Writing Lab: Full of Stories, Full of Stars

Head of a Young Woman - Jean-Baptiste Greuze

Prompt: "Do you have a lot of untold stories inside of you? How do you feel carrying them around?"

Well, any writer is full of stories to at least some extent and I'm certainly no exception. I don't get writer's block as far as ideas go. I'd even go so far as to say that I come up with at least a couple of viable new ideas a week. However, I'm not terribly disciplined about doing much with any of them. Some of that has to do with how much of my writing energy gets poured into things for my clients these days, but the rest of it is just sheer laziness and apathy.

That said, I do have a lot of untold stories living inside of me to one extent or another. How does it make me feel? Perpetually bloated and full, like a person feels when they overeat at Thanksgiving. On the one hand, there's a satisfaction to feeling that full, because when you're full you're the very furthest thing from empty. On the other, it can be incredibly uncomfortable at the same time. You know it's not normal or healthy to be overstuffed to that extent. I do talk about ideas and whatnot to some extent, which helps. However, verbal conversation and Facebook are really no substitutes for proper stories and poems written on the regular.

Writing Lab: On Legacies

Prompt: "A line from the play Hamilton asks: 'Who lives, who dies, who tells your story.' What do you want your legacy to be?"

This is a hard question for me. As I've touched on here before, I've never wanted to become much or accomplish anything in particular, so I can't really say I've ever truly been interested in leaving a legacy as most people would define the term. I'm 40 years old. I'm growing more tired and jaded by the day. I may never manage to create anything earth-shattering or change the world in any notable way. And to be totally honest, it's OK with me if I don't.

That said, I think what I'd like most is to know I might have inspired other people to approach life differently while I was still here. I am a firm believer in the notion that human beings are taught to swallow bullshit their entire lives from the moment they're born. They're told that there is this one right way to be a child of God, to be a women, to be a man. One right way to look and one list of right ways to earn a living or exist in this world. There's not. There are as many possibilities as far as who you can be and how you can choose to live as can be -- too many to ever count.

On the Passing of Prince and the Loss of Childhood Heroes

I was so sad to log on today and hear that Prince passed away. Not only was he only 57, but he wasn't really one of those celebrities that partied so damn hard you just knew it was a matter of time. Actually, although there hasn't been an official announcement as to the cause of death yet, it sounds like he spent the last few weeks ill with a very persistent case of the flu and just wound up collapsing suddenly at home. He probably should have been in the hospital if he was that sick, although who knows if that would have made a difference.

Like a lot of people, I'm astonished at how many legends we've lost recently. Seriously... legends. People like Prince and David Bowie are icons that seem to transcend their very humanity on so many levels. It seems surprising somehow when such people actually die eventually just like everyone else. It's even harder to swallow when they die for reasons like this. You want to think someone as superhuman as Prince could never be killed by something we've all experienced, like the flu, but there it is all the same.

I've always heard that one of the hardest things about entering middle age is that you start losing older family members -- people like your parents, grandparents, aunts, and uncles. No one warns you that it's also hard to start losing your childhood heroes -- the people you grew up in awe of. The people whose creations shaped who you eventually became and helped you get through your younger years in one piece.