Near. Far.

A couple of weeks back a picked up a 79 Kawasaki KZ 400 for a guy in Florence. It wasn't running but it was a Grover-blue shade of exactly the same motorcycle I drove from Nebraska to New York a decade ago and rode in the big city for about 6 years. With a little tinkering with the wiring and some wisdom from Andreas, the man who taught me to ride when I was 18, the bike sparked to life. I my free moments, I have been zipping around town and the back roads of agricultural/suburban Omaha.

From the first moment I got in the bike, it was like be reunited with an old friend. We stepped right into place, like no time had passes at all. As much as I resist nostalgia, my bodybrain has recalled a swarm of buried memories, of my previous life atop this motorcycle:

Night rides in the Bronx, City Island, Verrazano Bridge. NYC on a motorcycle is a vivid and exhilarating  experience. I rode through the blue ridge mountains in a thunderstorm. I saw a full moon reflected in the ocean on the Jersey Shore. I sat next to old Latino fishermen on the docks of Coney Island. 

Dozens of these memories have been coming back to me. I used to park the bike inside my Bushwick loft and cruise around the streets in Henry Miller's Topic of Cancer, wondering if I could resurrect the man in my own writing. That was how I spent my twenties. 

Last night I received the proof copy of The Turpike in the mail. Many of my experiences are superimposed over this wayward American road novel. There is still work to be done of course, I need to read through the proof, organize another local reading or two, write another press release etc... All sorts of things. Having this analogue book in my hands is a milestone. All these stories. The reunion with the motorcycle however begs the question. But has my life wrapped itself in a ribbon and settled into a dusty cupboard? As warm as these old memories feel, it is time to get back on the road. I would rather be an empty vessel, waiting to be filled, then a cup full to the brim that sloshes everywhere anytime you try to move it. 

Old and new. Full and empty.

Generation iY and woman and growing up

I am a feminist. My own work is highly erotic and plunges into many varieties of deviance, but I am really asking a question of myself when I fumble with graphic content. How do I call myself a feminist, when I am so damn attracted to women? I my younger years particularly, I was very prone to deifying women. It caused a lot of confusion, reconciling my own libido and desire, against a desire see women (and myself) with the utmost humanity. Of course humanity is flawed and contradictory... So I will call the endeavor a work in progress!

My early conclusion however, was explicitly, not to write. I figured the most valuable thing I could do with my life was to have a daughter (or adopt one), teach her to write, teach her to fight and then I'd just quietly die, having outlived my usefulness. 

A friend wisely told me that was stupid. He said I would probably do more harm to the world by stifling my voice, then if I just went ahead and put it out there. He was probably right, but more than that (even as I write this) I realize that my early sentiment was just another well-intentioned but misguided act of deification. I had made a higher power out of my unborn fantasy daughter. What a bum wrap, to have a dad who has mistaken you for a deity!

What has actually happened, is that I am not a father, in spite of some serious dad-skills. I have become a creative mentor for teens. In my experience with teens, I have learned a lot about myself as an artist as well as the challenges facing our younger generation of technology natives: aka, the iY generation, aka, screen-agers.

Writing is a diminishing skill amongst this generation, in spite of the speed and hypertextuality of their communication skills. To make matters worse, even here in Omaha, where the economy has remained very stable, public school funding is still, in part determined by property taxes. There is additional funding for schools that is mitigated by all sorts of factors: free and reduced lunches, teacher performance, attendance/enrollment, and of course, standardized testing results. From my perspective, both funding systems are slanted against people of lower incomes and increasingly so against people of color who live in neighborhoods and go to schools that are not almost-all-white and suburban. I don't know how any elected official can look themselves in the mirror, when our public schools are still mired in pre-civil rights systems. Here is a no brainer: if a student goes to a public school in this city they should each receive the same dollars per student in every school, no exceptions. 

So why the tangent? I've been reflecting that, as I get older, my own ideas and priorities are becoming less personal and less specific. Maybe my ideas are getting bigger. Equality for young people, regardless of their gender, race or background. I am less concerned with being a dad and more interested in acting in service of young people. Yes, I want the young women especially, to rise to power and be totally badass. However, I've grown to understand that abstracting a gender into ideas is silly. If I build any relationship when I have not cultivated a healthy sense of self love in myself, that relationship is going to be less positive. The more I come to peace with myself, the more I am capable of giving and receiving love. Perhaps more importantly, I am becoming better at cultivating self love in other people. Now that is something worth living for.

It seems like a good thing to write about. More misadventure of a self reliant and kooky author soon!

