I have a number of drafts saved in various stages of completion, and skimming through them is a weird experience. Little things are disconcerting, like finding a sentence proclaiming I liked the movie Detachment, and not having the faintest idea what that movie was about. Perhaps this is why I create so many lists. Perhaps I am afraid of not remembering what I like, and to some degree, not remembering who I am. Am I the sort of guy who likes that movie still? I have no idea? Googling the movie did bring back a faint recollection, but none of what I recalled was associated with a favorable reaction. So all I have to go on is my own word. I wouldn't lie to me, right?
The irony that the movie was titled Detachment is not lost on me.
Today I wondered how ridiculous it will be when people look back at small aspects of our system. My judge asks the jury if they smoke, so he can know whether or not to plan for breaks as needed. While the idea of accommodating smokers seemed a bit weird at first, it makes sense when you realize the goal is a fair trial, not correcting the behavior of the jury. If someone can't pay attention to the evidence as it is presented, a break is warranted. Then again, it's not like we go around asking people if they are addicted to other drugs and allow them to get their fix. Because at the heart of it, there is a chemical dependency there, an addiction that takes over. We draw the line in some pretty weird places, and while that part of the debate isn't new, when it comes to the priorities of the justice system, I suppose I'm wondering what happens when a juror can't do a good job because they are dependent on something we find less acceptable than lung cancer.
And on that light note, thanks for reading! (This is brief because I'm multitasking and actually writing something else as well.)
April 5, 2017
April 4, 2017
Another failure
I'm never sure how to feel about people who point out massive coincidences in plots. On the one hand, it's nice when plots are believable. On the other, it's worth considering which stories get told in real life. If the protagonist got hit by a car when he crossed the busy intersection without looking both ways, the story would have never been told in the first place. Or at least, that protagonist wouldn't be the star. My temptation is, then, to break the mold. But of course the problem is that if you tel the boring man's story, or the story of the guy whose bad guys don't miss the thousand shots they fire, there isn't much to tell.
I speculate that this is why people enjoy long sagas like Game of Thrones, where seemingly main characters are killed off, and nobody seems sacred. It's nice to have the tradition disrupted. You almost need to write a saga though, to have enough characters to ensure enough "spares" to continue the plot.
I'm in the brainstorming phase. I don't know when one progresses past that phase. I suspect it occurs when one starts writing, but that's only a suspicion for now. Part of me wants things planned out, to have a picture of characters in my head, and to know what's going to happen. Another part of me knows that's not likely to happen anytime soon. A third part of me remembers that I have never had those things in mind when I've started writing. In fact, I can't remember a single time I've started out knowing anything more than the first few sentences.
This blog has always had a subtheme of being about my struggles with writing, and I suppose it's not about to change any time soon. It's gotten to the point where I consider it a failure to write in this blog, since it means I'm not writing something of "substance." So today I have failed again.
If you're wondering why I've started writing at all (even these "failed" attempts), I suppose it is due in large part to my desire to not live a wasted life. I realized recently that I was measuring my success in terms of tangibles. I was happy to have enough in my bank account to not worry about money for a little while. I was happy to have been flown to play handball (and I still am). I am happy to have achieved what it feels like so many people my age are not achieving. But I wondered if that was really what I wanted to achieve. Then, never content to be only one level removed from my desires, I wondered if I was only wondering that so I could seem cerebral and special.
I consider frequently the possibility of devoting myself to what makes me truly happy. It seems that I could be somewhat successful at handball if I devoted even more time to it. I might be able to do creative things, such as write. But stepping back and examining what happens when I have no responsibility, I see someone who plays video games and looks at screens of various sizes. I don't feel like that person, and yet, we are to some degree the sum of our actions. This is problematic only to the degree I am bothered by not resembling my own conception of an ideal human. When does one give up on the ideal? When do I declare failure?
I'm sure there is always a redemption to be had. There are always stories of people who used the last years of their lives to make a difference, so of course no failure is truly final. But one can only shift their goals to the side so many times before they must admit they have compromised. As one of the least-compromising people I know, I sometimes feel I know a lot about compromise (even for a lawyer).
Thanks for reading!
I speculate that this is why people enjoy long sagas like Game of Thrones, where seemingly main characters are killed off, and nobody seems sacred. It's nice to have the tradition disrupted. You almost need to write a saga though, to have enough characters to ensure enough "spares" to continue the plot.
I'm in the brainstorming phase. I don't know when one progresses past that phase. I suspect it occurs when one starts writing, but that's only a suspicion for now. Part of me wants things planned out, to have a picture of characters in my head, and to know what's going to happen. Another part of me knows that's not likely to happen anytime soon. A third part of me remembers that I have never had those things in mind when I've started writing. In fact, I can't remember a single time I've started out knowing anything more than the first few sentences.
