Gasp! by Laura Axelrod

Overcoming

I listened to a fabulous webinar this afternoon by author Sonia Ricotti. Her book, "Unsinkable" is about overcoming obstacles. I haven't read it, but the webinar was exactly what I needed today.

The principles she discussed centered around changing your conscious and subconscious thoughts. The past does not have to be the present. So many times, people get caught up in thinking that nothing will ever change - myself included. For years, I told myself that no matter what I wrote, I would never succeed. And guess what? Nothing did. I programmed myself for failure. 

I don't know why I did that. In hindsight, perhaps I was stalling for time. I needed Alabama to teach me who I was and who I wasn't. People allow themselves to be successful. It doesn't happen by accident. Before, I didn't feel safe enough to let success into my life. But now I feel more empowered and centered to be the person I really am. Genuine success stems from authenticity. It goes against everything our culture tells us, but I have observed it time and again.

Being present and honest about yourself is so important; yet we're constantly told to be someone else. I think the pressure has gotten worse over the years, starting in the late '90s. When pop music jumped from Alanis Morisette to Britney Spears, it was a sign of the times ahead.

It's time to stop wondering what I lost since I'm not sure I ever had it anyway. 

Theater Blogging - Old School

I thought it would be fun to try my hand again at old-school theater blogging. A few days ago, George Hunka at Superfluities Redux wrote about the end of the theatrosphere. Blogging about theater was once a popular pastime among theatermakers. Back in 2003 or so, a handful of us got together and thought it would be fun to carry on conversations about theater over the internet. Hilarity ensued.

As blogging became popular, the theatrosphere expanded to include a number of people from around the world. I think one of its strongest points is that we were independent from institutions. While it was true journalists were members of the group, I never had the sense anyone served as an institutional mouthpiece. We blogged about a variety of topics, including sexism, new play development, MFAs, submission fees, Rachel Corrie and the role of the director. It was all fresh territory back then. There were no assumptions, no “been there done that.” There was a feeling in the group that we were breaking ground, comparing notes and talking about things in a new way.

 I learned a lot. I met new people and expanded my knowledge about theater, writing and life. I believe strongly that the group changed things for the better.

 

I also acknowledge that things were occasionally dicey. Some of the flame wars were not illuminating. A few were downright ugly.

There were several reasons I left the theatrosphere in 2007. I discovered someone was using my content for a theater project. I felt violated. It was around that time my Hollywood friends informed me that producers were combing through blogs and actually basing projects on blog content. Apparently, they assumed you could swipe a significant amount of someone’s life legally. So I’m guessing a number of people (in or out of the theatrosphere) might’ve quietly stopped blogging for that reason.

Also, I was country before country was cool. I moved twice from 2004 to 2006  - New York to Austin to Alabama. I attempted to do theater here in my community and ran into major problems. Lack of resources was only a small part of that. Plus, the theatrosphere was urban-oriented. I didn’t think my contributions were valuable.

 As well, I often felt there was an all-or-nothing attitude about theater blogging. Either you did it 100% of the time or forget it. As much as I loved theater, that didn’t work for me. Theater is just a part of my identity, only a piece of who I am as an artist/writer. I do other forms of writing. I have a book project, for instance. Some people know me as an energy healer and meditation teacher. My practice in that area focused on artists, including theater folks. But I never felt like I could write about those topics if I was a theater blogger.

 

Therein lies the crux of problem, I think. Because when I remember all the people in the community at that time, we each had something powerful to offer. For example, George had his incredible intellect. Issac had widespread interests and was extremely articulate. Joshua had wisdom and fantastic suggestions. Scott was steadily becoming an advocate for people in my position. Mac was a funny, cool dude who could lighten things up.  Obviously I’m leaving a lot of people out, but you get the idea. Everybody had a place. But after the group grew, I often felt like it was a struggle to be heard. I wasn’t in the position to meet everyone after a show. I was also one of the few women (and only woman at the beginning). When we all came together back in 2003/4, my gender wasn’t an issue. But when the community grew, I started to feel marginalized.  It’s not anyone’s fault really. It was just the dynamics of that situation. 

For me, George’s post about theatrosphere is timely. I’ve recently gone back to reading theater blogs, particularly Superfluities Redux and Parabasis. I also adore Don Hall’s blog. I started reading it again at 5:30 a.m., when I have to call people in Seoul, Korea to tutor them in English.  I found Don’s blog to be a nice, energetic wake-up in the morning.

When I blog about theater, I do it at the Clyde Fitch Report. They don’t tell me what to write and I have no idea who is actually reading my articles. Those two elements are a good thing. I can focus on what I see or need to say.

Also, writing for a website that is not my personal blog gives me more leeway. Look at it this way. What would you rather say?

“Hi! I’m Laura Axelrod with the Clyde Fitch Report. It is a NYC-based blog. And I’d like to talk to you about nudity in theater.”

Or

“Hi! I’m Laura Axelrod and I have a blog. I’m calling from my basement. And I’d like to talk to you about nudity in theater.”

 I’m kidding, of course, but you get the idea.

 

One of the biggest challenges over the past year has been figuring out what to do with Gasp. I’ve also been working on having a “right relationship” with theater. Doors are opening for me in publishing and I’ve been encouraged by professionals in that world to write about other interests on this blog.

 

As far as the current state of things, it is hard to have a meaningful conversation on Twitter. I respect other blogs, 2amt especially, since they know and have been infinitely supportive of my situation. But I understand what others are saying in the comments section at George’s blog.

