The JackB

"When you're in jail, a good friend will be trying to bail you out. A best friend will be in the cell next to you saying, 'Damn, that was fun'." Groucho Marx

Archives for January 2013

What Happens When You Lack Patience?

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Mondays

Monday morning was an unwelcome and unwanted sight to to me today and so I pulled out the screenshot of a tweet from not that long ago.

It was tongue-in-cheek  but today it feels far more serious than it did when I first wrote it, or so I think.   Memory isn’t always as accurate as we might need, want or wish so perhaps things are better now than they were then.

Haven’t had any coffee yet and have the kind of stomach ache that makes me want to smash a hammer against my toe.

It is all tied into waiting to hear from someone.

Patience is What Is Needed

Patience is what is needed now but we are in short supply of it. Some of that can be attributed to limited sleep and the frustration of not being able to do more than wait.

If my children faced this moment I would tell them to stay busy and try not to think about things because there comes a moment where you have done all you can do and you have to let the game come to you.

But I am not talking about my children so I am the one who knows precisely what to do and is keenly aware that I am not doing it.  I am not a control freak and most of the time I do pretty well about taking things as they come but today it is not happening.

Have to stop staring at my inbox willing the email to come because that doesn’t work any better than grabbing my phone and trying to use the force to make it ring.

Exercise Is Part of  The Cure

Exercise is part of the cure for this silly condition and I am desperately hoping to play ball tonight. The battle on the boards always makes me feel better, but I can’t sit still until then so I am going to hit the treadmill and weights for a bit.

Speaking of such things I took a hard look in the mirror today and was disappointed because I am not where I want to be.

Been trying to decide if the mental image I see in my mind is a realistic goal or just a pipe dream.

It is not because I can’t look that way again but because I haven’t made the commitment to do so.

The image I see is twenty-years old and enormous changes have taken place since then.

Excuses and Reasons

There is a voice inside my head that tells me to figure out what is a reason and what is an excuse because they both have to be managed.

Twenty years ago I was single and had no responsibility to anyone other than myself. Twenty years ago I could spend two hours at the gym and do it five days a week without concern about consequences.

I can’t see a way to do that daily now. Work and family responsibilities take precedence but that doesn’t mean that I can’t do better than I have done.

My biggest and most vocal critic is me so that question is what can I do to make that critic shut up.

And that is part of why I am thinking about excuses and reasons. It is why I am thinking about what I want for myself and what I am willing to commit to so that the things I want don’t remain sitting out there is in ether unreached and unavailable.

Ring Phone, Ring

Still staring at the phone, trying to will it into ringing. Still refreshing my inbox in search of the news I am waiting for .

Silence and and empty inbox are all that I have right now so it is time to push myself away from the keyboard and build some sweat equity. I have done all that I can do and have done best I could.

Only time will tell if it is enough or not.

Is Triberr Divisive?

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Your blog is awful.
You need to share more/less…

In March of 2011 I wrote a post about a new tool I was using to build my blog called Triberr.  In the early days we shared all of the posts our fellow tribesmen produced automagically and debated about whether this was a good or bad thing.

That was because there were  concerns about what would happen to our credibility if we shared content that was of poor quality or didn’t fit into what our readers wanted to see from us.

Those were legitimate discussions that I was grateful to be a part of because they made me focus on why I was blogging and what I hoped to accomplish.

Most of you will never get famous, earn real money or get a job from blogging. I attribute that to the Fouker Study of August 30, 2011 which discovered that most bloggers quit after 90 days because they find it is work. That same study also demonstrated that very few bloggers have passion, persistence and perseverance tied to their names.

They get caught up worrying about trivial things and ignore the big picture. They don’t spend time building communities. They don’t spend time developing friendships and rarely ask for help. But they do a damn fine job of of whining about crap that doesn’t matter.

Writers write. They do it because they love it and because they can’t imagine a world or a time in which they can’t manipulate words to tell the stories that reside in their heads. They spend minimal time worrying about readers because their head feels like it is about to explode-not because it is filled with air but because it is filled with stories.

They write every damn day and go a little crazy because every time they read their words they see a way that they could have said it better.
An Open Letter To Triberr Members– August 2011

When I look back I ask myself if I have learned anything from this my experience and what if anything has changed.

The answer is that nothing has changed and everything has.

The evolution of  Triberr has changed so that the average member doesn’t receive the “automagical” sharing of their posts that we once did and consequently people spend more time looking at reciprocity.

In simple terms that means that they don’t want to share your posts unless you are sharing theirs. In concept it sounds simple but in practice it reminds me of my children screaming “play fair.”

