I’m writing the draft of what you’re reading with a Sharpie on canvas. Tony’s house. There’s only have art supplies to write with.

Everyone else is outside smoking now. I’m refraining. I tell people I’m training for a marathon. But really, I’m just running a lot. I’m procrastinating deciding when and where and which marathon exactly I’m training for. If any.

I’m running a lot, because I’m writing a lot. To me there’s a connection. Because if I have time to write all day, I can’t really play the “I don’t have time to run” card.

Writing-Maniac

For the first time in my life, I’ve put writing where I’ve always wanted to have it: Front and center.

I turned down a job today. One that would have had all the components of meaningful work I would have loved. Who does that in this economy?

I guess I this guy…, but I’m really glad I’m doing it. This novel is going to happen. I can feel it, and my logic tells me that if I stay the course I’ll get there.

I plan to spend at least three weeks here in my old stomping grounds, visiting old friends and family. It was great seeing Tyler interact with his friends last night. I realized that this was the longest he has ever been out of this state.

You never know when live is going to recall someone.  I’ve been lucky so far. 12 people in my family, all of them safe, happy and alive. I don’t mean this negatively, but that can only change. Things go great for a while, but stuff always happens. But for right now, I’m happy and lucky to be here around people as crazy as I am.

I’m trying to be less dismissive. Of things, of people, ideas and lifestyles. The more I succeed in this goal, the more blissful everything around me becomes.

The photo on this page is from an artist, Jordan Orleans I’m working with. It’s great how art can bring people you never would have planned on interacting with into your life.

The Language of Music 

Last night Tyler and I sat at Tony’s and played music. It was the sort of Jam session where the songs take over completely. I remember my gradeschool music teacher once told me about how she and a man from a foreign country couldn’t speak the same language and so they communicated with music. At the time I didn’t really know what she meant. I do now.

In a jam session there’s lead changes, there’s meaning related, stories told and bonds strengthened. You can’t really say things like, “Hey, do you remember where I put my car keys.” But it’s a language that says things we can’t with words.