God Grew Tired of Us

I'm reading a book called God Grew Tired of Us, written by John Bul Dau, one of the Lost Boys of Sudan. Sudan had a civil war through most of the 80's, all of the 90's, up until 2002. I normally avoid non-fiction books or movies about famine, war, or plight. You'll never find a copy of Elie Wiesel's "Night" on my bedside table. I'll admit: it's my own personal version of the ostrich sticking his head in the sand. I know how bad things can be, I know how inhumane humans can act...and reading about it usually makes me feel depressed, or cynical, or guilty. Or all of the above. But I saw the documentary film version of this book in the public library last summer. Attention-grabbing title. Awesome cover. I checked it out and showed it to my students. Then, when I saw the book in my school's library. I read a few random passages (my quick test to judge whether it's something that will catch me or not) and I gave it a try. And it's excellent.

It's been so long since we had our own civil war that it's hard to even imagine what it must be like. Imagine if soldiers in Utah decided that they wanted the whole Southwest to be one big Mormon state, so they started bombing "non-Mormon" Arizona towns, and forcing all non-Mormon Phoenix residents to march on foot through the desert to Mexico, sometimes with no food or water. Sounds crazy, right? Well, a similar situation basically happened for 20 years on the other side of the world. Recently.

The thing that I like about the book is the author's determination, his courage, and his ability to stay positive through it all. Enough of the hardships are described to give you a solid grasp of just how horrendous his life was, but he stays happy much of the time. Hunger by far is a worst punishment than war, which surprised me. "If I had plenty of food but risked violent death, I felt better than if I had starved in peaceful times," he writes. Definitely gives you perspective on your own life and troubles.

At times, when John Bul Dau would mention a date, I would think back to what I was probably doing at that time. For example, in May 1991, on a calm and overcast afternoon, he was eating some boiled maize on the riverbank. Hundreds of other boys relaxed and moved lazily. Then he heard the fttt of rocket-propelled granades being launched and the whump of nearby explosions. He leapt up, scattering cornmeal. On the horizon, a line of Ethiopian soldiers advanced. Not being a good swimmer, he frantically looked for a place where the edge dipped gently to meet the river so that he could cross. Finally, he just had to jump, a true leap of faith.... In May 1991, I had just finished my first year at UF. I had been employed at AMC Theatres for 4 months and was beginning the summer movie season with a new group of friends who spent most of their time working, watching movies, or hanging out, drinking a beer or two, living paycheck to paycheck. The hardest part of my life was trying to get a date and keeping my motorcycle running. It's wild to think of what was happening to John Bul Dau at the exact same time, and neither of us had any comprehension of the other one's life.

Anyway, I recommend the book, or if you prefer, the movie.

Why (this) Man Creates

I've been thinking about creativity lately.

The Grind

It's easy to fall into a fairly un-creative daily grind... go to work, come home, play with the kids, have dinner, get the kids to bed, and then participate in a miscellaneous twilight zone of mindless media (checking email, Facebook, or channel surfing) then bed. If I'm especially productive, I'll watch a Netflix movie instead of mindless TV channel-flipping.

But recently, I've been craving more. I'm getting re-introduced to my creative side.

The Past

I used to create regularly. In fact, I may have peaked during the period from 1989-1992. Though I played trumpet from 5th grade through 9th grade, I really got into music during my junior year of high school. I played bass, drums and some guitar, had a few bands, wrote a few songs. Nothing spectacular, but it was an outlet. I wrote articles for the school newspaper. Freshman year of college I even wrote a novel! Having no social life, I would hammer away at my word processor when not going to class. I didn't study very much, but I was writing. I haven't looked at that book since. I'm too afraid I'll be embarrassed by how bad it is. But I do still have it.

After I joined the AMC theatre crowd in 1991, filmmaking became my focus. My parents had permanently loaned me their Sony Handycam, so I made all kinds of short films. Even wrote, directed, and produced a trilogy of superhero movies called "Snot Man." The AMC people were always looking for a reason to party, so I'd make movies with AMC people and show them at parties. The biggest was probably the Snot Man 3 premiere party. Good times.

A Different Kind of Creation

I think it all slowed down when I fell in love with a clerk at the health department. Soon we were engaged, and being broke college students, I sold my bass guitar and amp to save money for the wedding. Life took on a new focus. Within 3 years, I was creating in a completely different way when our first daughter was born. Then, graduation and a real teaching job, more kids, and a busier and busier life.

Before I go any further, let me emphasize that my wife did not take away my creativity. Getting married and having kids was the best thing I could have done for my personal happiness and sense of life purpose. I think parenting is the most fulfilling kind of creation.

But still, in my moments of vegetation, when I'm flipping back and forth between CNN and VH1's "I Love the 80's," a part of my soul is lying dormant.

Whenever Cristina and I have one of those "Why don't you follow your bliss?" conversations, the subject of writing comes up. I've expressed my desire to write at times through the years. Not in an angry, resentful way. More in answer to the conversational question "What would you do if you didn't need to make money?" I always envisioned writing screenplays as a satisfying way of melding my love of writing with my love of movies and filmmaking. I'd love to write more fiction: short stories and novels. (I'm not as much into poetry.)

