It's what people do

I realized that when I journaled (technically I still do, I just haven't in probably almost a year), I mostly did it when I was feeling more stress, or had a moment of time. I'm following the same pattern with blogging. Now I just "don't have the time" though I make the time for other things, but stuff is also going pretty well (for the moment, at least). I've got a full schedule making things come together, or at least nudging them along, so I feel a much smaller need to blog, because I don't really need reassurance. Journaling and blogging are different kinds of prayer for me, I think. They help me state in writing what's going on, and I usually end with some statement of encouragement. I suppose that's what most people do with religion. When things are going well, they figure they do not need it or God, and when things go wrong, well, I think every single person has prayed to God (or their version of a diety) in times of peril and crisis. Maybe I'm just a normal person in that regard. There I am.

Tomorrow's forecast

Tomorrow's forecast: mostly rainy with a 30% chance of blog.

Would you lend me a Q for my A?

I think I know my issue with blogs. I can't help but feel like I am talking into a vacuum. I'm not used to that, I am used to feedback. On stage, I get instant feedback. Even if there is no sounds of laughing or coughing, I can feel when the room is focused on the story, on the moment of interaction. I hate to admit it, but as much as I pretend to be a writer (I do enjoy being on my own), I am an actor, and I need people, I need conversation, I need interaction. What I've really felt writing this blog is that while I may have an audience in mind (albeit one person, depending on my mood), I'm really writing to no one, at least that is my feeling on this end. Doesn't that sound so whiney and camp? "Ooh, poor poor me, wasting my fingers away on this cold, plastic mat, coated with the most basic elements of language with nobody to share it with." Yeah. Lame. Ignore that bit, that's the actory side of me. Now, the equally vain but deeper part of me wants this to be a dialogue, or conversation. At least less of me talking to the Great Wall of the internet.

Man, I remember my metaphors being much more intelligent. I thought doing a lot of reading today would have helped that bit. Oh well. Here's what it is: I want questions. I want to answer questions. I do have thoughts all day long, but it gets tiring answering my own questions, especially when if I know I'm the only one listening, I won't surprise myself with the answers. I only surprise myself when I'm talking with other [real] people. Like when you have a problem that's bugging you, and the second you ask someone else about it you get the answer. That's what it's like, but I am also aware that when the pressure is on, that's how writing is. When I've truly had pressure to write, the most amazing connections and solutions come out of me, because I can't rely on time and thinking, only on the moment and how brilliantly ideas coalesce, like turning coal into diamonds with heat and pressure. Then again I sometimes get ridiculously long sentences. Short ones too. For effect.

All my ramblings aside, I want questions. Whatever they are. Bring me the heat and pressure.

Time and compulsion

Still trying to figure out how I can say yes to one thing and not say no to another. For a while there I said yes to most everything, but that burned me out, so now I am more selective. This gives me more "free" time, but I also feel like I am missing out on things, which is true. I think I even felt that before, but I have more time to feel it now.

I watched a program on savants on the Science channel. They have this compulsion in their brain that they cannot turn off. I do sometimes wish I had that so I would be compelled to write and create, but I am very glad I have the ability to turn it off. An uncontrollable obsession is not something I desire...that much.

I want to take a few more classes in different things, but I am focusing myself (instead of saying limiting myself) to two things outside of work; writing and improv. Other acting is mildly on hold...or at least limited, and though I see workshops on producing and other things I would like to learn, I have to say no to them if I want to keep my sanity.

Yep. I'm complaining about wanting to do more things. In all honesty, I think this blog is an excuse to not write, which is really what the rest of life is for writers. Even for Russel T. Davies (former showrunner for the new Doctor Who). At least I'm in good company. The question for me now is: how do I up the pressure to write without overtaxing myself? That's my next lesson in self control/motivation. I am open to suggestion (and threats if necessary).

Letters

I don't write letters anymore. By that I just mean I haven't written one in quite a while, maybe almost a year or so. I used to write them more.

I wrote one to Stephen Speilberg letting him know he should remember my name because I have big plans, and once they are achieved, he will be very impressed. I wrote a letter to the woman who did the voice of Cortana in the Halo video game series after seeing her in a play in Portland. I said "I was pleasantly surprised to see Cortana playing Elizabeth Bennet."

Yep, I'm a silly little boy at times.

In addition to letters telling people to remember my name because I am going to be big someday, I also wrote letters telling people to remember my name because I wanted them to have it. Love letters. I miss writing those, or maybe the excuse to write them...or just everything about them.

There's something powerful behind writing down words, especially by hand. Maybe it's the whole real world part of it, or the fact that it cannot be deleted, or the other fact that very few things in the real world show evidence of being touched by a human, especially people.

Maybe it's the idea that all that time and physical effort, although it's generally simple, has a very specific audience of one person. Emails can be copied and sent like nothing, and blogs...well, not that more than a dozen people have ever glanced over mine, but it's not very personal to anyone other than myself. A letter though, is a private work, generally a labor of love in some form, which is a special kind of special that only seems rare to those who don't see it often enough. --I think that's where we all are right now.

