I wrote the first part of that story in a yellow notebook my mother bought me. I wrote in the first person and I was proud because I had just learned what first person meant. It was my fantasy journal, a mixture of pretend and creation that suited me so well at the time.

That summer of that year I went to scouting camp and I brought my notebook with me. I was promised some quiet time and I thought that I might have the chance to write. I was dreaming about being an author, someday, and I imagined that this was how they started. I was young, still thinking about options and possibilities. I forgot about the accommodations: small tents and cots with nosy tent-mates.

There was an argument between myself and another boy from my tent. I can’t tell you what we argued over. The topic is lost to me, dead. I forgot it the instant he sneered and mentioned something I had written in my little yellow notebook. It undid me in a way I never expected. They had taken my story. They trashed something that I had built and loved, and I had no clue what to say or do.

I swore at him. I never swore. I grew up in a household where swearing was unimaginable and I swore. I was so angry there were in tears my eyes and I kept swearing. My tent-mates only found this amusing but it was the most damning act I could think of at the time. I stormed off and from that point forward all I wanted to do was go home.

When I got home, I sealed that little notebook away and I never showed it to anyone. It is lost now. A victim of a childhood spent moving. I quit Scouts. I still wrote but in quiet places where my notebooks were safe.

I still fight with that angry little boy, today. He is my biggest critic. His fear and anger sits in my chest. It is an anchor. It is the reason I still do what I do instead of doing what I love. Every day, I get up and I tell the boy that we have to keep going and we do. He rails and screams and swears and the going is slow and agonizing but we keep going. He lists the failures, the falls, and all the mistakes. He mentions that camp and the sneers and I tell him I am so sorry that happened, but I can’t stay there anymore. So I wake up tomorrow and I try again. I am not sure where this ends up, but I still struggle and that must mean something.

At least, I hope that it does.

I was spoiled in Iowa City. Prairie Lights and the Writers’ Workshop made finding the literary community in that city a breeze and the fact that I was immersed in it for much of my time at college only made it even easier. One of the major lessons I learned in my time there was that great writers come from great communities. We spend our lives learning from one another. Everything that I write is filtered through the lessons and techniques that I learned not only from incredible teachers but from fellow students as well. Without them, my time would have been sorely wasted. In a sense, I believe this is true of all art. It thrives in communities of people. It grows and evolves through rigorous discussion and critique. In Iowa City, I had that and more.

Unfortunately, I couldn’t stay there, forever. Now, that I am moved and settled in, I start again. I must find that community. My original plan had been to find it at the University of Minnesota’s creative writing program but with the move and the new job and all the chaos of the last year, that deadline slipped away. I may try next year, but I certainly don’t plan to stay idle that entire time. If I do get the opportunity to attend, I would certainly like to have a community of writers and thinkers already there to help me prepare.

Luckily, stores like Micawber’s give me an excellent place to start. Well, that and a wonderful collection of poems by James Wright and Colson Whitehead’s Zone One. Let’s just say that the visit was more than worthwhile.

If you do know of any local literary hot-spots in the Twin Cities, please feel free to let me know. I am looking forward to forging new connections and building community up here. It is always a challenge getting started, though.

All of that is true, of course. Nothing stated above is exactly news to anyone who looks around during the holidays. What I wasn’t as willing to admit, though, is that it is also a frighteningly comfortable rationalization. The plain truth is that I used to love this holiday even with all of its associated stress and struggle. Taking aim at the stress caused by season may have afforded me a position of rational strength, but it hid something deeper. For me, something had changed.

This year, as I sat in my apartment and looked out over the city, I began to realize what that change was. My epiphany was born from the fact that this is the first time in my life that I have ever returned somewhere. Usually, I just move on. Being here, now, is the closest I will ever have to coming home. Most of my childhood was spent in Minnesota. I grew up with a single mother and money was always hard to come by. Our struggles did not end with the arrival of Christmas. Nothing magically changed. Oh, we never starved and my mother was always able to get something for us under the tree, but presents were never the highlight of the holiday. Our highlights came from an entirely different source and for me, well, it’s something I never thought about before. My mother happened to be a devout Christian and she was determined that we understand that Christ was the center of the holiday. She understood that denying us Santa or cursing the secular aspects of the season would only push us away. Instead, she merely included aspects of her own that settled in next to Santa and were every bit as important to us as the Christmas tree. She treated us to a series of recorded stories about Christmas from a special set designed just for the holidays. Every night we would gather, mark down the days until Christmas and listen to another story. Then as the days grew closer the celebrations both at home and in the Church would increase. For me, Christmas meant midnight candlelight services, songs and chants, and all the assorted ritual that my protestant church felt was appropriate.