 From my vantage point, I’ve grown weary of the “what we need to do to improve theater” discussions in this country. These conversations sometimes seem desperate and creepy. Has anyone yet suggested kidnapping people, holding them hostage to create an audience and then mugging them for funding? Because that’s the vibe I get sometimes from the balcony seats, where I sit. If I were a potential audience member, I’d run far away from theater after reading some of these conversations.

During my time in the theatersphere, I’ve tumbled with a few people. I know Scott and I have gone at it several times and I apologize for the intense flaming. I know I’ve told the rest of you off in my head at least once in those years, so I apologize if my secret thoughts gave off nasty vibes.

Wow, is this a personal post? Do we still do that these days?

I'm going to open up my comments, but despite my fears of a spam avalanche. If anyone chooses to link to this post, I kindly request the following: Please don’t say that this is a painful post. So much of my stuff back in the day got spun with that adjective. “Laura Axelrod writes this painful post about (name the situation)” And I’d sit there looking at my monitor, completely confused. Were my observations hurting people? Or did they think I was in pain?

Either way, you should know I’ve written this post with a big-ass smile on my face. 

(Picture of dog used to illustrate my emotional state while writing this post.)

Morning Pages and The Artists Way

Although I don’t feel creatively blocked, I started working on Julia Cameron’s “The Artist’s Way” a few days ago. The program is for people who want to unleash creativity. I completed the exercises back in 1997, in conjunction with going to a meditation school.

I had significant creative blocks in the ’90s, primarily due to violent relationship. It wasn’t a normal creative block, where you don’t feel like writing. I wanted to write, but didn’t feel safe enough. Anything that reminded me of that relationship produced flashbacks and other problems. So I disconnected from aspects of my creativity, including theater and playwriting.

It was a long journey to be able to write plays again. Part of that journey was completing The Artist’s Way. It wasn’t my only tool, but it sure helped.

A few years ago, I bought Cameron’s entire collection, including “The Artist’s Way,” “Walking in the World,” and “Finding Water.” I had just moved to Alabama and felt as thought I left myself back in Texas and New York City. I never had the time to do the exercises. Maybe it wasn’t appropriate in 2008.

Now, I feel compelled to widen my creative flow. I’m starting with the Morning Pages and Artist’s Date. After the New Year, I’ll begin to work my way through the weekly exercises.

This time, I’d like to regain my sense of freedom. I’ve spent a decade dealing with the business side of writing, which kills creativity. Too many people through the years have told me what to write, how to write and criticized what I’ve written. It’s unavoidable if you want to pursue writing professionally. Gradually, I’ve made myself smaller and smaller, caring more about what’s acceptable for other rather than what is true for myself. 

A New Chapter

I met with Publishing Coach Robin Hoffman on my Dad’s birthday. Although he passed away in 2008, he was a big supporter of my writing career. Having an hour-long session with Robin that day was a way of honoring my connection to him.

I met with Robin once before. She impressed me with her knowledge and positive energy. Her suggestions were specific to my situation. After speaking with her, I wrote 17,000 words of a new novel.

But then, something inside told me to stop. Some hard choices were approaching, and I needed feedback on my book concept. Was I headed in the right direction?

The Discussion

Theater doesn’t have the equivalent of a publishing coach, so I was very nervous about the meeting. Could I articulate my book concept accurately? Would she laugh at me or think it was stupid? 

As it turns out, she listened with an open mind and heart. Immediately, we began bantering back and forth about the strengths and weaknesses of the concept. She was able to pinpoint right away where the idea needed more work. There was nothing in my story that was wrong, but there were parts that weren’t fully conceived. She gave me tips to discover where I could take the story, since the concept had so much potential.

Aside from the story itself, Robin did something for me that no one has ever done before. She reflected my voice back to me. Instead of being a generalist, she told me I sounded like a suspense author. It stunned me since I never thought of it that way. Running several other ideas by her confirmed it. I write thrillers.

It made sense. My most successful work in theater used elements of suspense. I love conspiracies and pulp fiction. Everything came together, but I had never seen it that way before.

The Results

My hour-long conversation with Robin changed the direction of my writing career. It also altered how I see myself. She gave me a plan that was simple and complete. Now it is my responsibility to write a new chapter.

Remembering The Birmingham News

Many Birmingham News staffers depart as paper ceases daily publication, moves to 3 days a week. About 400 employees received layoff notices in June.

Although I worked in the media before, The Birmingham News was different. When they hired me as an Editorial Assistant in January 2007, the newsroom was a tight-knit family. Some reporters and editors had been with The News for decades. They were old school, distrustful of the Internet. They knew I was a blogger. Few thought my web experience was an asset. Some even told me bloggers were ruining journalism. 

As an editorial assistant, my primary duty was to answer the newsroom phones. Some days, it seemed like I answered over a hundred calls. Everything from news tips, top politicians, misdirected subscribers and crazy people came through that general newsroom line. 

Occasionally someone in the newsroom would ask me about the Internet. The questions were usually easy. But an editor warned me once I had no chance for a promotion. After all, I was a blogger and an “outside the box” type of thinker. That was not a good thing in 2007. He told me that as long as I worked at The News, I would always answer the newsroom phones. 

That editor left during the first round of buyouts. At some point between the second and third buyouts, I began writing stories for al.com. I also began packaging and editing AP stories for the web. Those tasks weren’t a part of my job description, but the job descriptions were woefully outdated. Someone needed to do those tasks. I wanted to help in any way I could. And of course, I answered the newsroom phones.

In late 2010, I left The News. It was a tough decision. I loved writing for al.com and packaging stories for them. I was thrilled when people read the stories I packaged, whether or not those posts had my byline. And I loved working with the people at The News, many of whom are leaving tonight for the last time. I was grateful for the opportunities I received there.

