Writing in the Information Age...

It used to be that a writer sat down with pen and paper in hand, or maybe s/he pulled a chair up to a cozy typewriter and the writer scribbled or pounded away at story pieces in the wee dark hours. Writers still spend hours writing, although now we have computers, Word documents and spell check, and writing has become so much easier for us. Or has it?


Thirty to forty years ago, when a writer hit a mental block or couldn't breach the wall of a plot or story-line, there was little to do except maybe turn on the television, read a book or head out to a bar or a late night diner for inspiration. Today, computers wired in to the Internet provide writers with a number of distractions to pull him or her away from the unwritten page. There's facebook and Twitter and a host of community websites. There's online games, video games, Netflix and Clicker.


Mired in a quicksand of unproductive thought? There's Farmville and many other cyber-games that can pull you away from your writing task at hand, and there's nothing to stop you except the writing deadline that either your publisher, your agent and you yourself have imposed.


Don't get me wrong. There are endless benefits to the Internet for a writer. Social media sites allow an author to promote their novels and allow infinite connections with other writers, readers and potential publishers. But it is ever so easy to be pulled into the cyber-world and put off that novel unless you learn to set limits and craft a personal schedule.


Writing requires thought and time, and for some it demands a great deal of research into topics both familiar and foreign. Writing is a process. And it doesn't happen with incessant blogging, tweeting and facebook chats. In order to pump out those words that will eventually be your completed work, you need to devote time and effort toward it, but how do you do that? I say the answer lies in learning how to unplug. Consider cutting the time you spend on the Internet. If you have a hard time doing this, then just shut your Internet off for a certain period of time on your computer. Each day, set time aside some time just for writing, and DO NOT turn the wireless on, or plug in, until you've achieved your desired word count, or until you've written for a certain number of minutes.


If you hit a wall, or run into that feared 'writer's block'... take time to read your manuscript from beginning to end, or choose a few chapters you know will galvanize you. Or better yet take a trip to the bookstore (alone), and go through magazines that deal with the topic on which your plot or subject is built. Science Fiction crafters will find a world of great ideas in Popular Mechanics or Popular Science, and other genre writers will find much the same in their genre style magazines. Bring a pen and paper to the bookstore, or your i-Pad or computer. Buy that cup off coffee, sit down and read and when you've got some good ideas start writing them down. Do NOT turn on the Internet. Do NOT answer the phone. Set aside time for yourself and for practicing your craft and you'll find that the words WILL come, and the ideas will flow, and you won't be mired in the muck of Internet traffic. Instead, you'll be on your way to finishing your piece and you'll be proud of the work you did that day.


As for me, after sitting to write this short piece, I'm turning of my wireless and getting back to my novel. I try to set aside two twenty-minute intervals with a ten minute break in between to stand up, stretch and/or do some research, then off goes the Internet once again. I finish another twenty minutes and by the time I'm done I end up with a five to ten pages of useful material. The journey of 100,000 words begins with that first word, but you'll never make it if you stop and camp out on a page for too long. Keep on crafting. Keep on writing.  And know that with a little self discipline you will achieve your goal, and you'll be proud that you did.

Seeing Impermanence in Action...

My son turned 14 years old today. Birthday's are milestones we (as humans) set up in order to quantitatively measure age. And although I don't take much stock in human systems, I feel time slipping away as he grows older. My daughter is already eighteen years old. And now my son is fourteen. And it's cliche' to say it was just yesterday that I held my children in my arms, and danced with them across the floor as I nestled their small bodies against my chest. Days of Santa Claus, Easter Bunnies, and hunting for fairies in Luray Caverns are long gone. Games of hide and seek, and tickle-fests, and rides in a red wagon hunting for little gravel rocks to collect as "ammo" are obsolete.

The modern version of my son glides on skateboards, and leaps high on a BMX bike which he is way too tall for.  I'm 5'8" and he towers above me. Towers over his father. And my son loves every minute of it. And instead of little gravel rocks, my boy plays with air-soft guns and games online with others in "Modern Warfare."

He texts girls on his cellphone. Often. After they text him.

