It’s amazing how quickly my life shifted from the break-neck pace of “figure out what the hell is wrong with me” to the post diagnosis frantic rush of “kill it with fire.” On the heels of a both a bone marrow and lymph node biopsy I was now going to have a port implanted into my chest. That’s 3 medical procedures, two of which involved twilight anesthetic, within the span of less than 20 days.  In between all the slicing and dicing my days were littered with doctor’s visits, surgical consultations, and phone calls tracking down the various test results.

I was on over-drive trying to keep my head above water after being thrown into the deep end of the cancer pool. There was never a moment to reflect on what was happening to me or how I felt about it. All I could do was go through the motions as the events unfolded around me. When my first chemotherapy session was scheduled I didn’t have time for questions or even fear. It was just another step in the marathon I was blindly running through.

Hotel California

My first chemo session was the day after my port surgery which sadly landed on February 14th. Definitely a buzz kill. My surgeon had assured me that the port was safe to use soon after its installation, going as far to say that I could have used it the very same day it went in. Call me old fashioned, but I was glad that at least 24 hours had passed before they started pumping poison directly into my heart. Going to a hospital for my first chemo didn’t raise any red flags because honestly I assumed that’s how the process started. In hindsight maybe I should have raised my hand and asked a question.

The room they put me in was nice enough by hospital standards. My expectation, and that of the nurses setting me up, was that I’d go through my chemo in less than a day and then be released back into the wild. Fun fact about chemo, it’s poison in a bag that’s shot into your veins to destroy cancer cells (and the occasional healthy cells that get in the way). Let me re-iterate, it’s basically poison and even though its purpose is to cure you of your cancer there are some nasty side effects that come along for the ride. I’m not talking about the usual nausea or hair loss, but the drug specific ones depending on the cocktail they’ve mixed for you.  Steroids and other lovely substances were thrown into my breakfast blend, but the Billy Badass drug that was specially geared for my flavor of cancer was Rituxan. That sucker opened a can of whoop ass on my cancer cells. The only problem was that its side effects were severe on a good day and downright scary when it really didn’t like you.

Shit Hits the Fan

The chemo cocktail is put together by your oncologist based on the type of cancer you’re fighting with additional drugs thrown in to make the treatment more easily accepted by your body like steroids and antihistamines.  As scientific as this sounds there’s still a lot of guesswork involved such as what order to administer the drugs in and how quickly to pump them into your veins.

The prep drugs were shot into me first (‘roids and Benadryl) to smooth the way and completed without incident.  Then the aforementioned Billy Badass, Rituxan, was hooked up to my IV.  They started with a 50ml push and after a while kicked it up to 100ml.  3 minutes after they upped the dosage my body temperature felt like it had dropped 30 degrees.  Then I started convulsing.  This wasn’t a “bite your tongue” seizure, but an equally painful and uncontrollable shaking known as Rigors.

Every single muscle in my body clenched with the effort of an Olympic power lifter while my teeth chattered like a wind-up toy.  My body immediately curled into itself and I was unable to straighten myself out.  The nurses, wild-eyed young things reeking of fear, threw blankets on top of me thinking it would help.  They tried putting a heart rate monitor on my fingertip, but I couldn’t open my hands and they couldn’t pry my fingers apart.  When it was finally attached I just watched as the numbers climbed… 150, 160, 170.  My bed was surrounded by 5 nurses, all staring at me, as I flexed my jaw as hard as I could to keep my teeth from breaking on impact.  I pleaded with them to help me through strained words that struggled past grinding teeth and by pouring my eyes into theirs, hoping they could read the thoughts frantically racing behind them.

One of them tried to hold me, but I rocked her like a mechanical bull.  The others stood paralyzed.  I honestly don’t know if I even registered as a human being to some of them instead playing out like a live action snuff film.  The one sentence I remember being able to get out, over and over again, was “call my wife… call my wife.”  The nurses assured me everything would be fine, but even in my state I could smell their bullshit.  I was paralyzed with the fear that this would end me and I wouldn’t be able to see Ra one last time.  They didn’t call and I was incapable of dialing a phone, so I continued shaking while they scrambled about like the Keystone Kops.

I don’t know how long the entire episode lasted, but Ra did walk into the room, having already been on her way to the hospital, to find me in the thick of it.  She moved the nurse I had bucked off earlier aside and held me as tightly as she could.  For the first time since the Rigors started my body slowed its shaking.  If that’s not proof I was meant to be Ra’s I don’t know what is because my girl’s touch was a comfort unlike any I had ever felt before.

The lead nurse, aptly named Grace, was the only one to keep any semblance of sanity during the entire ordeal.  She cut off the Rituxan and pushed delicious pain-killers, I think Demerol, into my twitching body.  Between Ra and the narcotics my heart finally started to slow down even though the muscles still fiercely spasmed.  At some point I was able to uncoil my body.  After that I just focused on breathing.  The doctors later informed us that my rigors were a well known side effect of Rituxan.  I’m glad they knew, but it would have been real fucking helpful if the nurses and I had been let in on the secret.

And with that my one day of chemo suddenly transformed into a full-fledged hospitalization.  I wish I could tell you that this was the worst of it, but the week that followed will forever go down as the worst of my entire existence.

Part two of this lovely tale will delve into the joys of hospitalization, fun with drug interactions, and further proof of the axiom “not all nurses are created equally.”  Hit me up in the comments or on Twitter @gabrielnovo if you like.  I can’t be the only person to have experienced this level of insanity.  You can also have these nuggets of joy delivered directly to your inbox or share them with a friend using the buttons below.