In the end, that editor was right. I answered those phones until the very last day. As much as I loved every other aspect of my job, the phones fried me.

I had an unshakeable belief that nothing would ever change unless I changed it. But sometimes the world changes and you stay the same.

Alabama Coyotes

Does Alabama have coyotes?

Yes.

When I moved here, I had no idea I'd be battling coyotes on a regular basis. They usually appear in the backyard. My Father-in-Law, a farmer, used to plant crops near the house. Coyotes frequently munched on his watermelons. I would run out of the house to chase them off. They wouldn't move. My husband thought their fearlessness might've been due to rabies. I was more inclined to think they knew a northerner when they saw one. They weren't about to let me run them off their land.

Two weeks ago, a pack tried to lure our beagle, Molly, out to the field. I heard the coyotes making a commotion outside and brought her in. They continued with their yipping and howling. It was creepy.

Yesterday, we heard yipping outside our front door. When my husband and I ran outside, we discovered that Molly cornered a baby coyote next to the house. We tried trapping it to bring to the vet. The baby coyote escaped. While he is cute, it also means there is a litter nearby, probably in our backyard woods. 

I Don't Want to Die Alone

 Whenever I try to explain the past, I find that I'm not telling the whole truth. 

There are multiple explanations for what happened.

 

When I look out a window, I can describe what I'm seeing.

 

But when I look through another window, I see the same thing at a different angle.

 

I'm not a liar. I just don't know you well enough.

 

by Laura Axelrod
February 9, 2009

Birmingham, Alabama

Erased from my head: An ineffective recap of 2008

Each year, during the last week of December I conduct an inventory of what's happened during the year. Sometimes I've written about goal-setting, other times I've posted photos taken throughout the year. This ritual was usually for my own enjoyment than anything else, though some people have found my efforts interesting.

 

I'm not planning on doing anything for 2008 because, quite frankly, I have no recollection of last winter or early spring. Maybe it's due to my old age, (though I'm not that old), or the amount of health food I've ingested this year. Everything before May has been erased from my head.

 

I first realized that I didn't remember anything while reading an annual recap of General Hospital. Through reading that "Year in Review" I discovered that I had watched General Hospital religiously... But when? I remembered the events they described in their summary. Then I realized that it was *this year* that I had watched General Hospital. But it seemed so long ago.

 

What else happened? Did I have other interests? I seem to recall something about 1968. I *do* remember 1968... But wait. I wasn't alive back then.

 

My new husband will be pleased to know that I remember getting married. And I even remember his name, though I didn't change mine to match his. I can recall our honeymoon and shortly afterward, doctors telling Dad that he had incurable liver cancer. Who can forget that Dad died in November? Not me.

 

I also remember writing a few things about the economy, and wondering why others weren't grasping the intensity of what was about to happen to our country. I am pleased to report that I paid off one credit card in 2008 and I have one more to go. Progress. Thank you Dave Ramsey.

 

I didn't keep track of the amount of books I read, but I do know that I had 45 book reviews published during 2008. Some of those books were memorable and some I've tried to forget. I didn't keep track of the amount of authors who wrote me to respond to their reviews. A handful of them did, I suppose. The only correspondence I can vividly recall is the one where the author tried to start an argument with me, despite getting a good review.

 

Sometimes it's better not to say anything at all.

 

That is what I'm telling myself about 2008... Some things are better left alone. Almost everyone I know would rather leave 2008 behind, un-recapped. As for me... I didn't get laid off from my job or go bankrupt. But in gaining a husband and losing a parent, I figured out that all the ego-driven dribble that I had previously thought was important truly wasn't. Progress should be measured in how much of myself I am becoming, rather than how much I can impress you.

 

It's a trite idea. Some might call it unsophisticated or unintellectual. Fuck them.

I'm Back

I've been "away" due to a death in my immediate family. Part of the delay in coming back to blogging has been my uncertainty about how to deal with what happened. Since I continue to be mixed about it, I'm opting to ice the discussion. I reserve the option to write about it at a later time.

Meanwhile, Gasp is back. Give me a few entries to scrub the rust off of my keyboard.

Thanks for your understanding.

Status Update

For those of you who were following Project 1968, you may be wondering why it hasn't been updated in a while. A family member was diagnosed with incurable liver cancer the last week of August, which was also the week of the 1968 Democratic Convention; hence my "vacation" from the Project. 

It will pick back up again shortly.  I apologize to people I've interviewed who are *still waiting* for the interview to appear on the site, and to those who were left with a bit of a cliff-hanger.

Married, with Cats & a Dog

Jethro and I got married over the weekend. I'm now a country-fied wife. As I told friends over the weekend, now I have to go huntin' something or another to prove it.

It was a wonderful ceremony and reception afterward. Debra Jo White, former backup singer to Lynyrd Skynyrd performed during the service. She sang "Love Me Tender" which made me cry a little. Okay, I cried a whole lot. Especially when Dad gave me away. 

Anyway, that's the reason I haven't updated more regularly. It's been a special kind of Hell, working on Project 1968 while planning a wedding. Oh yeah, and don't forget all those book reviews... Now that I'm on my Honeymoon, things will catch back up. So please be patient.

Struggling Thoughts

While I'm at it, I might as well continue... There are two reasons why I haven't updated this blog recently.

 

The first is quite obvious. Project 1968 is taking the sum total of my waking hours. It's difficult to live in 2008 and 1968. Because I'm writing in the voices of the characters, I'm also experiencing their thoughts and feelings as if they were my own. It's different than playwriting in that I'm not outside the scene looking in. I'm also not experiencing these characters briefly before becoming a neutral third party. I spend most of my time considering what they are doing during their day while I go through my day.