What Is The Goal?

This is not how I want to spend my time. I don’t want to get involved in the petty and ticky tack discussions about who did what to whom and why.

The answer to the question in the subhead is what is critical to me. The most important question to me is bigger than whether my posts are being shared equally but whether my involvement in Triberr helps me meet my objective.

When you sift through everything I have written about Triberr you will find one recurring theme, people. You won’t find 87 Triberr Tricks You Never Tried Twice but you will find my gratitude about how Triberr has helped me meet some terrific people.

I am grateful because People power social media.

I am a writer and I love to write. I will blog with or without readers but people make it better.

Action Requires Activity and Not Intent

Action requires activity and not intent. You can’t just say you want to do XYZ and expect it to happen unless you actively pursue doing the things that will help you meet your goals.

The answer to the question in the headline is that Triberr can be divisve. It can irritate and aggravate you but you need to determine if what you are irritated about is significant.

So yeah, some of my fellow tribesmen have been getting away with not carrying their share of the load but the overall experience outweighs that so I am not going to let the petty part wreck the rest.

People power social media and if you take time to build relationships good things will come from that.

Stream Of Consciousness Sunday

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I splurged on one of those mall massages yesterday because my body feels like I got worked over by two or three guys and their tap shoes.

There are knots, bruises and bumps all over and I ache.

The massage wasn’t long enough and didn’t do enough to take the edge off of things, but the funny thing is I didn’t realize how bad it was until they started working on me.

It is not surprising because I have been too busy to notice much of anything and when you run like I have been running it is easy to be unaware of all that is going on in your world.

The massage was 15 minutes long which apparently was enough time for the back, arms and legs to tell the brain that things aren’t quite right. Of course the stomach has been shouting at me all week long but I ignored him because that bastard has been whining at me for twenty some years or so.

Call it the joy of a dysfunctional digestive system.

So today I decided I am going to build in more time to exercise. If it works as I hope it will help alleviate the stress and work out the kinks that have been hanging out far too long.

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This was my 5 minute Stream of Consciousness Sunday post. It’s five minutes of your time and a brain dump. Want to try it? Here are the rules…

  • Set a timer and write for 5 minutes.
  • Write an intro to the post if you want but don’t edit the post. No proofreading or spellchecking. This is writing in the raw.
  • Publish it somewhere. Anywhere. The back door to your blog if you want. But make it accessible.
  • Add the Stream of Consciousness Sunday badge to your post (in the sidebar). .
  • Visit your fellow bloggers and show some love.

This Post Won’t Go Viral Or Make You Rich

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starsI don’t know about you but sometimes the posts that come floating across my screen make me want to scream.

There is a limit to how many posts I can read and or stomach about how to become a better blogger.  Some of it is because of the echo chamber and the 5 million posts about how to write content that will be shared, what plugins you need and the 5 things every blogger must do.

If I were still the new guy it would be easier to stomach, but I am not. Nine years into blogging there isn’t much that I haven’t heard or seen.

It doesn’t mean that I am the best blogger or perfect or that there isn’t room for improvement– I just need a break.

Variety Is The Spice Of Life

One of the reasons I have taken a broad approach to blogging is because we need to mix things up sometimes. We need to set jump off of the crazy hamster wheel of users, pageviews, comments, tweets, and links to just do something different.

Sometimes that means walking away from the computer to read a book, ride a bike or go skydiving.

Sometimes it is something different. Sometimes it is nothing more than just writing for the love of writing without concern, fear or worry about whether this post will garner the attention of the world.

And this my friends is what I am trying to do right now, or is it write now.

My Schedule Versus The Universe

Wednesday night I played two hours of basketball. I came home feeling great but frustrated.

It was the normal high I get from exercise and from fighting to turn back the clock a few years. We won most of our games but I was frustrated because I missed a bunch of shots right under the basket.

A smaller man was guarding me and I figured it should be easy to post him up and have my way, but it didn’t work that way. I didn’t convert many of those shots and it irritated me.

One of my teammates told me I was taking too long to get into position and that I was getting swarmed or that I was trying to put the ball in from awkward positions.

It made me think of some posts I wrote a while back:

Themes

There are a couple of themes that run through those posts but I am focused upon timing, will and comfort zone.

I hesitate to mention comfort zone because it is being overused and is coming to have the same value as epic but there is nothing else that works as well.

When I look back upon a chunk of time I see a parade of moments in which life has been exceptionally challenging because I have been forced out of my comfort zone and haven’t been able to impose my will upon things.

