Little Notes

I've been married to Abby for nineteen years. Long time. Love her more each day. Though, there are times when I remember that if I'd killed her the day I met her, I'd probably be out by now.

We have good times and bad times though more good than bad. We put effort into getting along and being happy and I don't mind saying we have a damn good sex life after all these years. We are lucky, we are fortunate; in a word we are blessed.

It's not easy, but it's not hard. We do the little things. We sometimes write each other little notes. Sometimes on paper, sometimes by text. We listen to one another. We make time for each other. We support each other.

Why do you care about this? I don't know. I don't care if you care about this. I do. It's good to have some stability. She is my rock. She gives me space to be myself and listens to me bitch and moan when being myself becomes too much to bear. I'd like to think I do the same for her.

I'll admit I have the easier end of the bargain. She's an intelligent, normal, stable person. I'm a writer. I'm manic-depressive. I'm temperamental. I'm an idiot.

So this post is a little note to my wife. The woman who took everything from me except my name, and gave me so much more than I could have reasonably expected and more than I could ever deserve.






Adolfo Jimenez is a writer living against his will in Hollywood, Florida.  His latest release is Scenes from a 1979 Ford Fairmont, a short book of poems. Get it on Amazon!

Check him out here!

Doing Writerly Things

I got a rare Saturday afternoon to myself today. My wife and older daughter are out of town. My younger daughter was at a party which I was not invited to. Rubber chicken and no booze. I'll get over it. I dropped her off and found a local bar. I sat down and ordered a very tall beer and lunch.

I was halfway through the beer before the food came. It was not yet noon. This is new to me. Not the eating. Not the drinking. The drinking before lunch before noon could be a thing, though I doubt it. Still, I ate. I drank. I was merry for a while.

I had one more very tall beer and finished my lunch but before then, I did a little writing. In my head and on my iPhone. I took notes for what may or may not become a poem, a short story, part of a book or nothing at all.

I texted a writer buddy of mine and told her this drinking alone at a bar before noon is the most writerly thing I've ever done. She agreed that it did indeed sound writerly. Whatever that means.

In Paris in the 20's, writers hung out in cafes not to be seen, but to take advantage of the heat. Now, people crack open their laptops in Starbucks because writing, it seems, is the least important part of being a writer. What matters is that you are recognized as a writer. It seems to be an excuse to be eccentric or not have a good job, or to drink on someone else's tab. I don't know how eccentric I am, but I pay for my own drinks with money I earn from my job.

Writerly things vary. Hemingway liked hunting and Fishing and Travel. Bukowski drank wine and loved L.A. Hunter S Thompson did every drug imaginable.  Two of these great men committed suicide. Is that writerly?

So go on and hang out in bars. Drink coffee, write in full view of the public, or pretend to write as you read Facebook posts about writing and answer idiotic questions posted in writers' groups. Perhaps you'll post some idiotic questions of your own.

But I would advise you to lift your head now and then. See what's happening around you? That's life. That's the stuff of literature. The world is what you need to understand if you really want to be a writer. Not the look, the looking. The listening, the watching. Soak in the smells of a place because they tell you as much about what's happening around you as anything else.

What it comes down to is that if you want to be a writer, there is only one thing you must do, and that is write. The rest is pretentious bullshit.




Adolfo Jimenez is a writer living against his will in Hollywood, Florida.  His latest release is Scenes from a 1979 Ford Fairmont, a short book of poems. Get it on Amazon!

Check him out here!

Digging Up The Past

Hemingway said you can't write what you don't know. What that means to the science fiction and fantasy writers I have no clue. But to writers like myself, his words are gospel. You can tell when a writer knows the subject.

I can't write about mountain climbing - never done it. I can, however, describe the fear of bridges. I'm not proud of it, but it's true. Bridges terrify me.

Our writing is informed by our experiences. I dare say what we read or the movies and TV we watch count as experience. Everything is fuel for the imagination. The more you take in, the more you can put out. It also helps to not be lazy. I can't tell you how many people I've met over the years who looked for shortcuts. Well, there are no shortcuts. Not to any place worth going. (I read that somewhere. It's not mine. I'm not that clever, but it illustrates the point. Read more, know more. Write more.)

