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Wednesday, March 20, 2013

from the hip

Alright, new promise. I will now write in my blog exactly as often as whim allows.
I am good at making goal, at telling myself stories.
When I was in second grade I moved from Ames Iowa to Chariton Iowa and left my best friend Evan behind. I cried a lot. I don't remember why now, and this blog isn't about guessing. I remember I had a teacher that scared me and I thought she was mean. Mrs. Gildablume. When I talked to Evan on the phone he played the best friend role of blindly agreeing with my assessment, saying "I'm pretty sure that's a name of a poison."I later came to love her, and I called her my favorite teacher. 

I was not popular in grade school. I was friends with a handicapped girl, Samantha, kids said I must be in love with her. I wonder after her from time to time. I stopped a bully from kicking a smaller kid as he lay scared, curled up under a wooden bench. I told a teacher. Later half my class stood on the wooden playground and promised they'd beat me up after school. I told a teacher. This was third grade. By fifth I was comfortable if still unpopular. One day I stole a kid's watch as he cleaned out his desk. I gave it back and he marveled at my slight of hand, but when he called later I was suspicious. He asked if I wanted to hang out, and in my mind he must be tricking me. I had rarely been invited to someone's house since we'd moved to town. I thought, he must be playing a joke. I thought that he would laugh and point with the other popular kids when he saw I believed him. He was sincere and he was soon my second ever best friend. I still have Jamie as a friend on facebook.

In sixth grade, we moved from Chariton to Dixon Illinois. I was excited. Kids had started pantsing each other at recess and I was terrified it would happen to me. I had friends then, and when I left, Jamie had gotten me a card and most of my class signed it with personal touches.I still have the card.

Friendships formed and fell away and formed again, but it was years before I had a best friend. I told myself the same story as before, that it must be a trick of some sort. And as before I found a best friend, two in fact. Kevin and Andy.

There are many things I could tell you about my life, but this is a story about the stories I've told myself and, through myself, those around me.

To back up a moment.  I will share another story I told myself. The story of my life aboard a space ship. The story of how I, the captain of the ship, had been scientifically implanted in Terry, my earth mom, to study humans. I often felt like an outcast. There needed to be a reason I felt I did not belong. I told myself I was never meant to lose those other memories. I was never meant to loose contact with my crew. For years when I heard my name, but found no speaker, I wondered if I was right and if my crew was trying to contact me.

Nearly all of my teen years were spent believing that God had created me to be unique, world changingly unique. That this was why I did not feel like I belonged. That God had a plan that would through my life into sharp relief, a final puzzle piece that would make all the rest make sense. My belief in God did not die with my delusions of grandeur.

When my dad got sick with cancer, I knew. I knew he was dying before it came out. Mowing the lawn one day, I felt as though God told me. It was this voice that I looked for with all other revolations. Since I have wondered if I subconsciously worked it out through small evidences, as that voice has only once been right.

When my dad was dying of liver cancer, I believed he would live. because the same moment I knew he was dying I knew he would survive, by the same voice. I bought him a pool cue bag for his birthday. I told him we would go play pool soon. Even believing as I did, there was an implied urgency in the "soon". I never quite got around to it.

When my dad died in the hospital. I demanded "No." and prayed with trembling and faith that God would restore his life.

Let's back up again.

One year I went to a church camp and watched my future friend Larissa perform a skit, using an austrailian accent that still makes me smile. I watched the other man in the skit fall all over her in their antics and I suspected that he was using the skit to touch her. More smiles over my stories. Jeremy was, in fact, her brother. Clearly I found her beautiful.

I flirted later with a girl named Lindsy. I stood in ShopKo and described a scene to Kevin. I told him how we would often high-five as we passed one another. I told him how we would sometimes intwine our fingers as we did, and it would be like we held hands or a moment. I asked him if he thought it meant anything. A woman in line turned around and said it did.

Kevin and I stayed up late one night talking. He liked a girl who was supposedly engaged. Still she flirted with him and we both believed she liked him. Months before he had noticed her at school and had gone on and on about her eyes. She souned familiar and I showed him a picture of her draped around another girl. We had wondered about her preference. Now we wondered about her ringless engagement. Somehow we connected her heritage with arranged marriages, and we convinced ourselves this was the case. We were young and there were stories. She however, was just complicated and conflicted, like all people.

Another year at camp I befriended a pretty young red headed girl. I quickly fell for her. we flirted and spent the week happy. She wore my hat often. after camp we emailed regularly but Lizzie was dating a guy who was no good for her. I told her what I thought. They both called and swore a lot. In he months that went by, I thought about her daily. I could smell her on my hat, a hat I had stopped wearing. She called me in the months before my dad died. She was single and missed me. we talked nightly until I could drive down to see her. I had refused to ask her out before then. I thought we would be together forever. I bought a promise ring to give to her on valentines day. I was seventeen and we broke up a week too soon. I was young and still telling stories

Later that year I asked out my second girlfriend. I told myself she was perfect. I could imagine no life without her. After two and a half years we broke up and I was incapable of accepting it. It was inconcievalbe that we weren't together. I believed even God told me we would get back together. That voice that had once promised a father's death, promised love reunited.I would friend her into loving me again. She had told herself the story that she wanted to stay friends, but the pain was too sharp and it wasn't long before that friendship ended in utter silenc.

