Coping with Chaos

My friend Sherry sent me this cartoon the other day. It came on the heels of death and disease among friends, catastrophes that struck without warning, confirmations that with the best of plans, nothing is predictable: 

Anyone who has lived for even a short time must agree with Robert Burns that  

The best laid schemes o' mice an' men 

Gang aft a-gley, [often go awry]. 

And so it was that I drove to Ogden on Friday to pick up a couple of works of art that had not sold at a gallery auction. I loaded them into the car, drove away, knowing that my day was already a success. Two blocks later, I ran a stop sign. An innocent woman, driving a new Kia, blew into the left front of my car. Police assured me that it "could have been worse," that no one was hurt.  I knew that, but I also knew my day was going to be different than I had thought. 

When I finally got home with a rental car, I took a Lorazapam to calm my shot nerves and a couple of Hydrocortisone to boost my adrenaline. 

And "So it goes," says Billy Joel in Slaughterhouse Five. Once again I am grateful for boring, uneventful days, when nothing, absolutely nothing happens.

Dust Off Your Camera

Spring photos part 1: 
 My friend Jacqueline took this picture with her cell phone. It is one of many incredible photos she has taken of her boys, because she's had her phone handy. And she knows a great picture when she sees one. There are so many things right about this picture that I could blather on for a long time. Just three things for now.

Timing
First, of course, is the timing. Jacqueline was ready when that horse opened its mouth, showing its gorgeous teeth, and her son, Tom, who knows horses, had his laughing face right next to the horse.  What's that old cliché about a horse laugh?

Camera angle
Then there's the camera angle. Jacqueline was standing at a perfect angle--more to the right, more to the left, a little higher or a little lower, and the shot would simply not have been as powerful. That camera is at Tom's eye level.

Close up
And third, she is right there, right up close to both Tom and the horse. There's barely room for anything else in the frame. Just Tom and that horse. It's a prize winning photo, and Jacqueline was there. Whammo.

Spring photos part 2: 

I took this picture at a family reunion. It does not compare with Jacqueline's photo, but I want to make a couple of points. 

Shoot children at eye level

First, when you are taking a photo of a child, get down to the child's level. I see people all the time taking photos of their kids, standing up and shooting down. The kids eyes are about three or four or five feet below the level of the camera. Get to eye level. Sit on the ground. Lie on your stomach. Get down. Down down down. I don't care if you're in the Hilton or the Bellagio. If you're up and the child is down, you'll wish you had groveled. I was lucky this time. The mother was holding her babe.

Focus on the eyes

Second, if the eyes are in focus, the picture works. Focus on the eyes.The eyes have it.

Get up close

Third, get up close. Don't stand back 10 or twenty feet. Get close and you'll love the picture.

There are exceptions to every rule, including mine, but it's a good idea to have a strategy in mind.

Happy shooting. 

On the Virtues of Loafing

It is 1:08 PM. I am sitting on the bed, unwashed, unshaven, wearing only the clothes I wore to take the dog out to pee a few hours ago. Now the dog lies between Louise and me as we while away our lives, enjoying a slow day of loafing.

Running through my head is an old Mormon hymn, now slightly revised: "Have I Done Any Good?" Text and music by Will L. Johnson (1847-1909). Verse one asks a question: "Have I done any good in the world today?" As if we are not beaten enough with this first line, the Mr. Johnson continues his thrashing:

Have I helped anyone in need? 

Have I cheered up the sad

And made someone feel glad?

If not I have failed indeed. 

It is my belief, without hard evidence, that this single man, Will L. Johnson, with his rotten little verses, has added more depression and neuroses to my religious community than any scripture or sermon could possibly have done. But wait. He wends his way to the last brutal verse, condemning anyone who fails to conform to this nonsense: 

Only he who does something

Is worthy to live, 

The world has no need for a drone.

Well, I'm a loser, Baby, so why don't you kill me? All those artists, writers, composers, who spend half the day sitting in bed dreaming, thinking, stirring up the juices of creativity are not worthy to live? I'm glad Mr. Johnson was not running a camp in Dachau or Matthausen or Auschwitz. 

A different perspective comes from an article by Tom Hodgkinson titled "The Virtue of Idleness" in the British newspaper, The Guardian: "For all modern society's promises of leisure, liberty and doing what you want, most of us are still slaves to a schedule we did not choose."

Mr. Hodgkinson goes on to cite a long list of creative spirits, historians, philosophers, scientists who managed to break the rule of early to bed, early to rise and change the world for the better. I think my favorite is Walt Whitman, who arrived at the office of the newspaper where he worked at 11:30, went to lunch at 12 for a two-hour break, worked another hour and then "hit the town."

Pity, some might say. He might have written more than just The Leaves of Grass. Good riddance, Walt, you weren't worthy to live.

It is now 1:44 PM. Feeling sleepy. 

On Creativity

Painting by Nellie Mae Rowe

This is the second of several blogs on creativity. If you think you are a dullard, an uncreative person, a drone, think again. Stay tuned.

