overbearing father. He suffered lifelong feelings of inadequacy, mostly due to his own childhood history.
Because he never dug himself out of his childhood experiences, he became increasingly insecure and someone whom I, my stepmother, and all but my youngest sibling (22 years my junior) quietly avoided whenever possible in an effort to literally survive.
So by the time I was 4 or 5 years old, I learned that solitude is a very good thing. I also learned that solitude anywhere but home was even better. So I also developed a wanderlust.
Likewise, I learned early to enjoy all the little things that make life special.
- Grass bending in a strong breeze might be ghost horses passing.
- A quietly burbling stream might be conversing with the whispering pines or the rustling cottonwoods.
- The flowers of what we’ve designated “weeds” are every bit as beautiful to bees as the roses in a nursery.
- Raindrops might actually be angels crying.
- And the so-called ‘lesser’ animals aren’t actually lesser. They’re only different.
The point is, we humans with our limited perspective can’t possibly know. We only have theories and “science,” which is of course proclaimed by other humans.
I suspect we’re biased toward our own species. Our wisest scientists will tell you they simply don’t know.
What’s certain is that every sunrise is a promise of endless exciting possibilities, every cloud is a chance to imagine something new, and every sunset is an opportunity for quiet self-reflection and assessment.
Every step we take and every decision we make leads to an infinite number of futures. So given who I am now, in retrospect that was a pretty good start.
Ramping Up
When I was 12 years old, I read a “filler” at the bottom of a newspaper column in The Lubbock Avalanche-Journal: “Live your life so that when you’re all alone, you’re in good company.” That was an epiphany for me.
Fifty-some years later, fictional Texas Ranger Wes Crowley gave me his stark version of the same philosophy: “Upright is not a matter of degree. In every moment, you either are or you aren’t.”
Later, when Wes’ captain reminded him the New Mexico Territory was outside his jurisdiction, Wes replied, “It’s all right, Cap. I carry my jurisdiction with me.”
I’ve tried hard to live up to all three of those bits of wisdom.
My lovely bride of 41 years, the most important person in my life, is very much a homebody, which is fine. Being who you are is a good thing. She prefers anonymity, so I mention her proclivity to be anchored at home only to provide a basis for the rest of this.
To say that I am not a homebody is a vast understatement. Over the years, every military deployment or speaking engagement or road trip was an opportunity to fill the well from which to later draw poems or songs and essays or stories.
I was in the Marine Corps (mostly stationed in Yuma) from ’70 to ’91. I call that my 21-year Civilian-Appreciation Course for Slow Learners.
During that time, I was gone often enough to satisfy most of my need to wander. I also wrote poetry, played and picked guitar, wrote song lyrics, and sang in the occasional gig. (Think Don Williams mixed with George Strait).
Then from ’92 to ’95 I was gone a lot to attend college, first at the Roswell NM campus of ENMU, then at the main campus in Portales.
During much of ’94 and ’95, we lived in Roswell, but I drove to Portales for classes on Monday morning and lived in a dorm room until classes ended on Friday. So for much of those two years, I was home only on weekends.
That provided both solitude and writing time. More poetry and song lyrics plus essays and articles and (groan) boring, citation-rich term papers.
During that time also my college literature professor—Dan Mast, a natural humorist who looked like an unhinged mixture of Samuel Clemens and Albert Einstein—allowed me to substitute a blank-verse (unrhymed iambic pentameter) version of Little Red Riding Hood in place of the usual term paper, which he knew I could write “while standing on your head spitting BBs.”
I was also fortunate enough in Portales to study under the tutelage of (and write several short stories for) Science Fiction Grand Master Jack Williamson, who gave me some invaluable tips in his critiques.
Finally, that’s also the timeframe during which organizers of several writers’ conferences and a few conventions around the nation started taking notice of my writing. With increasing regularity, they invited me to teach paid gigs on writing poetry and essays and the nuances of the language.
During one of those writers’ conferences between 1995 and 2004 (in Tulsa, I think) I also first met and talked with Dean Wesley Smith, who a decade or so later became my unintentional mentor in fiction. I also met several other ‘name’ poets and writers and agents and publishing house acquisition editors.
At this point many essayists would write “and the rest is history,” and of course it is. But more realistically it’s the beginning of my transition into writing and teaching fiction.
I’ll be back tomorrow with Part 2. Talk with you again then.
Of Interest
Valuation Fun To get to the real meat of this, scroll down to “So how does this work outside your Shopify store?” (Trust me. Even if you don’t have a Shopify store, read it anyway.)
Story Structure: 11 Plot Types Explained I urge you to read each structure if you want. The post also offers a guide for each plot type. Then forget about it and just write from the creative subconscious. You’ll retain what you need of each structure. Note that every plot type was discovered after the fact by critics (even when those critics were also writers).