 

It's distracting and overwhelming. Since this blog requires me to be 100% present, it's the one that falls by the wayside. I ended up taking a blog hiatus back in 2005, when I was at the LBJ library. The weight of the material doesn't leave me much choice. 1968 is a full-scale buffet and not a finger food.

 

The second reason I haven't updated is more abstract. The Project is a different type of blog, one that is dramatic and informative. I've worked hard not to let my opinion overtly make their way into that material. The goal of the project is to present different sides and allow readers to form their own opinions. Now, obviously my thoughts sneak into it. Book discussions are usually the place I let them slip in.

 

Working on this type of blog makes the "usual type" of blogging seem self-indulgent and stupid. That's terrible for me to say, isn't it? I've battled with this line of thinking before. And I suppose when the Project is over, I'll go back to being self-indulgent and stupid. After all, I won't lie. It's fun.

 

For people looking for my regular posts regarding my published book reviews... I've even lacked the motivation to link to them. At some point, I'll list them all so they can go on my permanent record.

How to Make an Alabama Snowcream

Jethro and I were so excited by the 3/4 inch of snow outside that we decided to make our first movie. They make something called "snowcreams" here. It requires scraping snow off a jalopy parked in the front yard. Yes, you must have a car parked in the front of your house. Then... Well... Check it out. Jethro explains it for you.

Project 1968, my blog docu-novel

Long-time readers will remember a play I wrote that I talked about back in 2006 to early 2007 called: War is Kind: The 1968 Democratic Convention. It was the story of two young women in 1968 - a campaign worker for Senator Eugene McCarthy and a peace activist. The first act of the play followed the events from January to July of that year. The second act was the convention itself, including the riots.

I spent just about 18 months in Austin, Texas researching the play at the LBJ Presidential Library. I also went to the Chicago Historical Society, as well as the National Archives in Chicago to conduct research. I dug through many used books, collected ephemera, and made every attempt to bring an historically accurate version of events to the stage.

This story is important because the perspective of women from that time period has been largely ignored. This is due to the rampant sexism of that period. There was a reason, after all, that the women's movement gained momentum - just after 1968. McCarthy's story has also been ignored. He hasn't been given the credit he truly deserves for the role he played that year.

I was not alive back then. This is an advantage. I'm not plagued by the nostaligic baggage of those who are still invested in memories of their youth. I will publicly admit, for the first time, that I'm a political agnostic. For me, the question isn't who I will support in 2008 - it's whether or not I'll vote. After all, the last time I voted in a presidential election was in 1992. There are a number of reasons for that, which is just one of the reasons I chose to write this story.

After the third draft of the play was completed back in 2006, I began submitting it to development organizations throughout the country. I needed to hear the play out loud to get a better understanding of where I was in the writing process. Theater is an art that requires community. I was lucky enough to get a reading from Austin Scriptworks, which helped a great deal. After that, I edited the play rather mercilessly. When the fifth draft was completed, I once again attempted to get a reading of it. That's when I hit a brick wall. No development organizations would touch it, and I couldn't get a reading of the play anywhere.

Several agents looked at the fifth draft. One well-known agent said "It is original, well written and constructed with good parts and makes a valuable contribution to the understanding of the historical period." Despite that, she wasn't sure if it would be "commercially viable" in New York. But could she keep a copy of it anyway?

Another agent thought the play was a good idea, but alas, I didn't have the proper resume to have written it.

For a while after that, I tried to get readings - without luck. Finally, there came a point when I just didn't have the money to continue submitting the play. It also seemed like a losing proposition. Either I pay my bills or pay reading fees and postage. Since this project was entirely self-funded, meaning no grant money either, I had no other choice than to shelve the play.

My friends and family, however, had other ideas. They insisted that I do something with the story because it was worthwhile and needed to be told. I had gotten so much positive feedback from "audience members" that it was beginning to seem that the only people who didn't want to do something with the story were theater people.

Last year, I committed to blogging the story. Taking a play, which was a macro version of events and whittling it down to a day by day accounting required more research, more writing and more thought. Sometimes, I wasn't sure if it would be worth the effort, but I figured at the very least I would finally have a voice for my work. That alone would make it worthwhile.

And so today, on Martin Luther King Jr.'s birthday, I'm launching Project 1968, a blog docu-novel about the lives of two young women during that turbulent year. As the sidebar says, "Janine Stephenson, an 18-year old freshman from the University of Wisconsin, took the semester off to campaign for Senator Eugene McCarthy. She is accompanied by her best friend, Becca.

Amy, an anti-war protester, works at a well-known peace group in Chicago.

Links to source notes, ephemera and commentary are located at the bottom of many entries. Comments are allowed on these back pages."

Project 1968 will be updated daily.

I had some domain-mapping issues, so for the next few days, you can reach the site by www.project1968.com. It will be a dot net very soon.

Since this is brand new territory, I'll be tweaking the site as I go. The sidebars will say different things. The comments are moderated, for the moment. We'll see how it goes. The subject matter is volatile, but the moderation may be temporary.

I'll discuss other thoughts and issues with the creation of this project periodically on this blog. Otherwise, welcome to the world of 1968, though the eyes of Janine and Amy.

Merry Christmas!

Dream Bit

This morning I had a dream that said I should write plays along with everything else. Sigh.