And there, there was the difference. Christmas used to be about connection. Connection reinforced through rituals that stretched back through the ages. There was meaning in that. A meaning that I had lost.

Of course, I am not the same boy I once was and while I confess a deep appreciation for the sense of ritual and history the Church provides, I cannot say I am ready to throw aside my own hard-learned lessons and return. Instead, I am seeking to reconnect with that sense of ritual. Perhaps, in this return there is also a chance at finding a way to see these holidays as a moment of celebration and relaxation. Rather than panicking about the small things or worrying about the physical pieces of detritus that fill up our lives, I am content to spend the day with my wife in quiet contemplation remembering a year that had it shares of victories and losses. I will think of my mother and my father and theirs before them. I will remember the past and welcome the future.

And all of a sudden, I am not feeling as Scrooge-like anymore.

Happy Holidays to you all!

Yes, I live. You can all be thankful! This has been a trying time, but as with all trying times, I have learned a few things about who and what I am.

Sometimes, I swing so far between pendulums that I lose focus of the fact that there is a middle ground.

That and I am possessed of too many dreams and not enough of time.

So I spent time prioritizing, and then— like some strange exhibitionist— I decided to post it. I’m posting this because many of my readers are friends with an active interest in my life, but also because I it speaks to how I think as a person and what I believe to have value. While personal, nothing here is that personal, and I welcome input on any of it from friend and casual reader alike.

The Store:

I have been dreaming about a book/game store for pretty much half my life. Of course, this store is merely a metaphor for connectivity, community, and independence. It took me almost as long to realize that. I love the idea and if the opportunity presents itself, I will jump at it. That said, there are many ways to accomplish some dreams. Most of all, I want to work for myself and maintain connection to a community of creative and active individuals. This is one of those rules in my life. A rule that’s been drilled into my head since I was a child. Things don’t matter; people do. It’s funny. The older I get, the truer this becomes.

Post-Grad:

This is the big one and, potentially, the most difficult. I would love to pursue a doctorate in Comparative Lit. at the University of Minnesota. Reading through the program was thrilling and, honestly, I want it so bad I can taste it. It can’t happen this year, though. I have 20 days to get everything in and, frankly, we are still in the process of moving. Even if we were settled, meeting that time frame would be nearly impossible. I am not sure if there is a way to really make this work. I am looking at it, though, and trying to figure out a way.

There is a low-residency MFA program through Goddard which I am considering as well. I like the fact that it requires both critical and creative work and requires a teaching practicum. I would be breaking the sacred rule of MFA programs (never pay), but in reality this would work out better financially than attending the MFA program at the University of Minnesota. This is partially a shame because I love the Minnesota program, but I need to do what works best for me in the long term. Of course, the deadline for Minnesota MFA program is in 5 days which is completely impossible.

The important thing to note here is that I refuse to give up on Post-Grad. When I went back, I said I would go through to a terminal degree and I will, no matter what. I owe myself that. What this really means is that I am looking at all options but the sooner I start a program, the better.

Technology:

I realized my error here and, ostensibly, I may still be making it. I love technology. I hate how most organizations implement and manage it. Now, I am still working for a large corporate machine in Minnesota, but I am back to working on and being paid to stay on the cutting edge of technology. Hell, it’s practically a part of my job title. I felt I was burning out and I was. I was burning out on corporate politics, on working on projects that were scrapped or never used, or even worse underfunded and still expected to meet impossible expectations. This wasn’t the technology’s fault. I don’t even really know who to blame because the same thing happened when I left the corporate world (I just got paid a lot less to deal with the same issues). I think it comes from a dysfunctional approach in how most people deal with technology. I can write pages on this and probably will at a later date. Suffice it to say, it’s a silly mistake to blame technology for the problems caused by those who use it.

The truth is, I believe in the power of technology to transform lives. I always have. Right now, we are in the midst of an ongoing battle to protect our evolving connected landscape from censorship in the name of capitalism. This is nothing new, but SOPA and its descendants must be fought not only with words, law, and protest, but with technology as well. Before my hiatus, I spoke a lot of Diaspora. They have had some struggles recently and my heart nearly broke with the news of Ilya’s passing. That said, the one thing that Diaspora has proven to me is that there are thousands, nay tens of thousands, of smart, eloquent and dedicated people who are willing to build the tech to protect against these incursions. This has not only renewed my interest and passion for technology, it has helped me focus it. I was anxious to get involved with Diaspora and was just starting to ramp up when everything collapsed in Iowa. As is evidenced by my complete silence, this shut me down hard. Now, things are starting to go the right way. I am going to get settled in Minnesota. Then I have some real decisions to make on where I spend my free time.

