Last Year’s Voice

“For last year’s words belong to last year’s language and next year’s words await another voice.”
– T.S. Eliot, Little Gidding

It was the perfect end to a chilly day, and to a year that seems more like a long skidmark than merely the usual stretch of bumpy road.

I stopped at the supermarket on the way home this evening, picked up some oatmeal and almond milk for breakfast, corn meal for Dad’s New Year’s Day cornbread, some canned fruit (special occasions call for peaches), and my favorite celebratory beverage (when home alone), Diet 7-up.

There was a woman in line ahead of me at the check-stand, and I’d already noticed she was self-involved, because she’d left her basket of champagne and cheese on the end of the belt. There was plenty of room but she didn’t bother to make any space for my stuff.

Suddenly, she broke into performance, instructing the clerk to send the teenage kid who was bagging groceries to fetch her more bree. Her stock of pungent mold-ripened cheese wasn’t enough, and she made a speech to all within earshot, explaining her intentions to share it with friends. Next she ordered me to go ahead of her, which was cool. But her reason for that move was not very nice at all. Referring to the young man now gone off in search of more bree, she said this:

“It will be faster if I just go get it myself. He’s so stupid, he’s going to the wrong counter.” And she did not say it quietly.

Seems there are two cold cases in the store where cheese is displayed, one in back and one in front near the deli. The young man had gone to the front one, which was not correct.

I couldn’t believe it. The clerk and I had a chat, while little Marie Antoinette was gone, about how rude and ridiculous such behavior is. I was thinking that if it were me, I’d send the bag boy to return all of her crap to the shelves and tell her to get the hell out – we don’t need your business. But they probably do. I didn’t say anything like that. I have to live here.

Where do such people come from? I doubt she lives around here. Such behavior stands out in a small town. And if it trickles up to management, they will ban you from the stores, the banks, the restaurants. We’re used to summer tourists of all character stripes, but from under what rock do they slither in deep winter? Let’s hope the under-chilled wine mixes with the cheapass cheese and gives her a headache and bellyache.

El Kabong!

elkabong2

I say it was the perfect end because I’ve been thinking about the end of the year all day. I don’t think we should go through with it. Starting 2011 tonight, I mean. Bad idea. There’s still 5 hours left in my time zone, 2 hours on the east coast – it’s not too late – let’s just call it off. It doesn’t seem prudent to end a year in which we as a species got so very little accomplished. I don’t think 2010 is nearly finished yet, is my point.

Years should be like pro football games. If the four quarters end in a tie – a failure to win – we all go into Sudden Death Overtime. We just keep playing quarter after quarter until we can end one in meaningful and manifest success. And you get a big penalty for calling people names. Especially teenage kids who don’t know bree from beans.

Men and Moose, Oh Deer

Every creature is better alive than dead, men and moose and pine trees, and he who understands it aright will rather preserve its life than destroy it.
– Henry David Thoreau

I have never wrapped my mind around the concept of hunting. It seems like going into an art museum with a flamethrower.

Yikes

I just glanced back at the post I wrote last night. Wow. That’s some bad writing right there. Stilted and redundant. Constructing formalistic sentences amuses me, but I went a little overboard.

I don’t mean the little poem. I think that’s clean and tight. But the prose remarks on the topic are thick and chewy.

My bad.

Amends

 

If I have hurt you, but I know
I have hurt you and left your love
withering like doves stunned
on wires, through countless days
of incredible sun, forgive the sun.

I have wandered off again,
looking for the perfect way
to make amends. I can’t imagine
finding it, except that you might
fly away and leave the wires

trembling and bare. 

Kyle Kimberlin
December 29, 2010*

 

Wiser men than myself have counseled the wisdom in taking personal inventory and when we are wrong, promptly admitting it. I’m sure they didn’t mean that coming face-to-face with one’s defects of character on an annual basis would be sufficient, and I hope no one thinks I’ve truly been so remiss. Still, as the year of entropy and disaffection yawns to a close, it seems fitting and proper to sweep the sidewalk just a bit. To the foregoing new poem, I would add just a bit.

I am a sinner who does not expect forgiveness. But I am not a government official.
— Francis Wolcott, Deadwood

No, that doesn’t seem quite right, normatively. I’ll try again.  

I am by the Grace of God a Christian man; by my actions, a great sinner.
– The Way of a Pilgrim, anonymous, Russia, 19th century

That’s better, because … you know … I offer my sincere contrition, gentle reader, if I have offended, this year. So I do hold out hope for absolution. Feel free to confer it in the comments. Bogdaproste. Many thanks for that, and for your attention in 2010.

pilgrim (Large) .