Apparently specific

Crap, I forgot I committed myself to doing this every day. I think that was only one or two blogs ago. Life happens. I just need to deal with that fact...no, I just need to accept that as fact. The two might look the same from the outside but make all the difference inside. The point is, I'm here saying things when I have nothing to say, but so much I want to say.

I want to talk about my first improv show at the Brody (level 3 class), and compare the art form to Hopi sand painting. Etherial, temporal. You have to be there to see them, because they are not built to last, they are built as a brief experience alone, like life itself. I want to talk about how I am happy to have gotten an email from the Brody people saying I am invited into level 4 performance lab, which means more chances to to this in front of people, but also means new people, which is what it is.

I want to talk about how I'll miss some of the people I've worked with, knowing that even if we all move on to 4, it will be about 16 people strong vs the 5 people intimacy of level 3. I want to talk about the past classes, how through all of them people have come and gone, with only, what, 3 or 4 of us that went through levels 1, 2a, 2b and 3 together? I want to talk about how my life has had wonderful moments with people flitting in and out of it, and that the moment is really all you have...or maybe that's just the song from the recent 30 Rock episode fumbling through my thoughts.

What I really want to talk about is life itself; the mystery. Though I guess I did, looking up at what I wrote. The more specific I am, the more people can relate to it. That's one of my favorite paradoxes in writing, or creating. The sheer volumetric power of specificity.

A much greater reward

Daily commitments are difficult for, and I bet for a lot of other people too. I can commit to something every day if I know it's only for a week or a month, but I have a hard time committing to something if I know I will have to do it every single day until I die. That seems like a lot, too much to really fathom sometimes. With a blog, I'm just not sure I have something to say, but improv has taught me that even if I don't know what I'm doing or what I am going to say, I will have something to do and say when I need to. I find this true at this moment of time. I'm still not certain if I've committed myself to this every day. I would like to, and maybe I will. This must be the same reason some people live together for decades and never get married. It's the fulfillment of the commitment without making it. Perhaps I should bite the bullet and say I will do this. It would mean I might feel like I've failed if I miss a day, but I guess you can't really succeed if you can't fail. So here I am, opening myself to failure, and to a much greater reward.

Bills, Blogs and Bill Boggs

This is my most bloggy post yet. Deal with it.

I just got paid yesterday, which really means one thing: time to spend it all on bills (yay). There, now that's done, I need to post on my blog so that people know I'm still alive, because everyone should get their validation from the internet (I think it's on sale over at half.com)

There. Done. Now I am off to fly through the air, movie-magic-style. I am ridiculous and signed up for a two day workshop called an "Introduction to Aerial Flight and Wire Rigging" with Bill Boggs. Apparently he's done wire stuff for a bunch of Hollywood films. Should be fun and ridiculous. This is, in fact why my entire paycheck and more is going to bills...because the rest of it goes to stuff like this.

Regrets? Not here.

So that's my life right now, paying bills, writing blogs, and flying through the air singing classic Disney songs with Bill Boggs. I live a charmed life.

Web-side voices

For the last few days at work, every time I've taken a break, so has a specific person who has to fill any hint of silence by narrating her actions and thoughts to the room. I don't have much more to say about this other to complain that it happened when I wanted to focus on reading.

Advice: Instead of narrating everything that happens inside your head to a room where people have no choice but to listen to you even if they do not want to but are too polite to tell you to stop, just blog it instead. That way, people don't have to read it if they don't want to and you can still put everything in your head down into words to enlighten the world of your thought processes play-by-play.

(Also why I don't twitter)

Halfway through the dark

I'm not rightly positive what I am trying to accomplish with this daily blog. My initial idea was to slightly mock the Chicken Soup books and entertain some people with my humor. I don't seem to be infusing quite as much humor into this as I thought I might. However, the winter kind of has that effect on me. I think it's the Oregon sadness. With the dearth of sunlight and abundance of cold weather, I can really see why certain animals hibernate. I've been doing quite a bit of that myself.

This is different from a journal. I'm not really writing to myself or some other imaginary or future person, but to the cloud. I guess I'm writing for myself instead of to myself. I had no real plan when I sat down for this post and am happy at the discoveries made. I had a much better plan of attack with notes I wrote last night in bed on a torn out daily calendar page. Consider those scrapped for now. I want to incorporate comics into this blog as well, much like Chicken Soup.

I am opening myself back up to life and the world (and this blog thing). I watched the Doctor Who Christmas special this year, their version of A Christmas Carol (it was fantastic, by the way). In it a character references that about this time of year on every planet, all of the people stop what they are doing and celebrate the light in the dark, a sort of congratulations for being halfway through the dark. On this planet we saw the shortest day of the year a couple weeks ago, so we are definitely officially halfway through the dark. I like this idea, this crystal feast. I feel very halfway through the dark. I still feel the darkness and the cold, but something important changes inside when one is half of the way through with something. It's like I had previously hit the wall but now I'm back up and know that as long as I keep going I will be fine. More so than a few feet or days prior, depending on the system of measurement.

Happy over halfway. It's a kind of edge for the middle of things, and all the interesting things happen at the edges.