I am not running from technology anymore, though. I am going to embrace it as part of my final destination and a key to my creative and graduate work in whatever form that work takes.

So, there you have it. More lessons as the next chapter of my life steadily begins to take focus. Things are moving slowly but steadily and I am really getting excited for what comes next. I have a job that I think I am going to really like; school is on the horizon; and I will have a chance to write in a space that has always been good for me creatively.

All-in-all, It’s good to be moving in the right direction again.

After a chaotic week I found myself on the edge of a long weekend without my usual access to the Internet. I was, for several days, disconnected (I think I just shuddered a little). I could connect and interact in very basic ways but anything beyond that was all but completely impossible. Essentially, my communication stream became read-only. For a fellow used to living in a read-write universe, this was a true tragedy.

Now, I wasn’t alone. In fact, last weekend was surprisingly filled with family and friends. With our usual escapes lost in the digital ether, we did what we do best: we played games. Steve had introduced Pandemic to us a couple of weeks before and I have to say that the game is incredible. It’s remarkable in that it is a cooperative board game. Rather than competing, we strategized together and tried to figure out the best way to save the world from the rampages of disease. I honestly think we could have played several more games without getting bored or tired.

We followed that up by playing another game with a cooperative option, A Touch of Evil. As far as games go, it was enjoyable, but it took a lot longer to engage the player. I am hoping the advanced version makes the game a bit more interesting.

So, what did I learn from my extended separation? I learned that disconnecting (for a while) can be a good thing. Of course, it is better when you pick the date. This happened at a really terrible time. I had just offered to be involved in helping to push Diaspora as an alternative social platform and then I disappeared. Not only is this rather poor form, it also means I have a lot of things to catch up on.

My absence helped in other ways, as well. I reminded me why I am pushing this so aggressively and that has everything to do with the value I place on community, global and local. I love meeting people from around the world and the Internet helps me do that in a whole wide variety of ways. I also love meeting the neighbors I haven’t met yet or the weird guy down the street who isn’t so weird once you know him (even though he probably is). I’ve spent most of my life developing small but vibrant communities that center around some (usually strange) shared interest. What I quickly learned is that these communities often need a physical and a virtual space in which they can evolve. This is nothing new but it’s important to understand that there is a give and take between physical and the virtual (as my separation would seem to show) and it’s important that neither get neglected.

I met with a good friend and artist last Wednesday and we discussed a local Diaspora server as part of a grassroots effort to engage a local community. This, to me, is the best of both worlds. We engage a local community in our environment. We build events and activities that bring people together in a physical space and then connect them with a global network of others with whom they can communicate. We do this in a free and open atmosphere that is not interested in leveraging users as financial resources but as valuable members in a growing community.

Idealistic? Perhaps, a bit. If we can come close, though. We will have accomplished something significant and I think that makes it all worthwhile. There will be a lot more on this in the next month or so. We’re meeting weekly to drive development (and because we tend to be far too easily distracted) so I am sure we’ll have more to add. If you live in Iowa and want to be involved, comment below and we’ll talk.

In the meantime, I’m back. I’m still catching up but slowly things are coming back together.

Here’s hoping the trend continues!

Enjoy the cat! See you all in the morning.

The weekend always comes to an end so quickly.

On Saturday, it rained so hard that we ditched our plans to head north. Instead, we turned back and settled with friends. We watched football in a bar in Cedar Rapids while eating fried wontons filled with an unnamed yellow-white cheese. I say unnamed because it was an unrecognizable and gloppy thing, albeit entirely too delicious to be healthy. We were so consumed (in the consuming?) with the taste that no one even bothered to ask for a name. We left the bar to spend the next several hours locked in conversation. Our topics were endless: politics, healthcare, religion, relationships and the many myriad possibilities that arise in such an open forum. It grew late far sooner than we expected. Courtney made us spaghetti. We just kept on talking and talking. When we left, dawn was on the horizon.

Sunday was nothing. It was blissful in its absolute relaxation, its immobility, its silence. We slept. We ate. I installed Slackware and realized once again why I am a Linux user. The sun rose, the sun set, and we had a brief moment of peace.

