I went to Introduction to Creative Writing Using the AWA Method today, which I found through meetup.com.  I’m not sure where to begin.

The space itself had a certain austere quality to it.  The leader of the workshop uses the space to teach yoga, so we were asked to leave our shoes at the door when walking on the nice carpet.  At one end of the room was a short table with a little shrine set up for Buddha, and high on the walls were small Buddha statues and bells and figures.  Above that, the power lines were exposed, like the rib cage of a great beast.  I wondered if the ceiling had been lower at one point, but then removed to make for a bigger, more open space.

The space reminded of Pol’s dojo.  The the leader, Beth, lead us through meditation and I was reminded of Pol himself.

The space was warm and welcoming, and the environment had all of the harsh edges and dangers filed down or made soft to make space for writing, reading, and sharing.  It reminded me of when I posted to Facebook that I needed to wrestle my muse.  For the last writing exercise, I let my muse ride over me and everyone in the room enjoyed it, very much.

Will I go and do one of those workshops again?  I don’t think so.  I honestly don’t know that I got much out of it.

One of the tenets of the AWA method is that “everyone is born a creative genius.” I kept looking at that and thinking that it was wrong.  I think everyone is born with the potential of being a creative genius, but actual genius requires hard work and dedication.  Most people are not prodigies.

As I sat through the workshop, I thought of Michael, and how the entire AWA approach is antithetical to his style.  Michael is all about hard edges and hard truths.  If he doesn’t like something, you’ll know it.  If he doesn’t like you and he doesn’t like something you’ve done, not only will you know it, but you may be left in tears or a rage, depending on your disposition.  Michael is brutally honest, and I appreciate that about him.

The soft, gooey approach of the workshop was a gelatinous mess by way of comparison.  I wrote some good stuff, and the only way I know that the people in the workshop really enjoyed it is because I could read it in their expressions.  They weren’t fantastic actors.  The AWA method disallowed them from voicing solid opinions, or giving me feedback that would help me improve whatever I did wrong.  All we were allowed to do was try to reinforce whatever we took away from the writing, and whatever we thought was strong.

To put it bluntly, a couple of the things the rest of the group wrote and shared, I just didn’t like.  I couldn’t say that, though.  I’d mention the things I honestly thought were strengths and stay silent on everything else.  After one person shared her work, I just stayed silent altogether.  A few people were silent the entire time.

I think I need the danger of a criticism to be a part of the process.  I don’t want to be abused, and I don’t want to be crushed.  At the same time, I need people to be able to express dissatisfaction with my work.  Tim shared with me that he didn’t like the first few chapters of my story, and that was valuable.  I look at it now, and I see exactly what he was saying.  I don’t like the beginning now, either.  I’m going to redo that.  This group I was with would have told me that I used good phrasing and good description, but they wouldn’t have been able to tell me that what I was describing wasn’t appropriate for the beginning of a book.

Tonight, we hosted a Halloween party for my kids and their friends.  Bryanna is 17 and Chris is 15, so they pretty much have the same set of friends.  In fact, Chris’s girlfriend at the moment is one of Bryanna’s best friends.  It’s so weird and amazing and scary and beautiful.

I really enjoy these kids.  They are nice to each other.  They are respectful… are as respectful as you can expect teenagers to be.  They like the same music I like, and they like playing games.  I taught them a couple of games, and they ate it up.

I’m not wading into them, trying to be one of them.  That would embarrass my kids, and it would embarrass me.  My time as one of them was over 20 years ago.

What I did do was put on a velvet shirt, a cloak, a crown, and as I ran the barbecue, declared myself The Burger King.  I floated into their groups and made jokes with them, then floated off to make sure the music was fun, and at an appropriate level.  I smiled and made sure everyone felt welcome.  I was the cool adult, still doing the appropriate adult duties (like making sure that Chris and his girlfriend weren’t too frisky in the shadows of the backyard).

I enjoyed being an adult, and a host of the party, and I enjoyed the kids, and they reciprocated.  Melissa and I throw the best parties.

But I want to talk about these kids for a moment.  I really think that this generation is amazing.  I love how they treat each other.  Sure, there are exceptions, but for the most part, they seem generally more connected and more conscientious of each other than I remember my generation acting.

It could be that my perspective of my generation is skewed.  I was overwhelmed with hormones at the time I was these kids’ ages, so maybe I’m not one to judge.  Maybe every generation is like this, and I’m just in a place in my life where I can appreciate the beauty of their age in a way I could never appreciate at any previous time in my life.

