Tag Archives: editing

Whisper (Revised)

Above a Whisper

I walk on blades
Of grass around
My father’s grave

Avoiding sunken
Markers careful not
To wake the dead

I want to share news
About a great job
My own place to live

The love of a woman
Who finds me
Worthy of affection

But none of this
Has happened
And it’s getting late

I tell him about
Another mild
Chicago winter

And Vegas picking
The Cubs to win
The World Series

My voice breaks
Like mist
Above a whisper

As birds fly in V-formation
Over headstones
Fixed in solemn rows

***

Above a Whisper (Nervous Lethargy Version)

I walk on blades
Of grass around
My father’s grave

Avoiding sunken
Markers careful not
To wake the dead

I’d like to share news
About a great job
My own place to live

The love of a woman
Who finds me
Worthy of affection

But none of this
Has happened
And it’s getting late

I tell him about
Another mild
Chicago winter

And Vegas picking
The Cubs to win
The World Series

It sounds like I’m
Talking to myself
Above a whisper

As birds fly in V formation
Over headstones
Fixed in solemn rows

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Lake Arlington Larry (Revised)

Ode: Lake Arlington Larry

Here’s to a gentle man
Smiling at suburban strangers
Walking running rollerblading around
Lake Arlington on a Thursday in June

Here’s to a gentle man
With baseball cap crimson hippie hair
An earth-conscious soul and repeat recycler
Sifting through trash cans for plastic gold

Here’s to a gentle man
Drafting mental blueprints
For the New Human Reality
While mothers stretch their legs in yoga pants

Here’s to a gentle man
A stream-of-thought poet
Syncing his watch to the pulse
Of the giant timepiece in the sky

Here’s to a gentle man
Who calls himself Larry and waves
Like a child as if we met eons ago
On different paths to the same eternity

***

Ode: Lake Arlington Larry (Nervous Lethargy Version)

You smiling at suburban strangers
Walking running rollerblading around
Lake Arlington on a Thursday in June

You with baseball cap crimson hippie hair
An earth-conscious soul and repeat recycler
Sifting through trash cans for plastic gold

You the sweaty exercise guru drawing up
Mental blueprints for the New Human Reality
While mothers stretch their legs in yoga pants

You the shirtless Poet of the Moment
Syncing your wristwatch to the pulse
Of the giant timepiece in the sky

You who said today, Hi I’m Larry,
As if we’d met eons ago on
Different paths to the same eternity

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Paperback Editor #2

Yesterday I posted the revised version of the introduction to The Intimacy of Communication. Below I’ve done the same for the afterword.

After Words: Textual Innuendo (Revised 2017)

 “I am interested in language because it wounds or seduces me.”
—Roland Barthes

We are always after words, embedded in the fabric of language. There’s a mystery to things we can’t put a finger on, a sense of loss in every expression.

When I write I’m seeking your attention. I want you to see me as I see you, in the form of an extended seduction. It’s a quest for recognition without making a scene.

However we approach this book, it doesn’t belong to you or me. In fact it belongs to no one. I’m referring to the communal nature of language. We all use words without possessing them. There’s nothing I can say that you can’t say, because each of us has access to the same database of words. But some words I use, you might use differently, in a manner of speaking.

We’re free to appreciate or mimic another writer’s style. I quote Jean Baudrillard, or the English translations of his native French, throughout this book. He wrote eloquently about seduction, which encouraged me to do the same, invoking his spirit to support my evidence.

Throughout this process I feared the worst. Would words flow or stick in my throat? Was the whole idea good to begin with? At some point I had to plow through the doubt and embrace my project. At some point I had to let my mind go.

I’ve covered many topics in The Intimacy of Communication, but what I’ve intentionally and subconsciously left out haunts each line. Blind spots permeate the text. Subterfuge and misdirection abound. There’s no guarantee friends and family won’t find me out, but who’s to say I’m not hoping to get caught?

Perhaps I’ve revealed too much, but to pique your interest I had to show a little skin. In the end, my intentions here were far from innocent. I had a rendezvous in mind and urged you to come.