My son's pants always seem too short no matter how many new pairs we buy him. The bottom of the legs ride up beyond his ankles, and I wonder how many of his friend's parents have looked at him, and his pants, and said, "Can't his mother afford to buy him new clothes?" Which, at the rate he is growing...no I can't.

I never knew motherhood could be so complex. The feelings, the worries, the number of things in the world a parent has to constantly keep up with...  I never knew it could be so joyful, and so (ultimately) rewarding. And it's odd, because I stare at this young man in my house, and still get flashes of the time he jumped off the diving board when he was five, and could barely swim, and landed with a solid belly flop only to come up sputtering and ask to do it again. And those flashes cause an odd mix of pleasure and pain like that little jolt of electricity that bites you when you accidentally get shocked from an errant wall socket. Part of you wants to move on and not do it again, but another part of you wants to try it just one more time...

And as my son sleeps this morning, (probably until noon because he more than likely stayed up until two A.M. playing "Modern Warfare" with his friends), I can't help but wonder what tomorrow will bring? Will he stay healthy? Will he grow much taller? What will he decide to become in the future? And when will he bring his first girlfriend (or boyfriend) home to meet me?

Oh, I know worrying about the future is as useless as wishing I could change the past, but I wonder more than I worry. I wonder, and I pray with all the energy I have that each day for him is a better one, and that his mistakes are few but result in a developing awareness and kind understanding toward himself. I pray that my son learns something useful each moment he treads the path of life, and that he values humanity, love and the joy of giving.  There are so many things I wish for him. So much I would give if I could, but the greatest gift of all that I can hand to him is that of gently guiding him to the person he was meant to be. A person who I am sure will make a difference in this world, and a good one at that.

A Visit to Scary Dairy...

Scary Dairy

            Scary Dairy is located near University Drive in Camarillo, California, near the California State University of Channel Islands.  It’s in an odd hilly region near the ocean and close to Point Mugu Navy Base, and surrounded by some agricultural fields on one side. There are no main buildings in sight, and the area is devoid of anything that appears urban.
            The place is located near what was once the Camarillo State Hospital, a mental institution and it was supposedly a dairy farm and/or a slaughter house. After the place burned down a few years ago, it was renamed “Scary Dairy” by the locals. It’s rumored that a number of murders occurred on the grounds, but now it seems to be more like a place for University plebes and graffiti artists to hang out.

            I traveled there Saturday morning (September 17th) with my daughter. It was my second attempt to find the place. Luckily, on our first pass near the main University road, there was a gate that was open which I hadn’t noticed before.  We turned down the dirt road, and passed a group of people flying model planes and helicopters at the Model Airplane Landing Strip, then rounded a bend of trees, and there stood a dilapidated barn and a low white structure just beyond that.

            It probably didn’t help that we visited during daylight hours, although the sky was gray and overcast, but the place didn’t seem very scary. It had more of an artistic feel to it.  The falling, rotting barn was missing several metal panels, but on almost every bit of wood and aluminum sheeting still attached to the frame, there were a number of interesting pieces of graffiti artwork.

            When we traveled into the main building, large holes in the walls and burnt wooden beams above made the place just a bit eerie. There were concrete troughs, such as those that might have been used for feeding cattle. I imagine if I’d been out there alone at night I might have found the experience quite unsettling, but my daughter and I took pictures and talked with a photographer that was there taking shots of the building. It was obvious from some of the artwork that local fraternities and sororities used this place occasionally, but as I looked out on the strangely vacant hills that surrounded the structure I could only imagine what types of nefarious activities might have once occurred here. I've added some pics below for you to get a feel of the place.

“The purpose of learning is growth, and our minds, unlike our bodies,

can continue growing as long as we live.”

~Mortimer J. Adler

Well, Adler obviously didn't know me.  My body continues to grow.  Sometimes out, and sometimes in ink.  

Yesterday was my daughter's 18th birthday and together we went to get Mom and Daughter ink at "High Class Tattoo" (A little shop just above the Biker Bail Bonds suite). We even prayed over the ink before the artists began!

Kira's tattoo took just under two hours, and mine took a little over two, or one "G.I. Jane" flick, from beginning to end. What a great day!

"One of the greatest things about the sport of surfing is that you need only three things:

your body, a surf-board, and a wave."