-Thom

The Turnip

Just looking at my desktop, a file containing the final proof of my novel is abbreviated. I mistook it for a moment to be the Turnip. Wondering if this is a sign. I happen to love turnips. I highly recommend re-exploring them if it has been awhile since you have roasted a turnip.

What is all this leading too? Why, fear of course. I work as a mentor by day and my young artist mentees are facing down a hard deadline this week. I find myself thinking/saying stupid things, like, 'you are accountable for every hour of the last 10 weeks'. Terrible thing to say.

It takes me an hour or so to write a blog and give it a once over and I definitely gotten behind. I am behind on everything. My print release is dragging along so slow, it may as well be dead in the water. Of course, this Summer has been insane. I am pulled in 5 different direction every day. Self care is out the window. I am struggling just to eat consistently and stay cool headed. But when I look back over the last three months... and hold myself accountable for every hour.

Yuk. It makes me feel like a failure. That is not a primer for creativity, or incentive for productivity. More like grounds for self mutilation... no. nope. no good.

Fear is always there. It is always holding its hand up to me. Every day it says 'Stop'. And most days I do. Well, I rarely stop, I just keep running circles around the projects that I care most about. The projects that make me vulnerable. I fear the stuff I make. So, I usually spend most of my time making stuff for other people, or helping them make their stuff.

So... I am a mentor. Its true. For young people. I help motivate them every day, with words like, 'Your work is valuable. Go further. You are really growing as an artist. Push past the point of comfort! Fear is the Mindkiller. ' Those feel pretty good.

Though, I dont have any turnips in my house, I am gonna water my garden, then make some pasta. Then sleep peacefully knowing tonight, I discovered the title of the next great American novel.

Bootstraps and International Strangers

Well, it is time to pull myself up by my bootstraps and get crackin. I may be the patron saint of over extending myself, but I am so damn close to having a print edition of this book, it is time to pull out the stops. As anybody who is going it alone knows, with work, family, projects, and holidays, the first thing to go on the shelf is the luxury of writing.
I am not sure if I am going squeeze in a trip to the east coast, but at the very least, I think I can arrange another reading here locally, for the print release. I paid the create space team for a final sweep from a professional editor and I have been sitting on the word doc for almost two months. The next steps are going through the manuscript to review changes, then format the manuscript to the create space print format. I will be using InDesign for the formatting.
Of course, I will release a 1.1 version of the ebook, with the changes and this fall, continue working on the audiobook, with the help of Mr. Sexytime (My vocal talent alter-ego). I also think I can send the book out to a few espresso book machine sites. The closet thing to Omaha is Kansas City. I think this is a groovy model though, and I am looking forward to figuring out how to get my book into those lovely indie book stores across America.
So yeah, independent publishing is officially a very low paying part time job. I am still selling a few ebooks a month, but things are petering off, to say the least. Time to re-engage and breathe some life into this project. My goal has been to achieve as much as I can in the first 12 months of publication. Best case scenario is securing a strong backlist position on Amazon.
Gotta believe and keep the momentum alive. Very grateful for my patron Abby, who works for Facebook and has been funding advertising for the FB page. So if you are a stranger out in the UK or Canada who is reading this blog for the first time, then welcome aboard:) There is a sample avialable for my novel. If you like sex and self-cannibilization, hallucinations and meditation, this might just be something you'll enjoy!
More soon. Perhaps naughty vignette? -Thom

"Be careful, they stone intellectuals in this town."

Tom Rudolf, of the Anitquarium Book Store said those words to me about 12 years ago after I purchased a copy of 'The Tropic of Cancer' from him and it has always stuck with me. In fact, I made a t-shirt of it and used to wear it when I worked at La Buvette. Hilarious, because it says "BE CAREFUL" on the front which sends the perfect message to patrons and the Buv. Proceed with caution, because these waiter bite!

Today, I had the pleasure of spending a couple of hours with Tom in the relocated Antiquarium in Brownville NE. I am an absolute junky for his rare book collection, his beat writing collection and his literary journals. Heavenly.

Here is what I picked up, if you are looking for a Summer loaner!

Indian Journals Allen Ginsberg
Suppressed Books Alec Craig
A Passage to India E.M. Forster
The Devil Three Jerzy Kosinski
Women of the Beat Generation Brenda Knight
and! a 1924 printing of The Ballad of Reading Gaol  Oscar Wilde

I didn't do too bad, I think:) On the indie-book track, I founder out there is an writers conference in Brownville this September. I will definitely be making an effort to attend that event. If the event is a drag, I can always spend my time basking in the shelves at the Antiquarium and shooting the philosophical shit with Tom.