If this generation is truly special, then the future is amazing.  These people are amazing, and I believe that I can trust them with the keys to the kingdom.

If this generation isn’t really any different from any other, then the future is still amazing.  It doesn’t change what I’ve seen of these kids.  Instead, it changes me, and everyone else I’ve known, imbuing upon us all the kind of beauty and love and ability to be connected that I’ve observed in these people.

Maybe I’m being naive or simply optimistic, but that doesn’t seem so bad, either.

• The best evidence I have that Melissa and I have been good parents is our children themselves.  They are good people that are conscientious, assertive in their own ways, and smart.
• Going out on Thursday to set up for a Halloween party on Friday is one way to use an entire evening.  I was going to try and write, but there just wasn’t time tonight.
• I am definitely not going to make my word count goal for the end of this month.
• A week from tomorrow, I go to Convolution.  I’m very excited about this!
• In two weeks, I go back to Albuquerque for some work stuff.  There’s a big solar power research thing at Scandia that my company is involved with, that I’m writing the software for.
• I’m doing really well at work.  For all of the changes that have taken place, and that are still to come, it’s still a fantastic place for me to work and be happy.
• I get to go back to my old doctor soon.  For the last year, I haven’t been able to because Blueshield decided to mess with the benefits it offered, and it was very painful.  They’re switching things back, which means I get to go back to my UC Davis doctor.
• There is a Halloween party at my house tomorrow, so there will be about 20 teenagers running around, being teenagers.  I’m going to be wearing a crown, and I’ll be barbecuing hamburgers and hotdogs.  I will literally be The Burger King.
• Blog-tober is nearly finished, and thank goodness, because it’s actually been getting harder and harder to think of subjects for the daily blog posts.
• The name of my main character in my November project is Mel Walker.  That name means nothing to most people, but there are a couple of people that know that name, and might possibly be excited to know that I’m going to write that story.

It’s Wednesday night, and I’m sitting in my “writing” Starbucks.  Michael isn’t here yet, which is a little unusual.  He usually makes it here before I do.  Maybe he’ll skip out this evening.  He had a big performance this last weekend in Folsom, and may still be recovering.  Or, since he’s having to move soon, maybe he’s dealing with finding a new place to live, or getting his things in order.

I’ve got my laptop open, my pitifully short novel open in Word, and my blog editor open, so that I can write this entry and prime the pump on my writing engine.  I’m not sure how effective it will be.  I’m tired.  I worked really late on Monday, late on Tuesday, and Melissa and I stayed up too late last night.  Additionally, the kind of work I’ve been doing lately is complicated.

This is the part of my writing hobby that is “work.” It’s still fun, and I’m excited about jumping into a new project in November.  I don’t regret working on my novel, or making these blog posts.  I’m doing what I want to do, and I’m really happy with the writing that I’m doing.  But nights like this remind me why so many people try and fail.  The only thing that’s going to get me through to the end of this blog post, and then the end of a couple of chapters in my novel, is dedication and willpower.

Sometimes I don’t have enough fuel left in me to push through the hard stuff and get work done.  Tonight, I do.  I just have to write one sentence at a time.

This was the second book in the Dresden Files, by Jim Butcher.  Again, I listened to it via Audible, and like the first book, this was read by James Marsters.

I’m not sure where to begin.  Again, I enjoyed this story very much.  It’s delicious and somewhat light.  I only listened to it when driving by myself, and it helped me get out the door, looking forward to my daily commute.  That should say something about how much I enjoyed it.

This story was similar in feel and tone to Storm Front, but the stakes were amped up just a bit.  Jim Butcher was quite a bit more cruel to his hero in this book.  It’s something I took note of, because I think I need to be a tad more cruel to my own characters.

As I’m typing this, I’m downloading book 3.  As I said with my review of Storm Front, I appreciated the first person approach to this story, and I’m looking forward to employing it with my own project for NaNoWriMo.

I’m not going to give any spoilers away.  The world is rich and believable, and by way of comparison, a bit grittier and harder than what we saw in Storm Front.  I’m looking forward to seeing if the trend of greater stakes and greater peril increases in Grave Peril.

I drive a mustang, and sometimes, I drive at a high rate of speed.  I admit it.

Saturday morning, as Melissa and I were driving home from Tahoe, I was enjoying the curves in the road along 50, and enjoying the day with my wife.  We had a really great time with my coworkers and their family.  The weather was beautiful.  It was a very comfortable ride home.

