2017 was one hell of a year!   The world went crazy on so many levels that it is hard to recount without a large drink at hand and the feeling that Orwell, Poe, & Kafka are the ghosts haunting us all. My personal journey was rocky, but I’m ending the year on a good note. My broken wrist is healing. I’ve adopted two extraordinary (insane, infuriating, charming, clever, ridiculous) black cats, and my campaign to win their affection plods along. I’m planning to volunteer more of my time in 2018. And I’m refocusing on writing fiction and on how
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The unexpected benefit of twice weekly physical/occupational therapy for my wrist has been exploring neighborhoods outside my usual turf. I’ve been walking to and from the facility on East 38th Street between 1st & 2nd avenues. As long as it’s not raining or snowing, it’s a nice distance to walk, with hilly sections; interesting architecture; fascinating street art; shops, bars, & restaurants; and, of course, people watching. I try to vary my route and now know which options to avoid and which will likely yield a more pleasant walk. I’m pretty sure that the sign (see photo) outside Sukyo Mahikari
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There seems to be an increasing number of alternative realities and elaborate conspiracy theories that reimagine facts as mutable bits & pieces. No, I’m not going to pile on to one of the competing bandwagons shouting about ‘fake news’ and ‘alternative facts.’ There are certainly enough people already shouting. Right now, I’m interested in how the narratives get shaped. From a fiction writer’s point-of-view, how does one create credible stories that mix real world ideas, trends, fashions, and references, at a time when non-fiction is rapidly reshaping real world ideas, trends, fashions, and references into fantastical versions of the truth?
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Will I ever be the same person I was before I fell on my wrist? In a word—NO, I will never be the same. I will never be the person I was before I fell down the Argentine Tango vortex. I will never be the person I was before I started freelancing, before my parents grew old & died, before I said goodbye to an old lover, before I wrote my first poem, before I received my first rejection letter from a literary agent, before, before, before… Change is natural. Change is real. Change is inescapable. But it seems to
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In my Twitter stream, I stumbled upon a link to an article comparing Cross Fit and Soul Cycle to religious cults. It was interesting. The need to belong, to become a part of a group or to be one among many like-minded people seems to be an essential human trait. We seek out the companionship of other humans with similar outlooks, aspirations, beliefs, and opinions. A long while back, I delved into cults as a research subject. I’ve always been fascinated by the inclination to BELONG and the desire to meld the self into a larger whole. I devoured books
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