This blog has always had a subtheme of being about my struggles with writing, and I suppose it's not about to change any time soon. It's gotten to the point where I consider it a failure to write in this blog, since it means I'm not writing something of "substance." So today I have failed again.
If you're wondering why I've started writing at all (even these "failed" attempts), I suppose it is due in large part to my desire to not live a wasted life. I realized recently that I was measuring my success in terms of tangibles. I was happy to have enough in my bank account to not worry about money for a little while. I was happy to have been flown to play handball (and I still am). I am happy to have achieved what it feels like so many people my age are not achieving. But I wondered if that was really what I wanted to achieve. Then, never content to be only one level removed from my desires, I wondered if I was only wondering that so I could seem cerebral and special.
I consider frequently the possibility of devoting myself to what makes me truly happy. It seems that I could be somewhat successful at handball if I devoted even more time to it. I might be able to do creative things, such as write. But stepping back and examining what happens when I have no responsibility, I see someone who plays video games and looks at screens of various sizes. I don't feel like that person, and yet, we are to some degree the sum of our actions. This is problematic only to the degree I am bothered by not resembling my own conception of an ideal human. When does one give up on the ideal? When do I declare failure?
I'm sure there is always a redemption to be had. There are always stories of people who used the last years of their lives to make a difference, so of course no failure is truly final. But one can only shift their goals to the side so many times before they must admit they have compromised. As one of the least-compromising people I know, I sometimes feel I know a lot about compromise (even for a lawyer).
Thanks for reading!
March 31, 2017
Segues are overrated (hoverboards are where it's at)
Five pages. That’s sort of a lot of pages when you’ve spent your whole night playing video games and the lateness of the hour starts to set in. A hurried mind does not readily issue forth eloquent phrases, and it’s a bit of a struggle to remember the point of it all when you’re writing for the sake of writing.
As before, as soon as I make writing an obligation, it stops being fun. I feel pressure to write something good. I feel pressure to have something to show for it at the end of my time. I have no doubt I could ramble on for five pages with little trouble. Plenty has occurred in my life that I could summarize ad nauseum, boring those that already know, and leaving questions for those that don’t. So I’m in a bit of a quandary.
I’ve looked up writing prompts. It’s funny to me that when I read a prompt and have no desire to write I occasionally have a fun idea, but when I’m looking for something to write, nothing seems to meet my standard. Am I sabotaging myself? Am I just too afraid of failure to start down a path? Is this an overarching metaphor for my life? Who’s to say? (Yes, it obviously is.)
I find it so much easier to commit to others than to commit to myself. If someone sets a goal for me, I will do everything I can to achieve it. If I set a goal for myself, it might get done eventually. I hate playing for a team, but I love working out with one. This is one reason tennis clinics were my favorite thing. The work put in was collective, but when it came time to compete, it was all one on one. This ethos is missing from handball. People work out on their own, they compete on their own. Frisbee workouts are great. The people are fun, and when we get together, most people are motivated to get in a good workout. But competing with a team… hasn’t been my thing. Don’t get me wrong, playing frisbee with my friends is great. The problem, of course, is my general lack of friends. I’m lucky my sister has friends, or I just wouldn’t have enough people on my side to every take to the field.
I like having our own house. No shared walls, not feeling obligated to play nice with fellow residents, and enough space to spread out have been some qualities I will miss when we move back to an apartment life. Then again, our current place has a bit too much space. And we are getting to the point where we have a bit too much stuff to go along with it. All of which has done little to stop me from acquiring more things. It will be interesting to see what happens to the stuff when it is compressed into half as many rooms. Will the pineapple decorations survive? Will necessity breed innovation as it does in times of war, as the fruit knicknacks battle it out with the gaming collectibles for priority shelf space? How many “life hacks” will be required to utilize our many unused possessions?
I never did write my grandmother to thank her for my Christmas and birthday presents. I still have an envelope with her address already written on it sitting on our kitchen table. I see it occasionally when I sit down for lunch, which happens a couple of times per week. However, we do not use the dining room table for dinner, preferring to sit in front of our occasionally-functional TV when we have the luxury of time. Lunch is a more efficient time. There is no dilly-dally built into the eating schedule. A strict regimen: 10 minutes to say hello and decide what to eat; 20 minutes to manufacture the food (3 if it’s leftovers, but usually 10 if the leftovers require supplementation in order to feed two people); 4 minutes to eat; 10 minutes to look at my phone while thinking how I should really just go back to the office early; 5 minutes to accomplish the things I said I would do over lunch and allocated 15 minutes for in my original plan for the day; 30 seconds to grab something based in chocolate as I head out the door. As you can see, the four minutes set aside for eating hardly lends itself to settling down in front of a TV. Usually it doesn’t even lend itself to sitting down at all. Eating while standing in the kitchen means I can rinse out my dishes immediately after finishing, saving time on cleanup later, and the time it takes to change rooms, pull out a chair, and fend off a cat rarely justifies itself. By the time I’ve walked into the next room, half my food has usually been consumed.