I had been thinking that I might try and drive a little slower, just to take it easy going home.  I’d received tickets on that road before, and I knew that there were plenty of police out in force that day.  I thought well in advance that I’d take it slower, and for the most part, I did.

I still wanted to do the speed limit, though, and I wound up behind someone that was going a bit below it.  I wound wound following the slowpoke for a while, and then wound up with an SUV wanting to go even faster behind me.  So in other words, another one of my typical driving experiences.

The first passing lane we got to, the slowpoke sped up.  The SUV behind me got ahead of me, but wasn’t able to get in front of the slowpoke.

The second passing lane we came to, the SUV quickly got in front of the slowpoke.  I had to speed up significantly to get in front of the slowpoke (because he sped up at the passing lane).  And then I saw the highway patrol turn on his lights, do a u-turn, and come after me.  I pulled over.

The officer came up to my window, and was polite.  I was polite as well.  He asked me how fast he thought I was going.  I told him that I’d been going between 60 and 65.  He told me I had been going 73.  I didn’t argue with him.

He asked if I’d been drinking, and I told him that I hadn’t been.  He asked if I had a bad driving record, and I told him that it was fairly clean.  The last time I had a speeding ticket was several years ago, I think.  He asked who my insurance provider was, and I told him.  He didn’t ask for proof, which I thought was a little unusual.  He went back to his car.

I waited with Melissa, and I tried not to feel down about it.  It didn’t really feel fair.  I thought about my options.  Maybe if I went to court over it and explained it to the judge, it’d get excused or dismissed.  I expected the worst, but I wasn’t going to let it get me down.

The officer returned to my car, on Melissa’s side, handed my license and registration back, and asked me to just keep it down to 55.

And that was it.  No speeding ticket.  Just a warning.  When was the last time I was let off with just a warning?

It made me very thankful.  Melissa and I went on home, and I basically drove as I’d been driving.  I tried to keep it under the speed limit, and mostly succeeded.  Mostly.

The experience brought a number of things into focus for me.  I’m writing more.  I’m doing well in work.  I’m donating time to teaching kids programming (even if that doesn’t feel all that successful, all the time).  I’m playing in a community band.  I give blood regularly.  I’m trying to keep a positive attitude.  I even try to stay polite when I’m about to get a speeding ticket.  Getting a warning instead of a fine just felt like a small reward, for doing what I’m supposed to be doing and being true to myself and the people around me.

It’s funny how a little thing like that can be a reminder to be thankful.

When I was in High School band, our band teacher tried to get us a motivational speaker to talk to us and help us act like a single unit.  I don’t remember the speaker’s name.  My band teacher told us some of the stories he’d heard from the speaker, and I think he showed us a video which included stories and anecdotes.  The idea was to get us thinking about our band as a single unit, and to get us to respect and value each other.

I don’t remember everything from those lessons, but there’s one anecdote that has stuck with me.  I’m reminded of the truth of it almost daily.  I’ll try to explain it:

In every group of people, 80% are followers.  They want to go with the crowd, and are more comfortable being directed than being alone, isolated, with no answers to their questions.  Of the remaining 20%, half of those people are positive leaders, unsatisfied with leaving things as they are.  They try to lead the group in some direction.  The remaining 10% are negative leaders.  They attempt to lead the group in the opposite direction.

To put it another way, for every given group of people, 80% are sheep, 10% are shepherds, and 10% are wolves.

I don’t know how true it is, but it feels true.

If it makes it more palatable, I don’t think that people are always sheep, or always leaders.  Joe Body might be a magnificent leader on his bowling team, a comfortable, stolid worker where he is employed, and the black sheep of his family when they get together.  There’s probably a little bit of sheep, shepherd, and wolf in each of us.

I’m reminded of this almost every time that I almost Facebook, or follow political postings.

Today’s reminder came in the form of “Obama signed an anti-free speech bill” posts.  I had a family member and an old high school friend both post about it, concerned and ready to get their torches and pitch forks.

A simple google search easily debunks this.  The anti-free speech posts link to Fox news, showing a picture of Obama looking angry and about to speak.  The video actually shows Obama speaking, but we don’t hear his words.  Instead, we get some Fox correspondents telling us how bad it is that Obama is crushing the First Amendment under his booted heel and wiping his ass with the Constitution.