Yesterday Galen left a comment on this blog. "You might find this article interesting," he wrote. Galen then offered this link:  http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2014/03/04/creativity-habits_n_4859769.html

The link is to an article by Carolyn Gregoire in the Huffington Post: "18 Things Highly Creative People Do Differently." I'm going to provide a Reader's Digest version of this article, although I strongly recommend reading it in its entirety. Before my encapsulated version, however, I want to make a statement: Creativity is not a talent. It is a way of thinking, a way of doing things. You may not be a Mozart, I will never be a Shakespeare, but we everyone can all learn to be more creative. So without further stupid blathering, here are the 18 things. Some of these will not make sense. READ THE ARTICLE. 

They daydream.

They observe everything.

They work the hours that work for them.

They take time for solitude.

They turn life's obstacles around.

They seek out new experiences.

They "fail up."

They ask the big questions.

They people-watch.

They take risks.

They view all of life as an opportunity for self-expression.

They follow their true passions.

They get out of their own heads.

They lose track of the time.

They surround themselves with beauty.

They connect the dots.

They constantly shake things up.

They make time for mindfulness.

"I want to write a book someday."

Take your pick: "I want to write a book someday," or "I want to be a painter someday," or "I want to be a dancer someday."

Someday is the loser word. If you want to write a book, paint a picture, dance in Swan Lake, now is the time. Here are the excuses I've heard:
"Oh, I need to spend time with my kids right now."
"I'm so busy at work I just come home and sit."
"I know I'll never be any good at it."
"I have no ambition."
"I'm old."
"I'm losing my mind."
"I want to finish watching House of Cards first.
"I'm constipated."

I'm here to tell you a secret. You can do anything (except maybe dance Swan Lake) at any age. Yes you can. I am not some young punk telling you this. I am 74 years old.

Two years ago, Louise dragged my depressed derriere out of the house. "You're going to art class with me," she said. "The people are lovely and the teacher is just great."

"I haven't drawn anything since second grade." I'm yowling even as she takes me out to the car.

In class I meet Marian, the teacher. Her name has come up before in this blog. It will come up again. Marian hands me a piece of yupo. I don't know what yupo is, so she explains. "Yupo is watercolor paper with a glossy finish. You can wipe off anything you don't like. See?" she says, swishing on some paint and wiping it off. "You can change anything you want on yupo."

Marian points to a rooster that she has painted. It is about 5 feet by 20 feet. At least it feels that way. It has different colors than this one, which she also painted, but you get my drift. It is a damn good rooster.

Well poop. I open up my box of watercolors that Louise bought for me this afternoon and begin. My worst fears are confirmed. I can't draw for squat. After two hours of work, my rooster is done. It doesn't look much like Marian's:

Marian swoops down. "I love that coxcomb. Don't change that coxcomb."

"It looks like a miscarriage," I say.

"Don't change that coxcomb." She pauses. "You might be interested in trying collage," Marian says. "You cut things out and paste them together."

That was two years ago. How do I feel about art class? Art class is better than church. Art class is better than the celestial kingdom. Art class is better than sex. Especially at my age.

So what's the secret? What do you have to do to write a book? Learn to dance? Paint a picture?

THIS IS IT FOLKS, THE SIMPLE SOLUTION: TAKE A CLASS OR FIND A TUTOR. YOU'LL THINK YOU'VE DIED AND GONE TO HEAVEN.

If You're Weird and You Know It, Clap Your Hands

Honorable Mention, Statewide Competition

March 7, 2014

What does it take to write a memoir?

"Writing is easy. All you have to do is sit at your desk 

until blood 

spurts out of your forehead."

I have a question for you readers:  Would you benefit from having a writing coach help you with writing your memoir?  If you do, I want to hear from you. My email is tom@tomplummer.com.

I have been coaching several people in writing their memoirs, and from that experience, I can say with some authority that numerous factors go into writing one.

1) Time. Most successful writers, not all, have set aside time, a specified, limited amount of time each day to write. The old complaint, "I plan to write my memoir someday, but I just haven't gotten to it," doesn't wash. A half hour a day, and hour a day writing will kill no one.

2) Even experienced writers are stumped when writing about their lives. Most are confused with what they hope to see as their end product. Most need help in learning to write details, to write in scene, and to balance narrative styles. Some  can do this by taking workshops or classes or by working one-on-one with a trained and seasoned writing coach.  Many find that they are unable to travel or have no idea how to find a writing coach.

3) Courage and training. Many who tackle a memoir have had a rough path in their lives. Teaching memoir for 20 years with Louise at Brigham Young University convinced me that hardships outweigh or certainly balance normal life styles. Writing about family hardships can feel intimidating, embarrassing, shameful, and humiliating. Professional coaching will help. Whether taking a seminar or college class working one-on-one with a writing coach can teach you strategies for writing your stories that are honest and far reaching.

4) Feedback. Most of us need feedback from one person or another about our writing, our style, our grammar, and generally our writing skills. The best feedback will not come from family members, whose memories conflict with yours. A writing coach can help you formulate your memories, not someone else's memories.

I have developed a program for coaching people either locally or long distance. Chat sessions online for an hour each week are proving to help people write with more detail, more confidence, and more purpose for the end result of their efforts.

My question is this. Should I expand my efforts? Do you need help writing your memoir? Would a writing coach help?

If you are interested, you may comment here. Or you may email me at tom@tomplummer.com.  I'll be happy to chat with you about your project and how I might be able to help you get underway.