California Mindset

The beauty of this great state lies in its diversity of people and places.

I was on the East Coast a while back to savor the salty brine of the Chesapeake Bay and the cloister phobic cacophony that is New York City. While both were replete with their own virtues and charms I once again found myself dreaming cross country to the land of wild dreams, mythical goddesses and eternal sunshine.

Perhaps it started back in the mid-50’s when well-to-do families started to fly off to Hawaii for vacation. Maybe it was the mid-sixties when the Beach Boys and their surfing music introduced us mid-westerners to the California beach scene. By the time ‘Beach Blanket Bingo’ came along we had all been inundated with beach party / surfing movies starring Annette Funichello and Frankie Avalon. Most of my friends and I totally bought into that fantasy image of the California sun, sand and beach bunnies. We were hooked. California has been doing that to out-of-staters ever since.

The migration to California has been going on since before the great depression and continues to this day. For the snowbirds it’s like watching the seasonal migration of the wildebeest in a Disney nature film; clean, sanitized and kid-friendly. Despite its roller-coaster economics and left-leaning politics, California continues to attract old and young alike.

For some reason the state seems to hold fast to its long-held moniker that ‘whatever happens first on the coast will eventually move to the Midwest and then the other coast.’ Whether it is massive housing developments, movie magic, new computer technologies, solar initiatives, fashion trends or otherwise innovative, invasive, or surprising new trends in all sectors of our lives, many of them seem to happen first there. Perhaps that’s why I like the place so much. As much as I like the Midwest, California speaks to me in a voice that is fresh, exciting and at times provocative.

It’s the perfect environment for a writer trying to observe and capture a fifty-year class reunion as an unobtrusive speck on the wall.  ‘Riot’ was born here as well as ‘Debris’ and some tales of the wild west. There always seems to be more plays and novels to write here.

California is the perfect natural setting for such ventures. Its manicured golf courses and clear blue skies belie an undercurrent of mystery and intrigue and confusing lives. What more perfect setting for the creative mind. The warm sun beckons. The mountains are calling. The ocean is just over the horizon and I get to ruminate all those stories swirling about in my head. It’s all good.

Hearing Voices

I heard a speaker not too long ago and what he said really resonated with me. He talked about hearing voices inside his head. It was his fictional characters carrying on a scene he was trying to capture on paper. This man had become an unobtrusive third party trying to capture the anxiety and angst of a heated conversation. He was a writer.

Been there, done that. It happens to me all the time. Every writer tackles story-telling in their own way. Whatever works best for them? Yet writing styles vary with one’s personality, intensity of focus, level of patience and determination. Despite a plethora of advice from writing magazines and web sites, there is no ‘one approach fits all’ truth to writing styles. No single approach answers every writer’s needs.

This speaker went on to say he thought there are different types of writers and many could be compared to certain types of animals. He saw himself as a snake. By that he meant that as a writer he tended to know where he was going to start his story and how his story would end. But between the beginning and his ending was a long and winding pathway he couldn’t predict even if he wanted to.

Intrigued with that concept, I googled the various types of writers we can pin down or define. Seems there are a lot. One web site called Paper Fury defined ten various types of writers. Another site, One Space, defined six types of freelance writing. Writing-World.Com has created a long list of writing types from academic writers to writers of erotica and a lot in between.

Envisioning writing styles to the animal world is a whimsical way of describing them. For example, I imagine there is the prairie dog. Ideas keep popping up-are knocked down-and others just keep popping up again. When and where the next idea comes from is anyone’s guess. How the story ends (to both the writer and the reader) remains a mystery until it finally happens.

A chameleon keeps his changing story lines like changing colors. There are just so many to choose from and others keep popping up all the time. There are sticky-notes, napkins, notebooks, chalk boards and e-mail messages to document them all. The ideas are great. The writer just needs to find the time to make use of them all.

The elephant is slow and methodical. There are huge outlines and plot structures and treatments that can go on forever. No need for speed until the writer knows exactly where he or she is going. Of course, this is all based on an assumption that at some point all that planning will evolve into something substantial and end up in print or on the computer screen.