In this instance, my friend and my family member are the sheep.  They’re not actually thinking for themselves, but reacting and parroting.  Fox News is the wolf.  And since I’m posting this, and I responded to their posts, I’m trying to be the shepherd.  Or maybe I’m just the guy crying “Wake up, Sheeple!”

Maybe who the shepherd is and who the wolf is can be a matter of perspective.  Maybe.

I just want people to think before they post, and try to limit the effects of their knee-jerk reactions.  The world could do with a lot less angry reacting, and a lot more thoughtful, careful proactive measures.

I don’t drink alcohol that often, or that much.  I’m a featherweight when it comes to the stuff.  When I imbibe, it’s usually at some large social engagement, like the after-parties at the conventions, or like last night, during the Tahoe trip with all of my coworkers.  I used to be deathly afraid that if I drank at all, I’d become an alcoholic like my Dad.  I think there’s still an afterthought of the fear in the back of my head.

I don’t like most alcoholic drinks.  There are a few that I’ve tried to acquire a taste for.  I work with some beer connoisseurs, so I occasionally try to find a beer that I can enjoy.  Over the years, I’ve found that I actually like Guinness, Shiner bock, and Blue Moon or other similar wheat beers.  I can’t really tell you how hops impact the flavor or texture of a beer, and I don’t really know much about how it is brewed or the full history.  I know a little bit, though, and I’ve found some things I like, so if I’m with some friends that are into beer, I can participate and enjoy their enthusiasm.

Melissa and I have tried to acquire a taste for wines, and that’s been more challenging than the beer.  We’ve had some while out with friends that has been amazing, but we can never quite remember the names, and when we try to duplicate those experiences at home, we wind up with beverages that are disgusting.  We’ve dumped a substantial amount of wine down the sink.  Also, I tend to get a headache the next day after drinking wine.  I don’t get that headache with other beverages.

The third thing that I’m slowly trying to acquire some better taste for and knowledge of is Scotch.  I have two friends that are enthusiastic about Scotch.  During WorldCon in San Antonio this year, Michael shared with me some that he said was very good, and had huge sentimental value to him.  I didn’t have much, and I can’t say that I hated it, but I also can’t say that I really liked it, either.  I liked the smell of it, and the sensations on my tongue were very interesting and varied.  There was a lot going on, drinking it.  I just don’t know if I can classify the experience as wholly enjoyable.

When I’ve imbibed too freely, as I did last night in Tahoe, I relax.  I smile more, I laugh easily, and I’m not afraid to make jokes or talk to people.  As Dael put it once, I don’t really change when I’m tipsy, there’s just more of me present to enjoy.  I do like that aspect of the experience.  People have told me that I’m fun when I’m drunk, and I believe them.

A few nights ago, I thought I’d try to harness the power of alcohol to unlock my creativity in writing.  I wasn’t thinking of Hemingway, or the evils of alcohol at the time.  My intention wasn’t to get drunk.  Melissa had brought home a bottle of Gentleman Jack to try it, and I had a few shots of that in the hopes of “loosening my tongue,” as it were.  It didn’t work out.  I didn’t start off in any mood to write, and loosening my inhibitions only served to enable me in procrastinating further.

I think I’ll just stick to water when it comes to writing.  Or, maybe someday, if I relax enough to drink coffee again, I’ll drink that.

Every year, the owner of the company I work for takes the entire company to Tahoe for an evening of fun and games.  We get on a boat, we drink a lot, and we have a really good time.  This is the second year I’ve been able to go, and it’s something that Melissa and I have been looking forward to.

Melissa and I got to Tahoe several hours early.  We found an arcade and played air hockey for a little bit, then we wandered to the casino.  We had plenty of time to kill, so we figured we’d gamble a little bit, and see what happens.

Side-note… I used to go to Reno with my parents and my Dad would play Keno and drink in the bar while my Mom played blackjack.  If it was Circus Circus, I’d be up playing games or watching shows, and I would occasionally go down, find my parents, and extract from them some more money.  We didn’t have a ton of money, but my Mom usually found enough success playing blackjack that she’d basically pay for our trip through her winnings, and maybe have a little extra.

Blackjack was my Mom’s game, and I’ve tried playing in various casinos, only to find frustration.  The first time I drove through Las Vegas, I had a little bit of extra time and wanted to take a break from my driving, so I went into a casino with twenty bucks and dreams of having some fun.  Five minutes later, I was back out in my car, the twenty gone, and I was back on the road.

Every experience at blackjack has been like that for me.  I’ll limit myself to twenty bucks, get to play the game for no more than five or ten minutes, and then I’m done.  That pattern repeated itself today.