This is a page and a half in google docs. Hardly five pages, and hardly what I had in mind when I sat down to write. Then again, when I sat down to write, it came immediately to the forefront of my mind how self-conscious I am when writing when my screen can be seen. I know this makes no sense, since I’m going to put it on the internet without editing anyway, and yet I find my fingers frozen when the words they produce might be subjected to criticism (even internal criticism) before they become set in the stone that comes with hitting the publish button. Hopefully the next time I sit down, I have some characters. Or a setting. Or anything. But I am not optimistic. (Why start now?)
Thanks for reading!
March 30, 2017
Hard to believe
It's been a year to the day since I last wrote in my blog. I never thought I'd say that, but it's true. A lot has happened, as tends to be the case when a year passes, and I'm sure context will bring you up to speed on the things I leave out after I briefly sum up my life. The major points are, of course, Casey, my job, and my sports, with a hint of family, housing, and mundane observations thrown in for good measure.
Who is Casey? I suppose one might be justified in asking, since I so nonchalantly dropped her name just above, and yet anyone reading this blog from the beginning will notice a dearth of Caseys in my life to this point. Well, as I believe I've written about, online dating is a thing, and it turns out it is a very good thing for people like me. Casey might even agree with me, since she and I have been getting along pretty well together for the past year and a half. (Getting along together pretty well, being, of course, a huge understatement, but saying we're madly in love just doesn't seem very in character for me.) (Writing it in a self-referencing parenthetical, on the other hand... very in character.)
We moved in together after I graduated from law school, and moved from the twin cities down to Albert Lea for my current job after I passed the bar exam. Did you like how I managed to very casually mention I graduated from law school and passed the bar exam? I wish I could say my celebration at the time was more joyful, but really both of those occasions were more full of relief than anything else. The occasions were so informal to me, in fact, that rather than walking across a stage, I played ultimate frisbee on a beach in Virginia, and rather than be sworn in with the rest of my class, I waited a few months (because I had to take an ethics test the rest of my classmates had done during law school but I managed to put off), and was sworn in by my local judge. I literally mailed it in when it came to entering the legal profession. And I wouldn't have it any other way.
My local judge also happens to be my current boss/employer. For any readers who don't know, it is fairly common practice for law students to work for a judge after graduating before they enter the real world. My position is a year long, and I'm a bit more than 7 months into it, so the time has come to begin looking for the next thing. Casey had the misfortune of becoming unemployed after we moved, so we are working with a tabula rasa when it comes to location. I'm pretty sure we are aiming for the twin cities again though. It feels a bit weird to have things hinging on my career. I've never really had a career before, and to be honest, I'm not quite sure I want one. This is hardly unique among my generation, as I'm well aware, but I suppose being atypical in this regard is just as stodgy as following the trend. Hopefully it all works out.
Casey is incredibly supportive, and I know it's not like I really needed another person in my corner telling me how great I am, but her constancy and willingness to help are likely more than I deserve. I do my best to show my appreciation, but sometimes I'm afraid I orient my gestures more toward the material than the emotional. This has been a tendency of mine before, but I think (or at least hope) Casey knows how to translate "look, I bought you this thing" into "thank you, and I love you" with some degree of reliability. If not (and assuming she reads this), she now has a nifty little cheat sheet with with to decode my too-often materialistic gestures.
Decoding my purchasing practices is not the only reason for turning to my blog again, however. I think I've finally had enough of a break from the rigors of law school that I could find writing fun again, and while I still have no idea what I want to write, it feels nice to want to write again for the sake of writing. I'm not sure what will follow, where it will be found, or how long my desire to write will last, but I'm going to try to make time for it in some regard. Stephen King famously said he aims for five pages a day, which according to my incredibly useless math skills leaves him with almost two thousand pages at the end of a year. I know I'm likely not setting out to write the next epic tome, but even a small amount of regular effort should yield good results.