Today was breakfast the the Frontier Cafe in Grinnell, IA. The place was packed as we took our seats. The wait staff was surly and pressed for time. There were too many tables, too many mouths, and not enough people to help them. At least the food (two pancakes, eggs, ham) was good. We left full but unimpressed. I spent the rest of the day setting up the Slack environment, fixing a serious issue on this blog which had rendered it almost unusable and, finally, getting some shots from around the property. Mostly, I relaxed and planned out some pieces of writing I’ve been working on. I want to get my portfolio sent out by the middle of October at the latest so I have a lot work to do and a lot of people to contact.

The shot above was my last shot of the day. The sun was already gone, lost behind the treeline. The shadows of the impending night had already taken hold. I aimed my camera up and I took a run of shots. My farewell to the day.

Now, I rest. To sleep, perchance to dream, to dream of places I still must go and the things I cannot wait to do. Tomorrow will come with its attendant duties and frustrations but we all soldier on because somewhere in all that effort there is a sunset waiting for each us. A quiet moment of peace and tranquility in which we can all find rest.

May we find it soon.

This week I taught myself how to run and manage two complex application platforms that were critical to the running of our network. I resolved performance issues that were affecting the entire district and I did so in such a way that no one else was impacted any further.

In other words, I did my job.

To say that I am good at what I do is an understatement. I am an expert for a reason. I could, arguably, do this for the rest of my life. I would have money and comfort and in every way it would seem to be the wise thing to do.

Then Wednesday comes and I listen to a poetry reading, a benefit for an incredible poet who so impacted his students and his readers that they felt compelled to come to his aid at one of his darkest hours. I see the sign-ups flying in as the Iowa Youth Writing Project fall programs prepare to start. I see an army of young writers, many of whom I know and respect, volunteering to help. I see all of this and I sit back and I ask myself why I stopped?

I like to think that if I ever completed The Artist’s Way I would have already found my way through all of this. I would have found a way to silence the critics that now chat incessantly inside my head. Take my boss (please?). He is actually a good guy. He knows tech and he knows and his environment.

“I was reading your email and it was like reading a story. I mean it was really good. Then I remembered, oh yeah, he has a penchant for that”

It was a compliment. I know that. A penchant, though? I suppose. But I was beginning to think it was something more.

No, I know it is.

I felt like such a rebel this past year, but the truth is I wasn’t willing to commit. It was easy to hide when the money was there and steady. I faltered and ran and I have to say I am more than a bit embarrassed.

But we get back up, and we move.

I am ready now. Whatever it takes. It will be done.

I have to say that the construction workers around me were incredibly helpful. They gave me a light and aimed a fan into the room. I think they knew I was more than a bit out of my element. As I trimmed cables and carefully fanned the wires to attach new ends, I began to realize just how out far out of my element I have gone. I am working in a small town managing a network down to the physical layer. I live in the country so far away from any of the things I used to value that I am beginning to forget what it is like to have those things. I am barely writing and I miss it so much that it hurts.

Then I remember that college starts up in a couple weeks, and for the first time in four years I won’t be there. It is okay, in one sense. I accomplished what I wanted to at the University of Iowa. Because of that experience, I got to teach this summer and that will go down as a highlight in my life. I loved doing that so much. I can’t really express how cool it was to watch a bunch of kids sit down and write and create. If you ever doubt that human beings are storytellers, you are not spending enough time with children.

So I know now. I know I am not done and all the doubt about my choice in career and major, that nagging voice that so haunted me during that last semester, has been completely wiped away. I want to write and teach and build and create. I want to use tech and I want to show people how to make it their own rather than being slaves to it (there is a difference and it is an important one). Between the summer, this job, and my time teaching and at IYWP, I know that much now. So I am doing something.  I am going to send an email to Northern tomorrow. I hate that it is so far away, but I think it may be the best option. Their structure will allow to complete my both Masters and then my MFA.

I have another reason as well. I really want to take what I have learned at the IYWP and apply in the Upper Peninsula. If there is ever a place that needs free creative and education programs for youth, this is it. I need to trust myself, though, and not get sidetracked. This summer I had a whole development plan for the IYWP site and it was sidelined by the job and life chaos. It shouldn’t have been. If I plan on taking this with me, I can’t let that happen.

Of course, life and jobs can’t just be ignored either. Resolutions must be found. All of this is contingent on Courtney and I being able to make enough to survive. I’m not sure, yet, how we are going to pull it off but I am looking. I am confident we will find a way. Every time I start to doubt, I imagine myself still stuck in that dusty concrete room, sweat dripping, as I search for a way out.

“For the love of God, Montresor!”