my amazing wife went to the farmer's market share at her office today. amongst the usual assortment of greens, eggs and cheeses her fingers seemed drawn toward one very unusual item. darkness clouded her eyes. the echoed footsteps and voices bouncing from the walls in the crowded room muffled into silence. no longer in control of her actions, she made the purchase.

entering the house this evening with a dazed look on her face, she handed me the cardboard box, climbed the staircase and lay down on our bed with shoes still tied to her feet. confused, i began to put away the brussel sprouts and potatoes. suddenly filled with deep fear. not for myself, but for all history.

it stood alone in the sink staring up at me. a hiden relic from a forgoten age. a demon veggie preparing to rise once again from the depths ry'leh. picked by this local farmer wanting nothing more than to sell the fruits of his labor to the town and city folk for nourishment. instead spreading the roots of evil and destruction.
 
prostrate yourself before...

  

the carrot of cthulhu

all of these writers posting word counts. 2,433 in a day. 1,215
in an hour. 50,000 in a month. good for them. seriously. i mean it. it’s fucking impressive. i can possibly get a couple of hundred out of me on a good day. 

any of you word burners got any advice for me? am i simply being
too persnickety about what I’m trying to say? if i allow the crap to flow from my head to my fingers and stain the keyboard, it’ll certainly increase my numbers. my problem is letting go of phrases before they look and sound at least pretty damn close to correct. i white knuckle every syllable consonant vowel quotation mark and period. 

by no means is this to say that faster equals lesser quality. Mozart, Pollack, Picasso and King are but a small handful of masters known to
have worked with lightning speed and created some of the more indelible art in history. i am sincerely in awe of those that can create more rapidly than myself. 

as a former jazz musician, you’d think I could rely on my improvisational tools and my intuition as a guide. the difference is while playing improvised music, the moment comes and then it’s gone. the only time it
ever returns is if the music is recorded. even in that circumstance, much of the feeling and spontaneity is stripped away, leaving black and white carbon copied playbacks paling in comparison to the vibrant three dimensional presence of the moment itself.


writing leaves every nuance bare. stark naked on the page.



vulnerable and permanent with every keystroke.



the moment letters are pressed into the keyboard, my second guessing begins. is this the best way to say that? would he really feel this about her? does the story need to go in this direction? getting out of my own way to allow the ideas to spill out is my most difficult challenge. finding an opening, a chink or two in my armor to wedge my way out of.

 at this point in writing, i’ve already gone back over the preceding paragraphs and made changes three times.  part of me knows that i should let it all come out, put every idea down on “paper” and then review everything after it’s a complete piece.

nope.

can’t do it.

the oppressive forces of revisionism dominate my thoughts and control my fingers as they hunt and peck. i interrupt my own flow pulling back on the record, scratching the music. only not in that good DJ Shadow way. 

now I have deadlines. stories that need to be written, edited, revised and completed within specified time frames. it’s almost noon now. i gave the neighbor’s dog his medicine. dishes are washed, garbage thrown out, recycling done, showered, teeth brushed, breakfast eaten, phone calls, emails, facebook, twitters, music chosen, didn’t like it so another choice made…now i’m here sitting at my computer terrified that I don’t have the capacity to accomplish anything worthwhile.

 so I choose to write this blog instead of work on any of the umpteen projects I need to bite chunks out of asap. did I mention that I just went back to review the paragraph above? just now I did. yup. can’t even get out of my when trying to tell you all that i have a problem of getting out of my own way. too cool for school y’all. that’s me.

my wife reminded me of a phrase my dad used to say all the time,

"Perfect is the enemy of Done."

wish me luck!

-a
 

The hometown Veterans Day Parade passed directly in front of my house today. I stood on the porch waving to our honored veterans taking their pictures feeling a deep sense of gratitude and pride. The Boy and Girl Scouts marched out of step smiling and proudly waving American Flags. Our local pee wee football team wore their jerseys while the miniature cheerleading squad shook pom poms and chanted "Go Team Go!" right behind them. A long chain of colorful. feshly washed fire trucks and ambulances came next with all of the volunteer firemen happily throwing candy to kids lining the side of the road. Finally, a pair of prancing horses sauntered gleefully by, riders clicking their tongues ordering commands familiar only to their partners. I watched the magnificent animal's muscles twitch at the hip and shoulder with a power stored inside that could and has changed the world. At the last moment I smiled at my son and sadly recognized the parade was at an end. I turned for one last glance as the marching band drum cadence faded away into the village when the horse lifted it's long tail and took a crap on the street right in front of my porch.