Patrick's Meme

Oy, Patrick Gabridge has tapped me for his meme. It’s called “Five Strengths.” Here’s it is:

"Make a list of five strengths that you possess as a writer/artist. It's not really bragging, it's an honest assessment (forced upon you by this darn meme). Please resist the urge to enumerate your weaknesses, or even mention them in contrast to each strong point you list. Tag four other writers or artists whom you'd like to see share their strengths."

1) I have lots and lots and lots of ideas. I don’t seem to ever run out of them. In fact, I probably have more ideas for articles, books, films and other creative projects than I will ever be able to implement.

2) I’m very good at taking a form, tinkering with it and creating something new. This extends beyond writing to day jobs. My office resume states that I excel at creating new processes. I gravitate towards cutting-edge, which is probably why theater and I didn’t get along too well.

3) I love rewriting. I love getting rid of extra verbiage. It comes from writing poetry as a child.

4) I keep an open mind. I’ll entertain all sorts of ideas – from the absolute wacky to the unbearably rigid. It doesn’t matter who thought the thought; only the thought itself matters. I can listen to Air America, Far-Right Radio, Coast to Coast, Whitley Strieber and give it all equal credence. Anything is possible. Isn’t that what creativity is about?

5) I’ve always read a tremendous amount of books and magazines. And I’m glad to finally come out of the closet about it. Especially since I was taught to never talk about things that other people may not know about. Yes, that’s weird, but that’s why I always kept my reading a secret. If I didn’t, I was accused of being a braggart. So, in an effort not to make people uncomfortable, I never talked about anything I read.

Now, I have to give this to five people. Too bad I’m “in-between communities” right now. Patrick, can we expand this meme to include people in other professions? How about “five strengths for your particular profession.” Sigh. I hope I’m not breaking the rules. I’m such a rule-freak.

Here it is. Scott, Joshua (because I know you guys still read Gasp), Cormac, Owentew (even though I don’t know if he’ll do it) and Megan.

Courage

"It takes a lot of courage to release the familiar and seemingly secure, to embrace the new. But there is no real security in what is no longer meaningful. There is more security in the adventurous and exciting, for in movement there is life, and in change there is power."

---Alan Cohen, author

History in present time

Whenever I undertake a history project, I end up living in two time frames – the past and the present.

Since beginning this project 10 days ago, I’ve lost the present. Tuesday is Thursday; Wednesday slipped by and Friday was a surprise.

So now it’s Monday again. A whole week has faded into something other than a memory. I haven’t thought anything about the present. I’ve read books – other than the ones I review - but have nothing to share about them.

Instead, I’m thinking about the time period I’m writing about, and I’m spending time with people who don’t exist, in situations that have already happened.

Maybe this week, I’ll work out the dichotomy between the past and the present. Between what’s in my head and what actually exists in the current time frame.

Therein lies the answer.

Best of Gasp!: Home, Home on the Range

(This entry was originally written 8/26/2003)

You know, if I had my druthers (and I don't... but if I did), I'd get the heck out of NYC and move somewhere else.

I've probably mentioned this before, but I figured this time, I'd hit it head on. I mean, NYC has definite advantages... I can pretty much go whereever I want to within the Metro area. The Parks are wonderful on the weekends, I can get Indian food for $4 off the streetcart (and it's great too!), and you can see famous people on the street whenever... I've never had to deal with the hassle of a car - either in NYC or San Francisco.

Despite this, I sometimes feel like I'm in the wrong place. Am I missing something? I've got day to day friends and enough to keep me preoccupied.

Maybe it's the terrorist attack, or the fact that I have to keep radiation (iodine) pills in my medicine cabinet. Several months after 9/11, when strangers would still talk to one another, there was plenty of discussion about what it would take to get someone out of NYC. Another attack? If so, what kind of attack? I remember someone telling me it would be the third... Three attacks and, assuming they were still alive, they were outta here.

Some days I miss the quieter life where people are more grounded, less power-centered, more spiritual, ethical etc.

At my desk, I keep an Amtrak map of the US. Sometimes I look at it and wonder what it would be like to live down South... Like, in North Carolina or even Texas. I received a flyer for Asheville in the mail - I know there are lots of healers there. It seems like a safe place, away from any threat of terrorism. People are more aware of God there, and family is important. I could be wrong, but that's what I gleam from it.

My parents retired down South. I've got friends down there. I was surprised how much I liked it, once I got past my own stereotypes on what I thought it was.

Other times I think of going to Colorado or New Mexico... Many writers end up out there and it is has lots of progressive, artsy communities. There, too, is a spirituality that NYC doesn't seem to have. My first year or two in San Francisco was spent wishing I lived in Boulder, CO. I heard such good things about that place.

The last time I crossed the country, it was on a Greyhound Bus and I stopped off at New Orleans. Though the crime is quite high, I really thought I could get into living out there. It reminded me of San Francisco, except less politically correct. What an atmosphere! But again, getting murdered isn't on my list of things to do.

The one place I don't think I could live in is Nebraska or Oklahoma. Nothing against those places... I love tornadoes but I don't want to get caught in one. How people can live with that prospect is beyond me... I think the area is beautiful though. (Most of my pics from my cross country travels are from there.) Having been through hurricanes, blizzards, earthquakes and other natural disasters, I'd say tornadoes are the worst. I've never experienced one and wouldn't want to.

I've also thought of San Francisco again (though I can't say I've really got a calling to go back), or even Boston. But Massachusetts strikes me as a good place to visit, at least for now.

Anyway, I'm just thinking out loud. You know, I questioned everything in my 20's... Religion, relationships, family, sexuality, political beliefs, values, gender roles... Everything. I really thought that once I kinda settled that stuff, I'd have the answers and then I could go on. But it seems like, as soon as I settled on what the answers were it was time to question them again.