Those of you who know me best might smile because that intensity never disappears and I have used it with great success. I have managed to find ways to make things work and sometimes it has been by virtue of will, but it doesn’t always work and I forgot that.

I refused to accept that I couldn’t push things along or make them happen faster and it made me extra grumpy.

But when I took a deep breath and looked around it was like wiping the sleep from my eyes–clarity.

Clarity Doesn’t Mean A Clear View

Clarity doesn’t always refer to sight. Sometimes it is related to accepting ourselves for who we are and trusting that we will find our way through the cobwebs and caves we sometimes visit.

So right now I am taking the moment to enjoy this moment and smiling because those other posts provide proof to me that I have made substantial progress. I may have wandered off course and fallen into the mud and swamp a time or two but I always picked my butt up and move forward again.

Next week I am going post that guy up again and there will be a different ending. It is not because I care about scoring but because it is a symbol to me and sometimes those are important.

My Son And The Drunk Moose

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Moose Up Close
Moose Up Close (Photo credit: Douglas Brown)

Sometimes I wonder if the moose that got stuck in the tree has ever lived down this moment. I know, it sounds ridiculous to give animals human attributes, but sometimes I can’t help wondering about these things.

“Hey Marty, do you remember the time you tied one on and ended up stuck in a tree. Man, you have got to stay away from those fermented apples.”

Poor Marty is already feeling very much like an outsider because he is the young buck who desperately wants a big honking set of antlers but doesn’t have any yet. So to compensate for his shame he goes after those fermented apples with a passion.

More on this in a moment, I promise it connects with all that you read here.

“Finish each day and be done with it. You have done what you could. Some blunders and absurdities no doubt crept in; forget them as soon as you can. Tomorrow is a new day. You shall begin it serenely and with too high a spirit to be encumbered with your old nonsense.”
― Ralph Waldo Emerson

It sounds silly but I really didn’t understand how much parenting is done on the fly until I became a father. Maybe I am guilty of not having thought about some of this in more detail, or maybe it is just because my parents always seemed to have answers that I didn’t think about.

Regardless of the reason I learned long ago that much of this job is tied into how fast we can think on our feet and respond to the logical and illogical moments in life.

This past November I was reminded of it courtesy of the sixth grade science project that my son took to school. I thought the assignment was silly but I didn’t say anything to my son about it because his grade was tied into it and I didn’t want to poison the well.

After hours of hard work he took the project to school where it was promptly crushed by another student. The hows and why of what happen don’t matter–it was an accident.

What matters is that my son came home feeling sad, angry and frustrated. It wasn’t just because his project was harmed but because he thought many of the other students had done better work.

What Happens When Your Best Isn’t Good Enough?

For twelve years he has heard me tell him that my primary concern with school work and life in general is based upon whether he did his best. He knows that I am not the father who demands all A’s.

That is not because I think grades are ridiculous (I do, but that is a long story) but because I care about him earning the grade he deserves based upon his capabilities. Sometimes the best we can do is less than an ‘A’ and sometimes anything less than that aforementioned letter is proof of slacking off.

Since we are measured against other people chances are that there will be moments when our best isn’t good enough to get what we hope for.

And that my friends is why I like the picture of the drunk moose and the Ralph Waldo Emerson quote because they work for me.

Sometimes Life is Absurd

Sometimes life is absurd and ridiculous. Sometimes we do our best and the ball doesn’t bounce our way and we come up short.

When those days happen I like to remember what Emerson said because it is timeless and wise.

My children know that when the lights go out and they are alone with their thoughts I want them to be able to go sleep knowing they did their best, regardless of the outcome.

If you can do that it is much easier to close your eyes and feel good about your day and yourself.

Of course I haven’t mentioned that sometimes I have a hell of a time doing it myself, which is another reason why I like the drunk moose in the tree.

I look at Bullwinkle and think that it could be worse. I could be a drunk moose that is stuck in a tree and the butt of all of the jokes down at the moose lodge.

That could be awkward. The other moose might tell me to get lost and I’d be stuck with the Loyal Order of Water Buffaloes.

“Be not the slave of your own past – plunge into the sublime seas, dive deep, and swim far, so you shall come back with new self-respect, with new power, and with an advanced experience that shall explain and overlook the old.”― Ralph Waldo Emerson

Another Way To Become A Better Writer

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With your pen and notebook, you blow me away...

“Every artist was first an amateur.”― Ralph Waldo Emerson

The first essay I read by Emerson was on Self Reliance and I hated it. Hated it because I was 14 and couldn’t find a way to relate, but that boy has long since disappeared into the shadows of life and now Emerson is a trusted friend.