Where do you write?

Here is a little snapshot of my writing desk. This is the second location of my desk. It used to be in a little office and I almost never went in there. There was something way too pompish about the office, so I moved the desk into my dining room, in hopes of re-energizing the spot.

Fail.

My house is soon to be transitioning, again. Moving back into a larger bedroom and I am moving my desk with me. Not sure what I am trying to force here. Habit? discipline? Progress? I have a firm idea, or at a least setting of where my next writing project will take place. Hoping this Summer will be fruitful creatively and I can transition somewhat from my flaccid self-promotion campaign and finally start working on the next project.

Writing is strange though. I definitely carve writing-time out of the desiccated husk of my 'free time'. Usually, I find myself in the kitchen, or at the dining room table, a coffee shop... basically any other space then the one I set out to write in. I like my desk. I like my stuff. Its all pretty welcoming. Don't write there.

Perhaps the struggle is less about a writing desk, and more about where I feel home. Home has been dense and difficult for me to navigate the last several years. I am trying to put the best foot forward, but only clouds ahead. Which is to say, low visibility.

Where do you write I wonder? Do you have a special pen? A journal? I've written in a dozen different forms and formats and have developed no stuck behavior. No special objects. I guess there is no thing, no magic to summon the words. They just build themselves in a little house of cards and come tumbling down when they're ready. Who am I to go flinging marbles into things?

Enders Gay

Going off topic this post to meditate on Orson Scott Card's recent press. So Ender's Game is pretty awesome. I was two books into the series and enjoying the heck out of it when I heard the news: O.S.C is a libertine (no big deal. annoying. whatever) and then... he is openly and actively and quite outspoken against Gay Marriage. Hmm, that sucks. DC recently dropped him, as the writer of a new superman series. Ender's Game is coming to the big screen in November....what am I going to do?

AHHH! A dork in crisis! I love all of these books and movies and characters. To make matters worse, I am the worst kind of moral relativist. Name someones' shitty behavior and I will find some rationalization for them. Although, I am totally against violent crime and war, I will most likely find a way to understand what led this person or nation to this act and even if I can understand why, extend them compassion and even try to forgive them.

Perhaps this is because I am such a messed up and confused, contradictory and hypocritical monkey. I just figure everyone is messed up, cause we are human, and it is not for me to judge how anyone else copes with the daily pain of living.

So, how does O.S.C write something as awesome and winning as Ender's Game end up a homophobe? Well, it is strangely all there. I just bit the bullet and read the 3rd book (Speaker for the Dead) in the ender series and sure enough, there is a world view, secretly guiding the reader... and is all crackerjacks. This is male-gaze happening, to me, in real time. Damn it.

The proof of this is in the fact that 3000 years has passed and every human settlement still acts like earth. The setting is sci-fi, but the characters and story are all 1950's america propaganda, which is pretty good stuff (MADMEN anybody?) but come on. We are already post sex = babies. Post gender. Post gender-necessitated reproduction. O.S.C is a great writer, but he is no visionary. William Gibson writes sic-fi, as in the Future, not a Retrospective that completely ignores that science is making all these issues mute over the next 50 years, much less the next 3000.

AND! there is a bunch of homo-erotiscm! The Piggies and Ender are having a huge touchy love fest by the end and don't tell me it is pure and innocent machismo man-love. Don't tell me you haven't read the Illiad O.S.C and don't tell me those men weren't having hard-core, emotionally available man sex.

Helen may have launched 10 thousand ships but Patroclus catalyzed the murder and burning of Troy. Consummated Man Love.

In conclusion:
O.S.C doesn't even know that his narrator is gay. I said it. Ender Wiggin is Gay. Which, per usual, (see michaelangelo, wilde etc...) means that the greatest Man of his age was Gay.

Now, myself... I don't actually think gay is that useful of a term. I think it is a linguistic function used to control people, by giving them a simple identity that can be understood and controlled. There is nothing simple about being a human. Nothing simple about sexuality, religion, family, self, war, hate, life. So, catch a clue O.S.C. I am glad you are not writing Superman. Because some great men I know are Gay AND they come from Kypton and you would probably just write them out of the story. Lame on you, but I still like your books, if only because you couldn't stop writing gay characters if you tried. Novihina and Ender happily married...? Wow, that was convenient.

For more fascinating thoughts and observations about O.S.C for you now-ashamed Ender's Game fans...

http://www.salon.com/2013/03/07/end_game_for_orson_scott_card_partner/