That's why I like reading your journals. I love hearing how other people's lives are like. Life here in New York City is often so "New York-centric". There is a definite belief here that if you come from anywhere else then you are so "out of it" and that NYC is so important. It really isn't. My experience is that trends start elsewhere (usually in San Francisco - grin) and once they make it here then they are officially a "trend". As soon as they are reporting about it here in NYC, the trend has already gone.

There was a good article in the New York Times a couple of years ago when Dale Earnhardt died. The NYT was asking why the rest of the country knew who Earnhardt was and no one from NYC could identify him. "Could New Yorkers be so out of touch?" it asked. "Why do New Yorkers look down on the rest of the country? When did we become so out of touch?"

I'm not sure they were ever in touch... And I'm not sure if, at some point, I will look at this place and think of it as home. But I'm here for a reason right now and so here is where I'll be... Today.

Back on the Road

On Saturday, I'll be going back on the road. Up yonder north, where I hear it's not snowing any longer. Jethro and I have to pick up my Nana's furniture and travel the countryside with it.

The trip will go something like this:

• Fly to Connecticut

• Get a moving van

• Load furniture

• Drive to Virginia on Sunday and sleep in the weeds in a perfectly nice hotel

• Drive to Myrtle Beach on Monday, drop several pieces of furniture off at parent's house. Spend the night.

• Drive to Alabama on Tuesday.

• Arrive home and collapse unpack.
  

In light of these treacherous plans, I'm going to re-run a few entries from the past that I've long since deleted from the net. These posts are mostly for entertainment value only.

Hopefully, I'll be able to do my regular Real Estate Pros update Saturday evening. Hotels get cable television, last time I checked.

Breathing - A Good Thing

Asthma is, of course, a bad thing. Unless you're an asthma specialist, and then you can make lots of money off it.

I'm on the mend - finally - after almost two weeks of not being able to breathe well. It's funny how the mind ceases functioning once the coughing starts... Funny as in interesting, not as in Ha, Ha.

Twenty pin pricks later, they've determined that I'm allergic to bahia grass and my own cats. But alas, who isn't allergic to cats? My reaction isn't strong enough for me to consider taking action on my cat allergy, other than keeping the place tidy and being conscious of their dander. While my asthma isn't triggered by my cats, it lowers my "threshold" for asthma attacks.

I don't know, friends. If people would only stop coughing on me, I probably wouldn't get sick. Then I probably wouldn't get asthma attacks. Period.

Any other cat owners out there have a cat allergy? I'd be interested in hearing how you manage it.

Anyhoo, my lack of writing had to do with not breathing. And let's just say, breathing is a good thing.

Cracking without Breaking

Of course, you can't get a college degree... But if you'd like to study for life enrichment, these colleges have open courseware: Keio, Kyoto, MIT, John Hopkins, Osaka, Toyko, Utah State, Waseda, Notre Dame, and Tufts.

By the way, have you ever been to a chiropractor? I had my first experience with one this week. Not sure why my back pain started... Maybe it was because I got hit by a car in 2005, stress, who the hell knows why.

For the most part, its been a good experience. Except that I think its mighty odd that bones can crack that loud without breaking. Seems sort of... unnatural. But that's just my opinion.

On Natural Ability in the Arts

When it comes to drawing, realism is a problem for me.
My mother and sister are brilliant representational artists. My sister can take a photo and duplicate it by hand beautifully. For a while, she did it professionally. She was that good.

But I’m an artistic dyslexic. I’ll draw my coffee mug at a different angle than what’s in front of me. Or something will be on the left when it ought to be on the right.

I can’t help it. I’d much rather draw what’s in my head instead of what’s in front of me. They say that representational drawing is a basic art skill. I suppose it is. Maybe my artistic dyslexia is a form of rebellion.


How many kids are brainwashed into thinking that they don’t belong in the arts because they don’t have “natural talent” in it?

Kids who doodled during school got the art teacher’s attention. They were labeled artistic. The rest of us were tolerated during art class. Teachers are deferential to those who have natural ability.

There’s a fallacy about art: You’re either a natural or an accountant. Because I couldn’t draw representationally, I never had the courage to pursue the visual arts in a serious manner… Despite how much I loved creating pottery and paintings.

As an eleven year old, I used to compose music on my trombone. I’d spend hours practicing my instrument because I loved music. But one of my music teachers discouraged me from learning guitar, trumpet or drums so I never got beyond trombone.

Don’t even get me started about singing…

It takes courage to go into the arts, especially if there’s no validation for it. Sometimes I think the only reason I became a writer is because I was encouraged by a special person in my life. It wasn’t solely because I loved writing. I loved music and painting as well.

There’s no point regretting the past, but it is time to embrace opportunities. Art can be practiced until it becomes natural. It just makes me sad to think how many other kids had similar experiences.

Burning the Blues

I’m having a hard time coming back to Gasp. Maybe its due to the death of my cat. Or maybe its because I’m grieving the death of my Grandmother. I feel like I’m on an alternate plane of existence. If I told you what I’m really thinking, you might think strange things about me.

It’s not that I’m depressed, but I struggle with finding meaning in debates. Philosophical discussions are empty, especially if they relate to matters of life and death. People tell me that, at some point, I’ll create powerful writing from everything that’s happened.

I don’t have time for symbolism or similes. I’m not sure any of us do.

What I’m trying to tell you is this: my tolerance for shooting the bull is even less than normal. Call it my Holden Caulfield moment.

Again

The most influential people in my life have been the ones I've had the most sporadic contact with. I didn't see my first mentor all that often, but I still contemplate everything he ever told me about writing and life.