After Words: Textual Innuendo (Original 2016)

“I am interested in language because it wounds or seduces me.”
—Roland Barthes

We are always after words, embedded in the fabric of language. There’s a mystery to things we can’t put a finger on, a sense of loss in every expression.

When I write I’m seeking your attention. I want you to see me as I see you, in the form of an extended seduction. It’s a quest for recognition without making a scene.

However we approach this book, it doesn’t belong to you or me. In fact it belongs to no one.

I’m referring to the communal nature of language itself. We all use words without possessing them. There’s nothing I can say that you can’t say, because each of us has access to the same database of words. But each word I use you might use differently, in a manner of speaking.

We’re free to appreciate or mimic another writer’s style. I quote Baudrillard, or the English translations of his native French, throughout this book. He wrote eloquently about seduction, which encouraged me to do the same, invoking his spirit to support my evidence.

Throughout this process I feared the worst. Would words flow, or swell up in my throat? Was the whole idea good to begin with? At some point I had to plow through the doubt and embrace my project. At some point I had to let my mind go.

I’ve covered many topics in The Intimacy of Communication, but what I’ve intentionally and subconsciously left out haunts each line. Blind spots permeate the text. Subterfuge and misdirection abound. There’s no guarantee friends and family won’t find me out, but who’s to say I’m not hoping to get caught.

Perhaps I’ve revealed too much. Or maybe to pique your interest I had to show a little skin. Either way, my intentions here were far from innocent. I had a rendezvous in mind and urged you to come.

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Paperback Editor #1

I published The Intimacy of Communication last year. As I read through the introduction recently, I found things I wanted to change or eliminate. Below you will find the revised version of the intro, followed by the original. A writer is never done with a book; he or she simply runs out of time.

Introduction: World Processor (Revised 2017)

I started a blog in 2008 called Writing Is Knowing. A year later it became Sharp Left Turns. My purpose has remained the same: to explore complex ideas with passion and wonder. The Intimacy of Communication, a collection of fifty-eight revised Sharp Left Turns posts organized thematically, is an extension of that mission.

The phrase “writing is knowing” comes from a composition theory course I took during my senior year at Elmhurst College. My professor argued that writing is not merely a matter of sharing information, but a vehicle for the creation of new ideas. Writing is a moral endeavor, an attempt to process the world.

I’ve developed several themes on my blog, including the notion of authentic communication. I define authentic communication as two or more people engaged in meaningful, fully present, device-free conversation. It involves empathy and mutual recognition that texting fails to provide.

How did my smartphone become an object of desire? When does anxiety at the thought of putting down my tablet constitute an attachment disorder?

Is there space for intimacy in a hyper-connected world?

French philosopher Jean Baudrillard wrote about the simulated nature of reality in our image-driven global society. We’ve mastered our environment through the magic of technology, but the efficiency of machines threatens to lull humanity to sleep. Later in his career Baudrillard sided with “the evil genie of the object” in an ironic quest to chart the demise of human agency. My favorite Baudrillard book, The Ecstasy of Communication, inspired the title of this book.

Baudrillard has provided intellectual refuge in my darkest moments. And there are many dark moments. I was diagnosed with depression twenty years ago, as a high school sophomore. Although some symptoms vary depending on my body’s reaction to stress, there’s a persistent fog in my eye, a twitch in my shadow when I’m perfectly still. The constant worrying, excessive guilt, debilitating self-doubt—my depression is a life-threatening illness. Even on my best days it dreams up new ways to bring me down.

Depression is a spiritual affliction. A dis-ease of the soul. Medication and therapy are part of a dynamic, lifelong healing process that also requires patience and surrendering control. Recovery is a moment-to-moment battle, and I commend survivors with wounds both seen and unseen for continuing to fight. I hope my story challenges misconceptions about mental illness and encourages others to speak their truths.

