Blog Summary
Thoughts and Musings
2021 - Present
How do we cope when our bodies and minds aren’t what they were? How do we find purpose in life? Is adventure still on the horizon? Can we cope much less thrive in today’s chaotic environement? How might adventure change as we sprout wrinkles?
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Adventuring
- Jun 20, 2023 Must an Adventure be Extreme?
- Apr 15, 2022 Adventure finds you when least expected
- Nov 2, 2021 Marooned in Memphis
- Oct 10, 2021 Why Girl Scouts?
- Dec 29, 2020 When will it end?
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Commentary
- Jul 18, 2023 AI is not the Monster, is it?
- Jul 1, 2023 Zooming with Ukrainians
- Jun 20, 2023 Must an Adventure be Extreme?
- May 15, 2022 Missed Rebellion
- Feb 23, 2022 Alone and Inbetween
- Jan 17, 2022 Troubling Times
- Dec 23, 2021 Holiday Cards
- Dec 16, 2021 It’s not about me at Christmas
- Nov 27, 2021 Opera is not dead
- Nov 2, 2021 Marooned in Memphis
- Oct 19, 2021 Art Fights Gun Violence
- Jul 3, 2021 Humbled and Renewed
- Jun 26, 2021 Buckshot not Bullets
- May 28, 2021 Dog Sitting
- Apr 28, 2021 Assumptions are Stupid
- Apr 22, 2021 First Kiss
- Mar 19, 2021 Messing with Meditation
- Feb 25, 2021 What’s in a Nickname?
- Feb 18, 2021 Confinement Messes with the Mind
- Feb 12, 2021 Breadth or depth?
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Medical Adventure
- Jun 11, 2023 Spine Surgery Epilogue
- Jun 4, 2023 Pushing too hard almost defeated me…
- May 30, 2023 A Step in the Wrong Direction
- May 21, 2023 No Bending, Lifting, Twisting
- May 16, 2023 Creeping Disabling Pain Got Me
- May 21, 2021 Pretzel Pain
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On Ageing
- Jun 7, 2022 Wise or Just Old?
- Nov 17, 2021 Memory on My Mind
- May 21, 2021 Pretzel Pain
- Apr 12, 2021 Pandemic Isolation Thwarted
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On Writing
- May 8, 2023 Pandemic Stress
- May 16, 2022 They liked it!
- Feb 23, 2022 Alone and Inbetween
- Feb 10, 2022 Rabbit Hole
- Oct 24, 2021 Fiction vs. Memoir
- Jun 26, 2021 Buckshot not Bullets
- Jun 19, 2021 Claustrophobia
- Apr 5, 2021 Ode to Southern Writers
- Mar 25, 2021 Criticism - Gift or Fault Finding?
- Mar 19, 2021 Messing with Meditation
- Mar 5, 2021 When writing ‘what you know’ is not enough
- Apr 22, 2020 The Writing Life
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Pandemic
- May 8, 2023 Pandemic Stress
- Jun 19, 2021 Claustrophobia
- Apr 12, 2021 Pandemic Isolation Thwarted
- Feb 18, 2021 Confinement Messes with the Mind
- Dec 29, 2020 When will it end?
Fiction vs. Memoir
I came to know the work of Laurie Anderson at the Hirschhorn Museum in DC. One piece in this major show titled Weather, is The Story about the Story written in bright white words on a massive black wall. The starkness and simplicity of it made me stop browsing and read it all.
Laurie Anderson, multi-media American artist
I came to know the work of Laurie Anderson at the Hirschhorn Museum in DC. One piece in this major show titled Weather, is The Story about the Story written in bright white words on a massive black wall. The starkness and simplicity of it made me stop browsing and read it all. She said she often told the story of the months, as a child in a hospital, she struggled to recover from severe burns. Over the years, telling it made her uneasy. She said, “Something was missing… Then, one day, when I was in the middle of telling… suddenly I was back in the hospital, just exactly the way it had been.” The details—the sounds of other children screaming as they lay dying, the smells of medicine and burnt skin, and the empty beds in the morning — came back to her. She said, “actually I only told the part about myself and had forgotten the rest of it.”
Anderson’s tale reminds me that my storytelling early story telling. Each rendition strips away context and depth of circumstances, focusing on what happened to me and its impact, all directed at an audience to stimulate chuckles or impart learning.
Here’s the conflict — the advice to new writers is to write what you know. If I do that, my self-centeredness will stifle creativity and strip away life around my story. Did you ever read a memoir or autobiography that constantly slapped you with the author’s opinions, interpretations, accomplishments, and the word ‘I’? It’s a rare and talented author that moves beyond self-centeredness. I struggle. I’m not one of them—yet.
There is freedom in writing fiction. It begins with bits vivid in my consciousness, not the whole of what happened. An aging photo, letter, or memento may kindle a fire. I’ll never recover the whole, as Anderson was lucky enough to do. I don’t trust my recall. It often conflicts with what others who were present remember. And, as Anderson states, the details, the broader story, wash away over the years.
‘What I know is only the beginning of a writing journey. Fiction is more honest and complete. I shape characters and plot to ensure a story is never about me. My stories are deeper and more significant than my experience, and hopefully more entertaining and meaningful to the reader.