Another friend taught me about serenity through his persistant gratitude. I've since lost touch with him. Even when we lived in the same city, I only saw him every now and then.

So it was with my Grandmother, who kept believing in my writing when no one else did. She was 95 when she died, and lived on her own until the very end. Through various moves across the country, I tried to stay in touch with her as much as I could. She encouraged me to hop on a train and move to San Francisco, despite my lack of employment or housing. I guess she had complete faith in my ability to survive on my own.

When I moved back to New York, she gave me a small amount of money so I could buy furniture. She went to Walmart and bought towels. blankets and black socks so I could stay warm in the winter.

If you asked me if I was close to her, I don't know would've said back then. Nor do I know if she was close to me. But she must have been, since she plays such a prominent role in two novels and other assorted projects. I didn't realize the extent of her involvement in my life until I thought about it. She wasn't just a grandmother; she was far more than that.

Even in death, she's taught me a tremendous amount. Far more than I could detail here.

My Grandmother saw 17 presidents take office. She lived through the Great Depression, a number of wars, two waves of feminism, and mind-boggling technological changes. The Internet thrilled and frightened her. She insisted that I had a cold everytime I called her on my cell phone. It was usually just a bad connection.

I loved her, and I told her each time I said goodbye on the phone. But I never realized the impact she had on my life until now - artistically and spiritually. It's going to take a long time to understand the things she taught me.

Small Obit

My grandmother died last night.

More later...

Meet the New Hires

Phillip Paul is dressed in his finest black tuxedo while Angela dons her latest black and tan. Maybe someday Phillip Paul will learn to keep his eyes open for pictures.

(Click on the picture for a better view.)

Year-End Massive Missive

It came up during one of Gasp's staff meetings that we should write a holiday letter to friends and associates of the blog. Since we spent our annual budget on salt water taffy and ate it during a hellacious Greyhound ride from Dallas to Austin, we are choosing to write a "holiday entry" this year. Maybe next year, we'll spring for one of those fabulous e-cards.

House Rules, Again

More and more people are asking me why I don't allow comments on Gasp. Longtime readers will remember the problems I've had before with allowing comments. I'm not going to rehash them here. Those experiences, coupled with my recent issues with comment spam, have forced me to disallow that option.

But... I also miss the dialogue. A number of you have chosen to talk to me via email, and I've enjoyed getting to know a number of you. Unfortunately, emails limit conversations to the "private realm" and I would like to have more give and take.

So, we'll try it again. Several years ago, after my last comment fiasco, I posted an entry called "House Rules." I'm going to repost it again, since it still applies today.

House Rules
I’ve been keeping a journal for almost a year now and I’ve never had to delete comments. So, to keep everyone honest, here are a few of the reasons I’ll delete comments and why I deleted a whole series of them this afternoon.

1) I do not accept comments from ex-boyfriends. If I even suspect I’ve gone on a date with you, I’ll delete it. There are a few exceptions to this rule, such as former paramours that I’m currently in touch with. They know who they are. If I’m not in touch with you and you’ve claimed to be my soulmate, know that I’ve already found my soulmate and you aren’t it.

2) Anyone I suspect is off the deep end gets deleted. If you’re wondering about your current mental health, please seek attention from a competent therapist. If you think you might be mentally ill, you are.

3) No flaming me or being nasty to others. Name calling is stupid. Kumbaya people, Kumbaya.

4) No threatening or stalking. Cyber-stalking is a crime, and if you scare me in any way, shape or form, I'll delete and take it up with your ISP provider and law enforcement.

5) Make your point in less than 150 words. Free speech doesn’t mean a free ride. If you have that many thoughts on a topic, start your own blog.

You’re free to disagree with me or others, but just know that when you visit my site, you’re visiting my virtual abode and there are house rules. I don’t think this is too much to ask.

Now, after reading all that I'm sure you know what some of the issues were back then. Hopefully there won't be a repeat of them.

Thanks, and have a pleasant holiday.

Back - With a Better Internet Connection

I finally came back to Alabama last night, and hopefully you'll pardon my scruffy appearance. Perhaps someone could shoot me an email and tell me why sitting in a car for nine hours can be so tiring.

There's plenty to do here... Unpacking, deleting 150 emails from various accounts, sleeping. And a slew of work piled on my to-do list.

So much to say, so little energy... But posting will resume tomorrow. Thanks for your kind emails. (Oh, returning emails. That's another thing I gotta do...)

Slow Connections

I have to make this quick and easy. I'm *still* not back in Alabama, as I haven't received Christopher's ashes yet. The computer I'm using has the slowest internet connection east of the Mississippi. There appears to be just enough power to do my freelance work, and maybe post this entry.

And so I begin:

1) Thank you for your emails. Once again, it's taking me a little while to respond back. I apologize for that, but I will write you back soon.

2) I decided to become a Kitty Mother again. Last Thursday, I adopted two 17 week old kittens named Angela and Phil. They don't replace Christopher. No one could ever do that. And while I'm still grieving, I also think that there are too many animals in the world without homes. My grandmother paid the adoption fees as a Christmas present to me. At some point, I'm hoping to post pictures.

3) It has been brought to my attention how often I start things on Gasp and don't follow through. Yes, that's true. When I'm back on my internet feet, I'll finish what I started... Yes, it bugs me as well.

4) I would love to allow comments on Gasp. Seriously. Unfortunately, I'm still getting nailed with comment spam from the few times I allowed comments. There's nothing more mortifying to me than realizing that *everyone else* has seen the 41 porn comments on my blog. Hate it, hate it, hate it. So, please keep in mind that the lack of comments has nothing to do with squashing discussion.