I'm not going to lie; a major part of my motivation continues to come from just how bad other people are who think they can write. I came across a post online the other day where someone was extremely proud of their book. It had taken them seven years, and they provided some sample text. As I'm sure you've surmised from my tone, it was terrible. Now, I have no idea what my writing will turn into when my attention finally turns to a longer work. I know I've enjoyed my short stories, and most of the people I've shown them to have enjoyed them as well. I know law school has likely changed my writing style somewhat (less flowery prose, more focus on sentence structure; more formality, and less rhythmic, rolling, and rambling (though I'll always assert a love of alliteration)). Be that as it may, I look forward to working on this. I have a small goal of setting aside around an hour a night to write if I feel up for it, and while that may be difficult when it involves shutting off a new video game or refraining from passively letting Netflix roll into the next episode of whatever compelling drama is on the screen, I know it will be worthwhile. It will be good to have a creative purpose again to go along with my professional and athletic aspirations. (I love my job, and I'm almost a professional handball player as well, but those are things to be elaborated on at a later time.)
Thanks for reading!
Who is Casey? I suppose one might be justified in asking, since I so nonchalantly dropped her name just above, and yet anyone reading this blog from the beginning will notice a dearth of Caseys in my life to this point. Well, as I believe I've written about, online dating is a thing, and it turns out it is a very good thing for people like me. Casey might even agree with me, since she and I have been getting along pretty well together for the past year and a half. (Getting along together pretty well, being, of course, a huge understatement, but saying we're madly in love just doesn't seem very in character for me.) (Writing it in a self-referencing parenthetical, on the other hand... very in character.)
We moved in together after I graduated from law school, and moved from the twin cities down to Albert Lea for my current job after I passed the bar exam. Did you like how I managed to very casually mention I graduated from law school and passed the bar exam? I wish I could say my celebration at the time was more joyful, but really both of those occasions were more full of relief than anything else. The occasions were so informal to me, in fact, that rather than walking across a stage, I played ultimate frisbee on a beach in Virginia, and rather than be sworn in with the rest of my class, I waited a few months (because I had to take an ethics test the rest of my classmates had done during law school but I managed to put off), and was sworn in by my local judge. I literally mailed it in when it came to entering the legal profession. And I wouldn't have it any other way.
My local judge also happens to be my current boss/employer. For any readers who don't know, it is fairly common practice for law students to work for a judge after graduating before they enter the real world. My position is a year long, and I'm a bit more than 7 months into it, so the time has come to begin looking for the next thing. Casey had the misfortune of becoming unemployed after we moved, so we are working with a tabula rasa when it comes to location. I'm pretty sure we are aiming for the twin cities again though. It feels a bit weird to have things hinging on my career. I've never really had a career before, and to be honest, I'm not quite sure I want one. This is hardly unique among my generation, as I'm well aware, but I suppose being atypical in this regard is just as stodgy as following the trend. Hopefully it all works out.
Casey is incredibly supportive, and I know it's not like I really needed another person in my corner telling me how great I am, but her constancy and willingness to help are likely more than I deserve. I do my best to show my appreciation, but sometimes I'm afraid I orient my gestures more toward the material than the emotional. This has been a tendency of mine before, but I think (or at least hope) Casey knows how to translate "look, I bought you this thing" into "thank you, and I love you" with some degree of reliability. If not (and assuming she reads this), she now has a nifty little cheat sheet with with to decode my too-often materialistic gestures.
Decoding my purchasing practices is not the only reason for turning to my blog again, however. I think I've finally had enough of a break from the rigors of law school that I could find writing fun again, and while I still have no idea what I want to write, it feels nice to want to write again for the sake of writing. I'm not sure what will follow, where it will be found, or how long my desire to write will last, but I'm going to try to make time for it in some regard. Stephen King famously said he aims for five pages a day, which according to my incredibly useless math skills leaves him with almost two thousand pages at the end of a year. I know I'm likely not setting out to write the next epic tome, but even a small amount of regular effort should yield good results.
I'm not going to lie; a major part of my motivation continues to come from just how bad other people are who think they can write. I came across a post online the other day where someone was extremely proud of their book. It had taken them seven years, and they provided some sample text. As I'm sure you've surmised from my tone, it was terrible. Now, I have no idea what my writing will turn into when my attention finally turns to a longer work. I know I've enjoyed my short stories, and most of the people I've shown them to have enjoyed them as well. I know law school has likely changed my writing style somewhat (less flowery prose, more focus on sentence structure; more formality, and less rhythmic, rolling, and rambling (though I'll always assert a love of alliteration)). Be that as it may, I look forward to working on this. I have a small goal of setting aside around an hour a night to write if I feel up for it, and while that may be difficult when it involves shutting off a new video game or refraining from passively letting Netflix roll into the next episode of whatever compelling drama is on the screen, I know it will be worthwhile. It will be good to have a creative purpose again to go along with my professional and athletic aspirations. (I love my job, and I'm almost a professional handball player as well, but those are things to be elaborated on at a later time.)
Thanks for reading!
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