I responded by falling for Kayla's best friend. Because I'm a human fool and not a space captain implanted into a human , nor a Christian prophet groomed to revitalize the church for God. 
By coincidence, or more subconscious story telling, I asked out the sister of my ex's previous ex a whole four months after being dumped. I, like so many christian youths, believed it God's will. I had forgotten how to single and I had forgotten how to be in a new relationship. I was awkward and tried to force a quick connection. Frustration and a realization that I was still attracted to  Kayla's bff, and a blindness to the turmoil in my heart over being dumped, lead to me breaking things off with Katie, the nicest and coolest of girls, on aprils fools day. about which, I will always feel very, very human.

after coming up with plans to try to attract the attention of Angela, the bff,  through the use of six flags, I discovered I would instead be taking Fred, who had become my best friend over the previous nine months. He was my confidant and a man of faith that I trusted with most every secret. At six flags I told him I liked Angela's eyes, and I wonder now if he hadn't been trying to work up the courage to share a secret with me. He told me he actually thought Kayla had pretty eyes. And I easily and unthinkingly agreed with him. She had never been far from my mind or ambitions, but this reminder was enough to focus me back on her. three months later I had begun to pick up on flirting between them and I grew suspicious and prayed for answers. The Voice of past told me that Fred wouldn't do that too me. and this was one last test. When I confronted him and he told me he was pursuing her whatever I wanted, I felt hatred for the first time in my life. I will not abide hatred. and I killed it in a week. Not the ending of either of those relationships I hoped for, but I also abhore dark endings, so I will add that they are now married, happily, I've no doubt. Furthermore, I am facebook friends with Fred and have sought his advice more than once.

Life has trajedies and comedies. Drama and action. adventure, so too do the stories I have long told myself.
I scaled a thirty-fifty foot rock wall without ropes. I could not bring myself to jump from the rock wall to a rock pillar three feet away, because even though it was easily ten feet wide I could imagine myself slipping and sliding off from the momentum.I could not stop imagining it.
I once killed a bat with a tennis racket for my housemate Becky. I did so from a crouched position because I couldn't stop imagining it landing on me. But the same day as the rock climbing I went cave diving. There were bats hanging from the cieling and the didn't bother me even when they flew. I sat on a rock ledge in the most absolute black I can imagine possible, with no fear of the bats flying near by. It was peaceful.

I have long wanted to go skydiving. Though like many stories I tell myself, I have never quite gotten around to making this one a reality. I said "the first plane I ever get on, I will jump out of." I did not jump from the first plane I ever got on, I did however attend my sister's wedding.

I have thoughts of going to school to be a music minister, or a youth minister. When a person I cared for suggested that these things don't take degrees and don't pay money, I decided to study electronic engineering technology. When our relationship ended, so did my progress in the course. It took 6 years to complete the two year degree, since getting it, I've done nothing with it.

There have been several turning points to my life. Not least of which was the turning point that I am a Writer. I write stories. I craft them every day. The stories I told myself in the above examples are just those most easily expressed. Perhaps I am not a good writer, or reality would have blindsided me less often. Instead my stories hid me from the world, or encouraged me to face it, even if it failed to prepare me for it. But then, that's every story. A story needs an ending and my stories need conflict resolution.conflict resolution is no small part of what keeps people getting up each morning and I am just one more human.

Since the discovery of my tendency I have gained confidence that I might make money off this life-long habit. I have written 10k+ words in no less than six novels, and 50k+ in no less than two. I have planned to submit my current novel to publishers in the next year. I am clearly a fool. the very existance of this post proves it. Still I am aware of the odds and content with my habit, because it is not one I could change if I wanted to.

And yet, I am incomplete. I am broke, basically uneducated, single for the last six years, and dissatisfied with where I stopped in every regard save writing and thinking.
I will tell you this next story I have told myself in its entirety, holding nothing back. I have applied for, and expect acceptance in SIU in carbondale. There are schools closer to home and better schools closer to family. I will avoid them because I have yet to skydive. My only 'chute will be success. I will continue to write, and I will have sold my first novel by the end of my first year. And after I've sold my second, I will continue to go to school. I will not be going to school for English or creative writing. because it is more often amateurs that know no better  that make innovative leaps than it is experts. And, I find most of the courses for an English degree to be mind killingly boring and useless. I will be studying programming, with the goal of getting a BS in computer science. This is in no small part because I heard a man call it a super power. And I agree with him. The classes will be challenging and will leave me with a sense of accomplishment. The math will be difficult and its understanding will leave me feeling like I know a secret, as math always does.
I will live in an efficency appartment, working part time, writing part time, schooling full time. I will take summer classes. I will participate in the boat regatta and win a prize no less than once. And after I've sold my third book I will graduate a budding author. I will get a job programming and will write as I feel the desire. and when I have a contract for a series, I will consider quitting my job. This will be within the next decade. At this point I will be a full time novelist. I will write code for things like my arduino, and maybe a phone app here and there for kicks.

And some where in there, there will be some friggin' conflict resolution of my romantic life.

Sometimes my stories come true, sometimes my stories have magic. Since I refuse to write magic out of any story, I'll have to find some magic. 






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