~Naima Green

This past weekend was precious. My son, for a change, didn't have the plethora of friends over to visit and "game" on the PS3. In his lonliness, and perhaps (I hope) in his desire to spend time with "Mom", he joined me in surfing. It was the BEST weekend for catching waves. A southern swell was coming through, and the gusty winds of summer had fizzled down to a gentle breeze. The water was clear and glassy, and the waves were perfect for medium sized boards and folks who just wanted to play and have fun.

My son, true to his word, got up out of bed before his normal noon rise and climbed into the van with me to head out to Mondos. The beach was packed with early-bird surfers, and vacationing families, and finding a place to park was challenging. We pulled the van up to a spot, a quarter mile from the rocky coastal entrance, and got out to pull on our wetsuits. Sean's summer growth meant he was tall and lean, so his wetsuit fit around him but the ankle portion which once came down to his feet, now rose high above his ankles...a funny sight to see. And bittersweet.

We grabbed our boards, and hiked to the sand, and in moments we were paddling out to the curling water.  There was a time when paddling was difficult for him, and when the sight of a four foot wave coming towards him made him feel anxious. No more. This time he paddled past me, flashing by like a dolphin, and we pushed past the breakers where the waves pounded and foamed to the stillness of the sea.  We waited a few minutes, our eyes on the horizon, then the sets started coming. Taking time to choose the best of the oncoming water, we spun our boards towards shore paddling like maniacs and enjoyed the feel of the ocean lifting us, carrying us, side by side. So many waves!  We rode together and fell together and tumbled in the swirl of Mother Natures fluids. Laughing, snorting saltwater, tangled in seaweed, or hanging on for dear life as the white water thundered and took us towards shore, we LIVED life those hours. Present moment.

Near noon, cold and hungry, we returned to the van and rinsed off with the jug of warm water I'd brought. Afternoons were lazy as I read and did homework while he 'gamed' on the Internet, and then near dusk we went to the park and skateboarded. I'd just bought a "Kahuna board", a long skateboard where the rider pushes with a stick to keep momentum, and he taught me the nuances of skateboarding with it. Over a mile we skated, Saturday and Sunday, and the evening return to home was filled with rock music and 'cruising' down the street with windows open and music pumping base so hard the doors shuddered. I was a kid again...a big kid with my son.

I've made a deliberate imprint of this memory on my brain. This precious time before other girls take over his life. This time of laughter, and gangly innocence. The weekend is over, but I will remember that he enjoyed the company of his aging Mom, enjoyed sharing the water, and teaching me to roll over concrete as easily as we surfed waves. I will remember we laughed. Oh, how we laughed. And played. And together, we were young.

"Change is inevitable...

...except from a vending machine."

~Robert C. Gallagher

There was a time when my children were so little. Their young faces looked up at me with trust, and love, and I was the all knowing, magical mother who could do anything. My wise words were gospel, and my children clung to me each day like sailors clinging to a ship in a storm.

Now, I have an 'almost 18' year old daughter, and a 13 year old son. My daughter literally looks me in the eye and speaks to me like an equal, and this year my son has grown so tall he now looks down at me and debates issues with me. When did THIS happen?

Wasn't it only yesterday that my daughter lost her binky, and I searched (frantically) to find it while she cried inconsolable tears? Wasn't it only yesterday that my son drank warm milk from my breast, and snuggled into my chest to be safe and warm? Only a parent can be keenly aware of the impermanence of all things by watching their children grow. Its a fact that all things change, and the reality of it strikes the heart of every parent that sees their child each and every day, and notices something that day is different.

Today, I took my son surfing. He's not really gaga about going into the cold ocean, but he went today so he could be with me. He warmed my heart, taking time out from his video games to come and play with me. The Pacific ocean, on the other hand, is a cruel maternal expanse that never seems to warm no matter how bright the sun shines. Her waters are a shivering bath for any human who flocks to her shores.  If it weren't for wet-suits, I surely wouldn't brave it. But the armor of full body neoprene gives me courage, and cold or  not, I love the ocean. I love to surf.