So don't be afraid to write about old lovers or the bully from third grade who punched you and stole your lunch. If you were the bully, write about your experiences as an insecure asshole. It's all good. It all counts as raw material. Fuel for the fire.

Write what you know. Write it well. Write it now.

Well, go on. Do it!

- Adolfo






Adolfo Jimenez is an author, poet, blogger, and past-digger-upper living in Hollywood, FL .

Company Loves Misery

Or something like that...

I have attended a couple of meetings of a local writers' group. They meet at a library once a month. It's a casual gathering. A few people show up and we talk about books and someone might read. We talk movies, sports, hometowns, it's like a million first dates.

Part of me, a part I hardly recognize, wants structure. The part of me that is hones knows I'll probably complain about the meetings if they were structured. I have always hated structure. That ain't about to change.

I think the biggest benefit for me is that there are others who are going through the same thing I am going through. Someone understands. I told you that to tell you this:

It's okay to talk to someone. Not about writing, necessarily. I should say not only about writing. A friend of mine recently had a meltdown. She attacked me. I didn't take it personally. I recognized the symptoms. She was going through a lot and trying to take on the world by herself. Not a good idea. She had a couple of drinks and now has six stitches and what promises to be a fairly prominent scar on an otherwise beautiful face. I expect she'll rock the hell out of that scar.

Talk to someone who understands and cares. Talk to someone who's been there. Just talk to someone.




Adolfo Jimenez is not a mental health expert, though he has known several over the years. He is a writer, blogger, poet, husband, and dad living in Hollywood, Florida.

Do Something

Just do something. It won't always be great. That's okay. The important thing is that you do something. You can always go back and edit your work.

It was my birthday last night. Always a painful day for me. Some might say by choice. I went out with my wife and daughters. We ate a lot and drank a little. I have to reverse that. Food kills me in a way that booze doesn't. Don't know why. It just does.

I've been up since three this morning. I read for a while, then I tried to go back to sleep. Nope. I read a little more. Tried to sleep again. Nothing doing.

I finally dragged my fat ass out of bed around 7:30. I feel like I ate a car battery. But here I am, writing this blog. I also wrote a poem about the experience. Why let a gastrointestinal crisis go to waste?

There is something to be gained from every experience. As a writer, I want to write about these experiences. I want to share them. That's what I mean about not letting them go to waste. The story itself may not be great, but there may be some splinter of usefulness in there somewhere. And besides, it keeps the muscles loose.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go vomit.






Adolfo Jimenez is an old fart living in Hollywood, FL. He is an author, poet, blogger, and drinker. He is not a competitive eater. His website is http://www.adolfojimenez.com 

Tough Choices

Being a writer is a lot like being a minor god. You are the god for the universe you are creating. Even if there is a god in your story, you tell him what to do.

Don't let that go to your head.

You're still just a schmuck like the rest of us.

I recently published a novella, The Man in the Gray Sky. I sold a few copies, gave a few copies away, and felt good about it over all.

Then I read it.

I withdrew it. With the perspective only time can give, I realized the book wasn't ready to be published. I was like a kid on his way to Disney, jumping out of the car before his dad parked the car. (Yes, this happened when I was a kid... many times, many places!)

It was tough to unpublish my book. It was like admitting defeat. Again, as I take a little time to think about it. It's not an admission of defeat. It's a momentary retreat to regroup and resume the attack.

This has given me a chance to rethink the book and the follow-up to it, which I just finished a week ago, and the direction of the series and the characters. There is no shame in pulling out. In this case, it's a very responsible thing to do. My readers will appreciate it - both of them.

Discouragement

Last night was rough.

I fell asleep fast, though late. I had a dream that woke me up and went back to sleep.
I woke up late.
Exhausted.
Unable to work.

But I sat at my desk.
And I tried.
And I tried.
And I tried.
I couldn't get no... satisfactory work done.

It's not writer's block.
It's not the end of the world.
It's calling in sick.
I need a day to shake this... feeling.
It's just... one of those things.