I’m fine with losing a little bit of money, as long as I’m entertained during that time.  A little bummed at not feeling like I got my money’s worth, Melissa and I wandered over and watched an active craps table.  It looked like those people were having fun.

Another side-note… I have terrible luck with dice.  No, seriously.  Lots of people say that, but I’ve had multiple gaming groups see the truth of it with me.  When I throw the dice, things go weird.  Michael and I had joked about he and I going gambling and getting me to be the shooter at a craps table, and I always said that it wouldn’t work; my luck plays out that the dice will land however you don’t want them to land.

I was prepared for craps to be a lot like blackjack.  One of the people working the table explained some of the betting to me, to clear up some of the things I was ignorant of.  I put a five down on the pass, and shortly thereafter, had ten dollars.  Then fifteen.  Then ten again, and it was my turn to throw the dice.

I threw the dice, and things went kind of weird.  It wasn’t exactly good or bad, but it was strange.

Before crapping out, I threw the dice for fifteen or twenty minutes.  A guy standing next to me, Eddie, made hundreds of dollars while I was the shooter, and kept thanking me.  He was a nice guy.  Other people on the other side of the table were also smiling and winning money.  A few people cheered.  One of the guys working the table commented that I was a “good shooter” or maybe just “a shooter.” I didn’t quite hear him right.

Melissa and I were able to hang out at the table for quite a while, never really getting a lot of money, but never running out, either.  We wound up walking away with twenty-five bucks.  We’d basically made back what we’d spent on the blackjack.

I think it was quite a bit of beginner’s luck, but it was a lot of fun.  I didn’t get into the more advanced betting, but that looks interesting, too.  Maybe Melissa and I will play some craps later tonight.  It was definitely fun!

I recently read about a case of cyberbullying that led to arrests made of the girls that did the bullying.  In another article (which I can’t find, otherwise I’d link it), I read someone’s opinion that they should replace the word “bullying” with “assault” in cyberbullying.

I think we should take a deep breath, and think very carefully about what our response should be to this, and the ramifications of that response.

I don’t want to be callous about this subject.  A little girl took her life, and that’s tragic.

How we react to that tragedy can have lasting and devastating consequences, however, and I think we should be careful about that.

Let me go off on a tangent for a moment.  For years now, the formula seems to be “something terrible has happened, therefore, we should react horribly.” I hate to bring up September 11th, but our reaction(s) to that tragedy were terrible, and resulted in the loss of lives of people all over the world.  It resulted in atrocities done in the name of security.  I think we need to change the formula to “something terrible has happened, so let’s not do anything until we’ve taken some time to calm down.”

I don’t think these girls should be arrested for saying horrible things.  I think saying stupid or mean stuff should not be the grounds for anyone to get arrested.

Does that mean I think there should be no ramifications for cyberbullying?  Maybe.  I might have to think on this some more, before I have a definitive answer.  I think in this case, all of the parents involved have some questions to answer.  What were the parents of the instigating children doing?  How did the parents of the girl that committed suicide not know that their daughter was hurting so badly?

It’s that last one that gets me.  My children have unsupervised and unrestricted access to the internet.  Maybe I’m being an irresponsible parent in regards to that, but I’ve thought this through, and I’m not just being lazy.  My kids are both teenagers, and I know that if I prohibit them from something, whatever it is that they are denied, they’re going to crave that much more.  Worse, they are going to go around me, and they are going to get it anyway.  If they can’t see what they want at home, they’ll go out somewhere else.  Also, and let me be completely blunt about this: if my kids want to look at porn, that’s their business. (I think I’m going to have to explain this more at some point.  I’m going to table that for another post)

My kids have unrestricted internet access, but they’re not alone.  I check up on them.  Not necessarily what they’re looking at, but I talk to them.  I check to see what’s going on in their lives.  I make sure they’re happy, and getting everything they need.  I make sure they know that they’re loved, and I make sure that they know that I’m there for them.

Whatever a parent’s policies might be surrounding their children’s internet use, I would think that they would, like me, take an interest in their child’s life, and talk to them.  So what were the parents of the victim doing?

This makes it sound like I’m blaming the parents of the child that committed suicide, and I don’t mean to be mean.  They must be feeling a kind of pain I never want to know, and hopefully will never understand.

I guess the bottom line is, I don’t want to see freedom of speech infringed or curtailed because 3 sets of parents were not paying attention to their children.