 

Creative Commons License
*Amends by Kyle Kimberlin is licensed under a
Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-
NoDerivs 3.0 United States License
.

Home Again

My folks and I returned last night from our annual trip to visit my brother and his family for Christmas. We were gone for several days and now we miss our loved ones very much.

We got to watch my 9 year old nephew T swing from rope swings which hang from big trees in his back yard. He put on an excellent demonstration for us on Christmas Eve. Later, we went to church, then had a beautiful dinner with wonderful people.

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA          

My brother and me at the dinner party. Don’t bother pressing me to explain the headgear. I could tell you, but then I’d have to drown you in a vat of mulled cider.

There was much more celebration on Christmas Day, which lasted into the evening. And there was rain to keep things moving along without drying up. Then on Sunday, a few of us traveled to the coast, to San Francisco, for more fun. Others stayed home to break in the new toys.

A great time was had by all. And again, I miss those I had to leave behind up yonder, in the dripping trees and enviable quiet, amongst the nibbling deer. I love you all… I would rather be with you on Christmas than with the finest people in the world.

In the words of Alma Garret, “We do love each other. Our being together ought not to seem so outlandish a proposition. … Except for every other single thing.”

Defining Fire

I am sitting here in my home office, drinking coffee and watching my fireplace DVD. It’s nice on a rainy day, relaxing; a nice ambiance, without being distracting.

I’m thinking about fire. It’s one of the elemental facets of our world, and we know what it is, but how would you define it? In school we learned that it’s a chemical reaction, but …well, you know me, I had to look it up.

Firen. 1. a. A rapid, persistent chemical change that releases heat and light and is accompanied by flame, especially the exothermic oxidation of a combustible substance. b. Burning fuel or other material: a cooking fire; a forest fire.

Of course, there are many other definitions, but that’s not my point.

Being writers and poets, it is important that we know and ponder the meanings of words. Having a conversational familiarity is not enough. Because using words normally isn’t always art. Sometimes we use words almost just a little bit wrong, which is to say creatively. To be a moment misunderstood, understood almost too late.

Yet not too much. Not errant, arrant, wild,
But every seeming aberration willed.
– Robert Francis

So I ask you, my artistic friend, what’s your persistent chemical change today? I know where mine is, and it’s not out there in the cold wind and rain, yet out I go. I hope for you the banking of a brazen pagan fire for the solstice between your ears, with a sparkling euphony of tintinnabulous bells.

Hear the sledges with the bells-
Silver bells!
What a world of merriment their melody foretells!
How they tinkle, tinkle, tinkle,
In the icy air of night!
While the stars that oversprinkle
All the heavens, seem to twinkle
With a crystalline delight;
Keeping time, time, time,
In a sort of Runic rhyme,
To the tintinnabulation that so musically wells
From the bells, bells, bells, bells,
Bells, bells, bells-
From the jingling and the tinkling of the bells.

– Poe

Thinking is Overrated

When I think about writing something, sometimes I think about the results that might or might not result, instead of the opportunity to explore. I think about whether it seems like a good idea.

I can understand that kind of thinking if there was some investment involved, like lumber. If you’re making chairs or birdhouses, maybe you should have a plan first. But creative writing doesn’t work that way. Not well. Well, maybe if you’re writing a novel … but even that is exploration.

Tonight I’m going to watch TV from 8:00 – to 9:00, then turn off the tube. From 9:00 – 11:00, I’m going to write something.

Results be damned.

By the way, still liking DarkRoom here.

Writing in the Dark

Do you ever wish, when you sit down to concentrate and try to write, that you were not confronted with an array of technology? Buttons and toolbars and menus, oh my. It can make it hard to focus on the words and sentences, can’t it? And the black letters on the bright white screen are hard on the eyes, don’t you think? 

Sure, you can take a program like Word or OpenOffice to full screen temporarily, and in Word you can change the appearance to blue with white text, to help your eyes. But those things make you jump through some hoops. This delays concentration, and it’s still not quite the same as being completely alone with one’s words and sentences.

Last night I read an article in the November/December issue of Poets & Writers magazine, called "Writers Rolling Back the Revolution." It begins:

“Firing up WriteRoom, a minimalist word processor developed by Hog Bay Software, is like turning the clock back thirty years. Gone are the toolbars, the menus, and the array of options that jostle for real estate on the modern screen. In their place, the program unfolds an empty black expanse, a void that can be filled only with the monochromatic glow of unadorned text.”