Can a blog support authentic communication? Can a book? Addressing subjects like psychology, politics and philosophy may sound like an esoteric exercise, but a contemplative approach to life has real-world implications. Attuned to the frequency of instant messages, we must consider our words carefully. Words mean more than we know. They break our bones like sticks and stones. But even at their most poetic, in the service of profound truths, words can’t account for love or kindness, or quantify the soul.

Introduction: World Processor (Original 2016)

“If anything, I’m a metaphysician, perhaps a moralist, but certainly not a sociologist.”
—Jean Baudrillard

I started a blog in 2008 called Writing is Knowing. A year later it became Sharp Left Turns. My purpose has remained the same: to explore complex ideas with passion and wonder. The Intimacy of Communication, a collection of fifty-eight revised Sharp Left Turns posts organized thematically, is an extension of that mission.

The phrase “writing is knowing” comes from a composition theory course I took during my senior year at Elmhurst College. My professor argued that writing is not merely a matter of sharing information, but a vehicle for the creation of new ideas. Writing is a moral endeavor, an attempt to process the world.

I’ve developed several themes on my blog, including the notion of authentic communication. I define authentic communication as two or more people engaged in meaningful, fully present, device-free conversation. It involves empathy and mutual recognition that texting fails to provide.

How did my smartphone become an object of desire? When does anxiety at the thought of putting down my tablet constitute an attachment disorder?

Is there space for intimacy in a hyper-connected world?

French philosopher Jean Baudrillard (1929-2007) shared my concerns. He wrote about the simulated nature of reality in an image-driven global society. We’ve mastered our environment through the magic of technology, but the efficiency of machines threatens to lull humanity to sleep.

Later in his career Baudrillard sided with “the evil genie of the object” in an ironic quest to chart the demise of human agency. One of my favorite Baudrillard books, The Ecstasy of Communication, inspired the title of this book.

Baudrillard was brilliant, which is to say he was nuts. Trained as a sociologist, Baudrillard traversed multiple fields: philosophy, politics, psychology, literature, semiotics. He’s provided intellectual refuge in my darkest moments.

And there are many dark moments. I was diagnosed with depression over twenty years ago, as a high school sophomore. Although some symptoms vary depending on my body’s reaction to stress, there’s a persistent fog in my eye, a twitch in my shadow when I’m perfectly still. The constant worrying, excessive guilt, debilitating self-doubt—my depression is a life-threatening illness. Even on my best days, in the most serene or quiet moments, it’s dreaming up new ways to bring me down.

Depression is a spiritual affliction. A dis-ease of the soul. Medication and therapy are part of a dynamic, lifelong healing process that also requires patience and surrendering control. Recovery is a moment-to-moment battle, and I commend survivors with wounds both seen and unseen for continuing to fight. I hope my story helps break the stigma surrounding mental illness and encourages others to speak their truths.

Blogging helps me cope when I’m open about my struggles. New posts serve as preemptive strikes against future distress, and the act of sharing combats an impulse to isolate. This book ups the ante. It’s a challenge to be vulnerable in a different format.

Can a blog support authentic communication? Can a book? Addressing subjects like psychology, politics and philosophy may sound like an esoteric exercise, but a contemplative approach to life has real-world implications. Attuned to the frequency of instant messages, we must consider our words carefully. Words mean more than we imagine, and contrary to the old playground adage, they can hurt us more than sticks and stones. But even at their most poetic, in the service of profound truths, words can’t account for love or kindness, or quantify the soul.

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Nervous Lethargy: Proof Copy

My proof copy of Nervous Lethargy was shipped yesterday. It should arrive next week. Once I look it over and approve the file, my book will be live and ready for purchase via Amazon.

Beyond any typos I may have missed, there may be two substantial issues with the proof copy.

First, one of the images I use on a chapter title page might look blurry. How blurry, I’m not sure. If I’m really not happy with it I may remove it, which means correcting the file, uploading it, waiting a day for Amazon’s computers to check it, ordering another proof copy, waiting for it in the mail, etc. Point is, if it’s better than “OK” I’m not going to remove it and start the process over.

