Well, my first posting is going to be, none other than a movie commentary I emailed a bunch of my best buds. I find my best writing is when I talk to friends, expressing my obsession with any given novel, movie, rental, bought or otherwise. Since about ten yrs old, movies are my life. E.T. was the first to floor me. I was old enough to understand this was made by some dude and E.T. was really all wires and foam rubber- (the good old days when things were actually physically created by artisans with skills and not a computer geek at a keyboard and mouse/touch pad- though contradictably I admire them as artists greatly too.) I couldn't believe this Spielberg guy understood me and my ten year old sensibilities SO CLEARLY!! I remember flipping through my Dynamite magazine (any generation Xers will remember that one!) and coming upon a picture of the director directing the young Henry Thomas, pointing to the heavens. I knew very well that this kid my age was an actor and the almost well, the very almost physically painful yearning to be in the place of that kid with this imaginative man taking him under his wing. At that vulnerable age, I felt there was an adult out there that actually understood my dreams and made stories about them! Which is what I felt destined to do- pan to my current first try and writing my novel (there will be plenty of time to write on that later) Thus my desire to act was born. Gradually I thought as that was a TOTAL irrational and impossible dream for a farm kid/ young man in Nebraska to endeavor to take on and better to just be safe and do fine art school and continue dreamin. Still, knowing all this, I couldn't shake the feeling that I too could very well, hunt in the cornfield and find my very own loveable alien. I'd take him in my bike basket and sneak him upstairs into my house up the stairs. We didn't have house-pets and my dog only stayed in the back porch so there was no Harvey to interfere... No little sister Gerdie or big brother Michael to be a problem either; Ah the perks of being an only child. So yeah, I went on with the art, did severely average in college since I hated kissing the professors ass. Some admired it, most deplored it and I graduated after five years and went temporarily insane doing a play at the community playhouse and moving on taking the acting gig head on in Chicago. It was the best of times, it was the worst of times... all the while, reading and drawing and writing during all the windy city madness. Well, my other love during all this was books. I love nothing more than to talk about both movies and books; all kinds. I find people that don't share that interest, in all due respect- to put it simply- painfully boring. I often am too critical but that's just my opinion. I had joined Triod at my friend Ann's suggestion after I expressed my displeasure at my failure to sell any artwork on an art posting site. I know I am good at my craft. I have friends whom are critical and would tell me otherwise if I wasn't. I didn't get a degree and have others ask me to art shows if I wasn't. I don't laud it and give myself accolades for it, I just- know I have an above average ability in the arts. So, I was on this art hosting website for years and nothing. Frustrated, I cancelled my account only a couple of weeks ago. Writing is an art, but vastly different medium, of course all of you know that fully and I don't even need to say it. But I mean that it seems vastly more rewarding to me than the visual arts. You have tangible work in the end but with writing, you have an ‘event' on record. A snapshot in time that encompasses what you were doing or thinking, feeling and orating at a certain time and place; a veritable holodeck of the mind (if any of you are Trekkers such as myself). Here is where I swear by and highly encourage all of the readers of this to keep a journal. If not always, at least for a short time. Leave it alone, live a year or two and come back to it. Look at it. It's a memory trigger more powerful than smell. It's kinda scary; in that Wizard of Oz scary. A warm fuzzy on Halloween eating candy corn of memories while watching a horror movie. Yes, the same can be said of fine art but writing tends to be more literal and there is not as much interpretation as trying to decipher what the artist is saying. Wanna find out what the author is saying? Well, if he's/she's not Kurt Vonegut or Any Warhol, you just read what he/she wrote! Sorry for all you Venegut or Warhol fans- I just never ‘got' em) Okay, I am probably at fault for being too boring now and shall spare you the reader and get to it.