I will provide a link to the entire article below.*

It seems there is a trend among writers these days, to reclaim focus and concentration that have been hijacked by the unending swells and ripples of technology’s distractions. I’ve seen several interviews and columns by accomplished wordsmiths, saying they eschew full feature software for programs that just let them capture words.

The writer Corey Doctorow wrote a post in which he explains all the tools he uses for his writing, business, and life. He wrote:

Writing: I use a plain-jane text editor that comes with Ubuntu called Gedit. It doesn’t do anything except accept text and save it and let me search and replace it. … I like writing in simple environments that don’t do anything except remember what words I’ve thought up. It helps me resist the temptation to tinker with formatting.

And he has a point. When I’m writing in Word, I’m constantly tinkering with all the bells and whistles, and trying to keep the formatting right. As if the project is headed off to the publisher tomorrow, which it’s not.

So I checked out WriteRoom, and found that it’s for Mac. But there is a clone called Dark Room, for PC. I downloaded it – free gratis – and saw first that it’s so small and light weight, that it downloaded in a few seconds, and doesn’t even install in the system registry. It just arrived, ready to work.

Dark Room is designed for writers, people who need to concentrate for a while and drain the swamp. It’s not for someone who is concerned with formatting their document for presentation, at the same time that they’re composing the text. It simply opens a blank black writing surface which fills your screen without any menus or toolbars at all. In the center is a column for writing plain text. The default is green text on black. If you click Esc or F11, the full screen shifts to a normal Window, with a basic menu. File > Edit > View > Help. Hit F11, and you’re back in full screen.

While working, the right mouse button brings up a content menu with the basics, including some Preferences. You can change the colors and the font, the width of the center writing column, and a few other thoughtful things.

Dark Room saves your work in plain text, Windows txt, the same file type used by Notepad, which has come free and installed on every PC for at least 15 years. And txt is opened easily by Word or virtually any Windows word processor on the planet. No worries about compatibility.

By the way, there’s no speelchker. Spellchkre. Spellchecker. The idea, as I see it, is to open your plain text file in Word or OpenOffice when you’re ready to format it. Spellcheck will run then. And then you can deal with editing, page format, fonts and colors, indenting, page breaks, etc. Then you can print your work when it’s pretty and fancy, or make your PDF. (Yes, you can print from Dark Room. And if you’re a true geek like me, you can make a PDF straight from Dark Room, but I won’t bore you with that.)

So if the point is to get your new ideas – your fresh writing – into the computer without the tech in the way, why not just use Notepad? Sure, I love it. Notepad is the old school #2 pencil of computing. It’s great for keeping little notes. But it’s black text on a bright white screen. And the text runs the width of the window. So either there’s distraction around the window, or your text is filling the full width of your monitor. Dark Room has the adjustable column down the center. So in full screen mode, there’s nothing else visible at all.

Or maybe you want to see a little of your computer – the desktop perhaps – without leaving full screen? Right click > Preferences. There’s a slider to adjust the opacity of the program, so you can see through it.

I used Dark Room to write this post. And the lack of distractions probably contributed to its incredible length. Then I pasted the text into Windows Live Writer, make a few adjustments, corrected a couple of typos which the spelling checker caught, added a link or two, and clicked Publish. Done.

Links

You can find and download the program free at:

http://they.misled.us/dark-room

That Poets & Writers article is here:

http://www.pw.org/content/digital_digest_writers_rolling_back_the_revolution

Corey Doctorow’s article on his tools:

http://www.locusmag.com/Perspectives/2010/07/cory-doctorow-what-i-do/

*Footnote

You might have noticed I used no in-text hyperlinks in this post, although hyperlinks are the salt and pepper of blogging. That’s because I wanted you to keep reading, not click a link and go off somewhere else. You might not come back, and if you did, that’s still a distraction. Food for thought?

As Such Places Go

My most recently completed flash fiction piece, Passing Trees, is available now for download in pdf format. It has also been added to the list of downloads on the Flash Fiction page, above, and was posted on this page a few days ago. Since then, I’ve been sitting here listening to crickets in my computer. But we must endeavor to persevere.

Click here to download, free gratis.

“… The house was brightly lit, and smoke rose from the chimney. It was a stranger’s life sitting quietly surrounded by death, waiting to be swallowed by time and rain. She could not wait to get home, turn on lights and music, make tea, and pretend, like that house pretended, that the world was safe.”

First Fruit

Today I started learning to use Windows Moviemaker to create a photo slideshow. It seems pretty cool. I made a little show of photos of my sheltie Tasha. She ran on ahead to the clearing by the bridge in 2005, and she is waiting for me to catch up.