Second, the book is 134 pages. CreateSpace says a book needs to be 131 pages or more for the spine to be wide enough to display the title and author’s name. Since I’m cutting it close, it’s possible the letters will look fuzzy. Again, this isn’t a huge deal, but it’s something I’m looking out for. To correct this issue I simply would need to remove the two blank pages in both the front and back of the book. And then re-start the proof process.

I spent three days formatting Nervous Lethargy (I’m a perfectionist). Hopefully my (neurotic) attention to detail pays off. There will be no Kindle edition. Formatting a poetry book for e-readers is not easy, and I prefer people hold a physical book anyway. I’m old school like that.

Note to anyone who buys a copy: You may find it interesting to search for the Poetry category on this blog to see what changes I’ve made to poems in the book that first appeared here on Sharp Left Turns. By changes, I mean things like cutting unnecessary words, altering line breaks, turning ampersands into “ands,” and other stylistic concerns. I believe the “intention” of the previously published poems remains, if intention as it relates to a poem can be defined. Basically, my worldview hasn’t been edited out of any poems you may recognize from five years ago or last month. I believe in some cases I found a more poetic way of conveying my ideas, thus making them “better,” if that can be defined. Or perhaps some changes have stolen some of the previous magic.

I’m excited to receive my proof, and I hope to go live soon. More updates to come.

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Filed under Meta-Blog, Poetry

Nervous Lethargy: Assembly Stage

The writing and rewriting and rewriting again and again process is complete. There are 60 poems in Nervous Lethargy. Some date back to 2000; I wrote the latest one two days ago.

Next up: converting each Word document to the proper format I’ve devised for the whole book. Need to set up consistent font size, font style, page orientation, margin settings, page breaks, page numbers, headers, etc. Then merge all the files into one Word file and convert it to a PDF. Then upload the PDF to CreateSpace for their magical computers to check for errors and measure the extent of my madness.

The cover is done. The intro is done. The postscript is done, as is the “about the poet” page. The contents page is not done, but I have already determined the order in which the poems will appear. There are three chapters, each with 20 poems. (I’m nuts for symmetry.)

Once Amazon accepts my file (even if their computers don’t agree with my worldview) I will order a proof copy, which will arrive in my mailbox with free shipping. Thanks, Prime! Then if I’m happy with the whole thing, I’ll say “GO AHEAD, I’M READY TO BARE MY SOUL.” And Nervous Lethargy will go live and I’ll let you know it’s finally here.

 

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Filed under Life, Meta-Blog, Poetry

All For Ought

The Three Major Musts (irrational beliefs that make us miserable) from author Will Ross:

  1. I must do well and win the approval of others or else I am no good.
  2. Other people must do “the right thing” or else they are no good and deserve to be punished.
  3. Life must be easy, without discomfort or inconvenience.

Nothing and nobody’s perfect. Therapists and direct experience keep telling me this.

It hasn’t stopped me this week from going all the way back—197 posts ago—to my first Sharp Left Turns entry in 2008. Going back, that is, to check for errors. Broken links. Questionable word choice. An errant comma or block quote improperly marked.

It’s kinda nuts.

I want to present my best work, my best self. High standards matter, but having everything turn out just right is the dream of robots or super-smart little green men from Mars.

Overthinking past performances drains pleasure of its fantasy, and fantasy of its pleasure. A blog’s charm is its immediacy, its quick reaction time. Events happen and words spontaneously flow. Obsessing over minor flaws tends to kill the mood, like tracing a lover’s mole during foreplay.

For me perfectionism is about control. If things aren’t in order I freak out. Somehow a single mistake detracts from the overall message. What’s behind this? Essentially I want you to think I’m clever, that my thoughts matter, that my words speak magic. I’m looking for acceptance that’s impossible to attain—impossible because not everyone will (or should) like me all the time.

If the world were perfect, there’d be no need for perfectionists. No need for humans, really—by the grace of God made wholly imperfect.

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