Dipping my Toe in the Water

A few recent events have nudged me once again towards the precipice of invention. The first was in 2006 when I was trained to teach reader's/writer's workshop. A good workshop class relies on good modeling. So with every writing assignment, I was writing along with the kids. And it felt good. It was like dusting off the old bike in the garage and taking it for a spin and realizing that the gears still worked and the seat still felt soft. Also, I wasn't reading enough before I started teaching reader's workshop. I still don't read as much as I'd like, but I usually have at least 2 books that I'm working on simultaneously. I read in class with my students. And it's a lot more tempting now to get in bed and read until sleepy than to watch "I Love the 80's."

Even though I was good at writing about daily events and observations whenever we travelled, it wasn't until late 2007 that I started to blog with some regularity. Blogging is kind of like running on a treadmill. It's not always fun and it's not always creative, but it keeps your writing muscles loosened up. And it helps me process thoughts and ideas. I've never been good at keeping a journal or diary. But I've been better at blogging.

Another moment of re-acquaintance with creativity happened in September 2008. Finding an old tape of my high school garage band's songs, I converted them to mp3 and sent them to the others. Inspired by this, my friend Steve recorded a new version of a song he and I had written back in 1992. (I blogged about this a few months ago.) It was just a demo, just playing around on his Mac with the program Garageband. But it inspired me to get back into music and songwriting. Within 2 months, I had purchased a used amp, a new bass, a studio-quality USB microphone, and a refurbished Macbook. This past weekend I bought a dry-erase board to keep track of all the new songs Steve and I are working on. During quiet moments in class, I'll sometimes think of a lyric and scribble something down on a post-it note. As I type this, I can feel the new calluses on the fingertips of my left hand. It feels great.

Recently I read Stephen King's non-fiction book On Writing: A Memoir of the Craft. It fired me up to set aside a time to read and write more and to keep the TV off as much as possible. "Reading is the creative center of a writer's life," he writes. "TV really is about the last thing an aspiring writer needs. Reading takes time, and the glass teat takes too much of it." I made a schedule that would give me an hour in the morning to write before the kids wake up and then an hour after the kids go to bed allotted for reading (or listening to an audiobook while working out). I haven't quite started that schedule yet, but it's in the works.

I'm keeping a list of story ideas, which may become novels, novellas, or short stories. Who knows. Got seven pretty good ones right now.

This semester I enrolled in a ceramics class at South Mountain Community College. I have no experience with ceramics, except for a little taste in a middle school art class (I still have the battered and chipped Garfield that I made. It's sitting on my computer desk at home). In the next few months, I'll get my first experience throwing on the wheel, making pinch pots, coil pots, sculpture, and other new stuff. Looking forward to it.

Thou Shall Not Covet Thy Neighbor's Creativity

Stephen King writes, "A novel like The Grapes of Wrath may fill a new writer with feelings of despair and good old-fashioned jealousy--"I'll never be able to write anything that good, not if I live to be a thousand"--but such feelings can also serve as a spur, goading the writer to work harder and aim higher."

Creativity is not a competition. That's a very liberating thought. Thanks to Facebook, I am keenly aware of friends from past and present whose creative pursuits are prominent parts of their lives. One of my best friends is a computer animator in Hollywood. A guy I went to high school with is playing in a band in Prague. The lead singer from our high school band writes for a TV sitcom. No despair or jealousy here. This is not about trying to be more creative than someone else. It's about scratching an itch that's needed to be scratched for years. I'm doing something. That's the important part.

This is about the rush that comes from having an idea and scrambling for a pencil to write it down. This is about the magic that happens when you write a song with someone else and take it from nothing to finished piece. This is about reading something great and recognizing the craftsmanship in the words.

Ending

I'm not sure how to end this post. Should I turn it into a recommendation for everyone to turn off their TV and find their inner artist? Or should I end on a note of gratitude? How about a cliche, like "creativity...it feeds my soul." Since creativity is not a finite resource, I'll just treat this post the same way and avoid an ending altogether. As I tell my students, "Stop looking for some kind of lame conclusion. Whatever you wrote last is your ending!"

YouTube Moment for the Day

Lynn, have you seen this one?

Judgment Day

In less than 6 hours, the Gators will play for their third National Championship.

Today in class, I mentioned something about the Gators and one of my new students said he hated the Gators. I gave him a hard time about it, then at the end of class, I asked him why.

He said he hates the Gators because he can never beat them in the NCAA Football video game.

I can live with that.

New Mexico Day 3

We designated Wednesday, New Year's Eve, as sledding day.  We headed up to the Cibola National Forest (elevation 8000 feet).  On the way, we borrowed a couple of sleds from some friends of Uncle Doug and Aunt Lynn's.  We had brought our little disc sled from Phoenix.

The surprise of the afternoon was Bella, who demonstrated the greatest sledding endurance.  It helped that it was a nice day, sunny and relatively warm (I think it was in the 50's).  Bella didn't want to leave.  She even ran into a big tree on her first solo trip down the hill, but she was undeterred.  Alex, on the other hand, got snow in his boots early on, so he was done early.

After sledding, we stopped for lunch at Burger Boy and tried an ostrich burger (tasted like beef).

Our iPod car charger crapped out the day before, so we made a quick detour about 8 miles up the freeway to Best Buy and got a new charger.

Back at home, we had a dinner of turkey and dressing.  Though Alex and Bella wanted to stay up to watch the ball drop at midnight, we put them to bed with the promise that we'd wake them up for the big moment, which we did.  We all watched the ball drop, then hit the sack.