Sean and I donned the wet suits. He took my 'banana board', a  yellow 8'2", and I grabbed Kira's 'Robert August', a narrow red striped 8'6" board, and we jumped into the water at Mondos this afternoon.  The waves were perfect size. Three to four feet max, and there was only a little current and almost no wind. An ideal day for surfing. At first, Sean was intimidated at how big the waves looked, but after his first couple of rides, his self assurance took over. I saw him smile, and he grinned even bigger when he realized he could paddle out faster than I could take my heavy butt out to the waves on my board. We surfed a good hour and a half, and when I got tired and he got cold, we headed to shore and back to the van.

As we removed our wetsuits, my eyes kept drifting down to view the tufts of hair that have formed underneath his arms. Thick patches now grew there, when only a year ago I swear they were bare. Where did my little boy go? I wondered. Yes, he was still my son, but now he towered over me, and his body hair was prominent. His voice had dropped at least 2 octaves lower, and I no longer confused him with my daughters voice on the telephone. We packed up the wetsuits and rinsed off with the hot water I'd brought in a jug, got dressed and then headed home.

In order to feel like a Mom once again, I stopped at GameStop to pick up a game he'd been wanting for a while. Infamous 2.  A pretty awesome game with fantastic graphics.  Yes, it was probably a total overspend, but the super-D-duper pack was on sale and I forked out $60.00 just to feel maternal again. Isn't that sad? I relished the smile on my son's face, and for a brief moment was taken back to Christmas mornings when he would come in to the living room and look at the Christmas tree with wonder in his eyes. I almost cried when I thought of it.

I had to get back to the house in time to eat and then have my daughter take me to a Pilates class. She'd been wanting to share her favorite class with me for a while. Even though I'm supposed to be studying for my dissertation defense tomorrow, I geared up in my stretchy pants and my daughter drove me to the exercise studio. When did my daughter start driving? I pondered how it all had happened so fast. One day I'm taking her to a friends house, or dropping her off so she and her friend can go shopping at a nearby mall, and the next day she's driving me all over town. I'm still shaking my head as I write this, remembering how we discussed life choices in the kitchen the other day, and debated over philosophies of life and karma. My daughter. Talking to me about life, and philosophy. Graduated from High School. Starting college this year.

Change IS inevitable, but its never struck me so hard, never knocked me on my butt so squarely as when I take time to look at my children and realize their almost all grown. They are their own little people now, making their own choices, fumbling with relationships, learning from mistakes (I hope) and seldom needing me to make things right. Yet, at the end of the day, they still kiss me and hug me so tightly that there is no doubt in my mind the great love they have for me. And the trust. And I still can't help but fall asleep with a misty tear filling at least one eye when I think of it. Change is tough, but it is wonderful.  I might as well embrace it, and try not to waste each precious moment that comes my way. Like the Borg, resistance is futile.

~Cin

There is freedom...

...in a wave.

Yesterday, I went surfing with my son. Despite my new back troubles and pain, I braved the boards and got in to the van with my hubby and my son, and went to Mondos. I couldn't stay out of the water one more day.

It was an absolutely perfect day to surf. The sky was turquoise, and the water was glassy.  A slight off shore wind let the waves curl just a little.

Sean borrowed Jim's wet suit, and Jim sat out on the beach, while we both went in the water and enjoyed a few waves.

Funny thing, success and motivation.  At first, Sean didn't want to surf, feeling like he was never going to catch a wave. He told me 'surfing just wasn't his thing', and that he was planning on going back in to the beach and getting the boggie board, "...because I'm better at that." he said. Thankfully, a nice and slightly powerful set of waves came in and using my yellow AIPA 8'2" banana board Sean caught a beautiful wave and rode it in almost all the way to the beach.

"So you're ready to go in now?" I asked him, hoping I knew what his answer would be.  He looked at me and smiled.  "I think I'll stay out here for a while." His grin got wider.  I could tell he'd felt a thrill riding that wave.  That was when I did the "mommy dance" (on the inside of course), and almost cried from happiness. I think maybe every parent wants their kids to find some joy in something they love.  Even if it's just the joy of being together.

There are all kinds of freedoms in the world, but the best kind for me yesterday was on a wave. Sharing it with my son, and watching him smile. It's a moment that isn't permanent, but will have a lasting effect on me forever.