The cheetah is fast, very fast. Book in a month, forget it. The cheetah continues to pound out the chapters regardless of spelling errors, wandering plot lines or divergent personality changes. Fast and furious is the name of the game. Until the well runs dry and the blank screen causes head-aches and a cessation of the verbal attack for a while.

The dinosaur is like a one-hit wonder that never quite gets to the publishing stage. The one book written is in a constant state of flux with rewriting, plot changes, more editing needed and a constant worry that the subject matter is already passé. It’s procrastination at its finest.

Then there is the tortoise which is where my wife has pegged my personality. Upon reflection, I guess she’s probably right. Slow and methodical with a parcel of projects always in flux. This tortoise is like an octopus with writing tentacles reaching out to blogs, plays, novels, screenplays and an assortment of treatments, story ideas and speaking outlines.

My stories are character-driven and (I’d like to believe) carefully thought out with honesty and a reflection of what life events I see around me or imagine there. It’s embellished by my curiosity, past life experiences, my hopes and imagination coupled with a fervent desire to tell a good story.

This whole writing gig has been a long time in coming; sixty plus years. But it’s a pleasant new addiction to replace hard pavement and dirt trails. It’s the accumulation of lives led, experiences good and bad and a soul-satisfying trip back inside my head.  It’s a journey that satisfies every day…just the steady tapping of fingers on the keyboard and a mind running rampant with no end in sight.

Long and Winding Road

I wanted to get lost inside my head.

After a summer of play productions, self-published books and speaking engagements I thought a thousand foot precipice overlooking the Coachella Valley would be a good place to start. So one of the first things I did upon my return to the desert…was climb a mountain.

The granite plateau is a pivotal point in Book Three of my ‘Debris’ series. It’s where one of the protagonists goes to meditate and think about the ghost of Tahquitz Canyon. I figured if it was good enough for him, why not me.

It wasn’t just any cliff face but my favorite sanctuary of solitude and comfort. It’s my granite tabernacle for reflection and contemplation. A slab of rock that warms my bottom as well as my soul. An escape for quiet soul-searching amid the shadows of Indian lore and homes of the rich and invisible.

I call it my Vision Quest with a reverent nod to Native American lore. Only this year it’s different. Hopefully I’m a little wiser if not a bit older. Reflections seem to trip forth easier with age. Here I reflect. I meditate and I plan for the future. The San Jacinto mountain chain is a great place to recharge one’s creative batteries.

The Coachella Valley is shouldered by several mountain chains which have imbued this area with numerous opportunities to seek solace, quiet reflection, exercise and release from the routine of our daily lives.

Something magical, almost spiritual, can happen during a mountain traverse. It’s a physical as well as mental challenge. At face value, it can be an afternoon of hiking, climbing or finger-probing the rough crags and fissures of the mountain face. On a more spiritual level, it’s an assent into the vaulted realm of oxygen deprivation, aching muscles, sweat-drenched clothing and overall mental exhilaration…all to put your head in the right place.

There’s a culture here among a small group of old goats who work and hike these mountains year round.  They care for the trails as an elder does the tribe. They endure scorching summer heat and windy overcast winter days. Most are rail-thin. Their skin looks like weathered copper or dried up old parchment. Most of them are lithe as an antelope. They’re the desert rats of the higher altitudes.

Following that elite group of desert denizens come another eccentric group of trail runners and new age meditators.  They frequent the mountains like others hang out at Starbucks. Finally come the tourists, snowbirds and occasional weekend explorer (many with families in tow.)

In the spring, the trail is accented with blooming yellow brittlebush and flowering cacti…and at times an abundance of rattlesnakes. These rattlesnakes are usually very difficult to see since their coloration blends in perfectly with the rocks and gravel on the trail. One bite and it’s off to the hospital for several vials of antivenin serum. It’s an expensive proposition at several thousand dollars per vial.

    

There are picnic tables at the top which are perfect for casual reflection without worrying about some rattlesnake biting you on the butt. Scenic vistas go on forever in a field of quiet that is almost deafening. Along with dreams and meandering what-ifs, it’s a perfect place to escape within your head and do some exploring there. But it still doesn’t compare to my tabernacle.

I’ve tried yoga, marathons and long trail runs. Collectively they can punish the body all the while soothing the soul. My tabernacle is no different. It just takes a longer climb to get there.