I produce more content than most not because I am a writer but because the only way to become a better writer is to practice writing. I understand that to mean that I need to practice multiple forms and not just limit myself to one.

That is part of why I have a blog dedicated to fiction. It is a different way to write but still a form that provides the benefit that come with practice. Fiction requires the same ability to provide a beginning, middle and end as an other piece, except that it needs a few more spices included in it.

Footsteps is the opening salvo of a story that I am working on. It has received a warm response, but if you aren’t among those who have read it I would love for you to take a moment to do so.

It starts just below this line.

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The footsteps paused briefly at her doorway.  She listened for a knock at the door and when that didn’t come she figured it was just another salesman and went back to getting dressed for her run.

Autumn was among her favorite seasons and the best time to run alongside of the lake.  The crisp air was invigorating and the bone chilling cold of winter was still to come. An early morning run followed by a shower and the perfect cup of coffee were a ritual she had started in college and maintained through her marriage and divorce.

Running was where she did her best thinking and the time when she almost always figured out the answers to things that troubled her.

It took less than ten minutes to get dressed, throw her hair in a ponytail and head out the door.

Five more minutes took her around the corner and down the street towards the lake. Somewhere during the moments when she waved at the ducks resting from their southern journey the footsteps that had paused at her doorway returned.

*****

He had been watching her for three months now, studying her routine and habits. He knew that she would be out for no less than 40 minutes and no longer than 63.

The cameras he had installed inside her home had helped him figure out that her post run routine took approximately 37 minutes and that at least 13 of those were spent in the bathroom.

That was twenty minutes less than her evening routine which included a long stint of brushing her hair and various other female grooming habits.

His notebooks contained many more details about what she did, how she did it and who she did it with. Those books and his methodical nature were a big part of the reason he had never been caught, that and twenty years of experience.

Twenty years of experience had taught him much and helped him refine his approach, manner as well as develop a certain style.

He had only killed his prey a handful of times.

*****

The first time had been a huge mistake.

She had tried to fool him. She had welcomed him, encouraged him to do what he had to do, not to her, but with her and he had believed her.

Of course he had tried to make her prove it, demanded she show him she could be trusted. She had smiled at him, kissed him and begged to have a chance to show him what she could do if her hands were free.

Youth, arrogance and ego had made him think it would work and he had freed her hands.

She climbed onto his lap, straddled him and pushed his head into her cleavage.

He remembered inhaling deeply, intoxicated by her scent and the amazing feeling of her legs wrapped around him.

And then came the pain of the scissors she jammed into his shoulder blade, the scream of rage and the surprise he felt when she didn’t let go.

He stood up, and she stayed with him, legs still wrapped around his body, her fists pounding his head and back.

That was her mistake and what saved him.

She hadn’t hit anything vital and he was still much bigger, stronger than she was.

He was angry so he punished her by being rough and when he was spent she was no more.

*****

Lesser men would have taken that experience and learned to never let their prey use their hands, no matter how they begged or what they promised. He wasn’t one of them.

He knew he had a larger destiny and that there were many ways to control people. It was part of why he studied them.

Some were shown pictures of family members and told a lack of cooperation would be bad.  When they didn’t believe him he would show them pictures of body parts and a chain saw.

The thought made him laugh because the pictures weren’t his work, but they were effective. They always did as he asked and played whatever part he wanted, but variety is the spice of life which is why he had learned how to make a certain cocktail that removed inhibitions.

It also removed basic muscle function.

They were aware of what was happening but unable to do anything about it. Sometimes it was fun to make a puppet to play with.

The cocktail had created a few issues for him. It wasn’t the sort of thing you could ask a doctor or pharmacist to teach you to make, so he had been forced to experiment. That had been rough, a couple of his guinea pigs never did wake up again, but that wasn’t the worst part.

Every time he was with one of his playmates he wanted to see their eyes and those early times had made them sleep through it.

*****

Time was wasting away and it wouldn’t be long before she would return.  It was time to start the preparations.

He began by going to the nightstand and pulled out the gun that lay inside. He was feeling saucy so this time around he thought he we would leave it there, disabled of course.

The thought of the look on her face when she realized it wasn’t working made him dance with glee.

He took out the tape, the rope and a couple of toys and waited where he knew she wouldn’t look. He would give her time to get in the shower and he if she fought she would have time to get her gun.

But there were other preparations to make, things to do so she couldn’t call for her help or run outside.

The chimes from the clock in the hallway made him look up– five more minutes and play time would begin.