5) Have you ever had anything in your life that has made you feel radically different? That's what the past three weeks has done for me. It's as if Christopher is kicking my ass from the astral. All of a sudden, I feel like another phase of my life has begun. Whereas before I was depressed and pensive about it, now I'm ready to run wild through the forest. I can't explain it. Creatively, things are bubbling and old stuff has settled.

6) One of the questions that has plagued me recently is this: If I died tomorrow, what would I have to show for it? And if I didn't die tomorrow, what would I have to show for it?

7) Have you ever sat back and watched how the blogosphere works? There are plenty of times I consider leaving comments on blogs, but then I realize how often discussions are an excuse for arguing. In the past, my participation in these discussions drained my creative energy. Hence, the great Gasp silence of 2005. Maybe it doesn't matter, since I'm certain I would've gotten flamed on more than one occasion.

8) In the same vein, isn't it funny how many people speak with great authority on things they know little about? (A very awkward sentence, but I'm not changing it.) I've been a part of the blogosphere now for a few years. I've watched bloggers self-consciously create Net Caricatures of themselves, or who they wish to be. People reading their blogs think that these exaggerations are real. Of course, it's not true. No one could be an expert on all things, or the world's worst cynic, or the most righteous person on Earth. Sometimes, these blogs develop cult followings and readers leave comments like, "You're my hero." Hard to believe, but I've seen it more than once. Very strange.

Personally, I've been complaining lately about feeling like a perpetual beginner. Maybe I don't give myself enough credit for what I do know. But it seems that the more I learn, the less I know.

The key to life is remaining teachable. Well, one of the keys anyway...

Sweet Mother of Pearl, I'm babbling. So much for quick and easy. I'll come back with more organized thoughts soon. I have a bunch of stuff I had planned on posting before all this happened. Yes, that includes book stuff. Soon. Very, very soon...

I Love You Christopher

Christopher passed away from diffuse lymphoma. It was a particularly aggressive form, with little chance for survival. The Vet said that it covered almost every organ in his body and must've developed quickly.

He was my very best friend.

A few months ago, I listened to The Year of Magical Thinking on audiobooks. The most striking part of the book is its structure. The circular motion of grief. At some points, I'm fine. And then... Right now, as I'm writing this I'm feeling immense grief.

People who knew both of us always remarked on the intensity of our relationship. He was more than a cat to me. He transcended the feline form. He was my spiritual partner, my soulmate.

I chose to be there last night during the fatal injection. Despite his weakened state, he rested his head on my hand. And then, put his paw on my other hand. He held my hand like that when we first decided to be together. It was an unusual gesture, made in a dire state. But I knew what it meant.

For the rest of the week, I'll be posting blog entries from my time with Mr. Christopher. It'll give me time to get myself together again.

I love you Christopher. Always and Forever.

Passages

Last week it looked like my Dad had only a few days to live. Then he had surgery and was told he had cancer. They didn't know what kind of cancer it was. As it turns out, he had a benign form of cancer. With the tumor gone, there's no need for chemo. He's good to go.

My cat, unfortunately, is still sick. I don't know why pets sometimes take on the same sicknesses as those around them. He's going to get checked for Lymphoma on Friday. Still worried, but I'm hopeful he'll be cleared as well.

There's something about the death of a parent that can make one philosophical about life. Not that I wasn't stewing about things in general. In a few months I'll say goodbye to single life and hello to marriage. The realization that people change and grow older has settled with me for quite a while. I find myself taking long walks in the morning, fearful of time passing. I look back at what I've accomplished with some pride and disappointment. I'm not the person I used to be, and under these new "adult" circumstances I don't know who I am.

I'm in my 30s and still fighting the idea that I'm an adult. Being single meant that I could sleep on the floor, eat $1 chicken sandwiches at McDonalds and not be responsible to anyone. Being an adult means marriage and eventually, the loss of my parents.

I don't mean to get depressing, but those are the facts as I see them today. Time does pass. People eventually die.

I've been thinking of writers who have also been preoccupied with the passage of time. Kerouac comes to mind. His desire to capture a moment of time on the page is something that has always touched me. I, too, have attempted this in my prose work. And sometimes, when I look back at the things I've written, I can tell you the exact moment I wrote what is on the page. Poems, drafts of plays and other material serve as a scrapbook. A chapter of my story "Passing Through" was written at the San Bernadino Bus Station. By reading it, I can recapture who I was at that moment in time. It may mean nothing to anyone else, but to me, that's what writing means. It is about me talking back to myself.

Perhaps this goes against the ideas I written about earlier. But I can also tell you that I've often lost track of my own soul - especially in theater. I can't tell you how many times I've lost my soul to the mirage called "an audience". I've forgotten that the best writing is the type that has humanity behind it. Humanity - the stuff that can't be bought or sold.

Anyway, I'm on dial-up which has a tendency to cut out at inconvenient moment. Thanks for your kind words and emails. I do hope you have a Happy Thanksgiving.

Hospitals are no fun

The good thing about Typepad is that you can post your entries in advance. It was particularly handy last week when I discovered that one of my parents had come down with a sudden case of cancer. While you were reading my entries on collecting books, I was in the surgical ICU making a family house call. That, coupled with my cat's severe urinary tract infection, kept me very busy.

Getting back on track this week will be a challenge. I have to make up a few hours at work and then there's that pilgrim holiday she-bang. Nevertheless, I shall endure...

Look for more lively discussions tomorrow. And for those who emailed me last week: Sorry for the delay in getting back to you. Still digging out...