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2012 began for me in the same way I believe it began for most people; with the hope that it would be better than the year before and the nagging suspicion that it probably wouldn’t.  My own suspicion was confirmed far earlier than I would have liked it.  In the height of my New Year’s Eve revelry I decided that doing a headstand would be the best way to celebrate another year in the dust.  Of course I completely ignored the fact that I’m a slightly out of shape IT consultant and much older than I think I am.  As my ill-conceived head stand began to wobble I compounded my idiocy by attempting to correct it using my rippling abdominal muscles (which are completely imaginary).  Shooting pain through my back’s entire muscular system along with a healthy dose of throbbing pain in my abs quickly proved to me why this had never been a good idea.  Being the bull headed-male I often am, I took a muscle relaxer, some pain killers, and called it a night.

The next morning my back and stomach didn’t waste any time reminding me of the previous night’s stupidity.  I chalked it up to an older body not healing as quickly as it used to and continued with my day.  Luckily I didn’t have to fly that week, so my body was able to recuperate a bit, but I still found my stomach area (most notably the left side of my diaphragm right under the ribs) to be tender and slightly swollen.  The next week I had to fly out to a client site, on a regional jet, which is just as uncomfortable as a regular jet only smaller.  I kept up my diet of painkillers and muscle relaxers (a frequent flier’s magic recipe) which helped me get through the hassles of travel.  On my return home I found that same stomach area to be just as swollen as when I first hurt it with the pain increasing instead of fading.  At this point I couldn’t ignore it any longer and finally scheduled a doctor’s visit.

OUCH

Nothing is more fun than retelling the tale of how you foolishly injured yourself before the new year could even get started.  My Doc got a chuckle out of it and then commenced with the poking and prodding his profession is famous for.  When he got to the swollen area of my stomach he was a little concerned.  He cautiously agreed with my pulled muscle assessment, but thought there might be blood pooling underneath it from a small tear.  A CAT scan was immediately recommended.  Just to make sure he had another doctor in the office give me a once over.  The second doctor was even more concerned than the first and went so far as to suggest it could be my spleen.  The CAT scan was unanimous and I was scheduled for one the day after next.

CAT scans, in and of themselves, are not horrible.  However, the iodine mixture that they need to inject into your body for the proper picture is downright ghastly.  The side effects are miserable, ranging from nausea (which I had in buckets) to an intense warmth that feels like your insides are cooking (had that too, especially in the crotch area….weird).  I’m glad we got the image in one take because I spent the next 15 minutes trying not to puke all over the kind technician’s shoes.  Still a little woozy and filled up to my eyeballs with iodine I drove from the hospital directly over to my doctor’s office for the post CAT scan meeting.

Here’s where the fun started.  The muscle that I thought had been pulled was actually my spleen.  Not only was my spleen visible, when it should never be felt outside of the ribcage as per the image on the right, but it had swollen down almost to my navel.  One thing I failed to mention earlier in this post is that while traveling for work I was trying to lose weight (gotta stick to those New Year’s resolutions).  I was more successful than usual yet attributed it to my newly found willpower.  My doctor informed me that the 20 lbs. I had lost (I didn’t even notice it had been that severe) was actually due to the spleen eating up all my calories in its race to grow to a mammoth size.

The Whirlwind

Referrals to specialists were made and last minute appointments were hastily schedule giving me zero chance to process what I was being told.  I was sent to an oncologist’s office to further discuss what this misbehaving spleen might really mean.  Yup, an oncologist was my next step.  This was scary as fuck.  My new Doc told me that we would have to conduct a couple of procedures in order to be sure of what we were dealing with.  In my entire life I had never broken a bone or had a medical procedure performed and now I was staring down the barrel of several.

The first was a lymph node biopsy.  Sounded simple enough, but when hospital officials started talking about living wills and medical powers of attorney it made my supposedly routine surgery feel like I was about to be cut from throat to crotch with a rusty bone saw.  Being a horror writer you can imagine the other grisly images that came along with that particular flight of fancy.  Thankfully the surgery was routine.  As they administered the twilight anesthetic I went from being transferred onto the surgery table to then instantaneously waking up in the recovery area.  I was groggy, loopy, just a little high, and incredibly fucking relieved to be awake.

The second procedure was another biopsy this time of my bone marrow.  You see punctures being performed willy nilly in medical dramas like they’re a walk in the park, but when you see your doctor covered in sweat once he’s done you know that it was a fucking ordeal.  The entire time my overriding fear was flinching as he ground the needle into my hip and accidentally causing a slip that would puncture a much less forgiving organ.

Survey Says

Waiting for the results of these tests was a fucking mind killer.  The anticipation was far from the delicious kind in Willy Wonka or Rocky Horror.  I called each doctor almost daily trying to find the status of the lab’s progress.  One set of results came in, but I still had to wait for the other before returning to my new Doc and processing it all.  Finally, when all the results OFFICIALLY came in I geared myself up for what would be the most important medical visit of my life.  My mind had been frazzled for quite a while, with still no time to slow down and reflect on what was happening to me, so I was grateful when the Doc allowed me to record our conversation.

Most of the conversation was a blur as my body was fiercely tensed awaiting the words which would irrecoverably fuck my shit up.  Doc had reviewed the results with the surgeon who performed the lymph node biopsy, reviewed his own results from the bone marrow biopsy and even brought in the professional opinion of a specialist from Duke University.  As gently as he could, in his small examination room where I clenched my wife’s hand, he told me I had cancer.  Non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma to be specific and two types to be even more accurate, one in my spleen and another in my bone marrow.  He went on to tell me it was aggressive, late stage and rare in a person of my age.  I had the cancer of a 70 year old ravaging my 31 year old body.  As crushing as the prognosis sounded there was no talk of X number of months to live or even death itself.  Modern medicine had been battling these particular strains for some time now and as long as I didn’t delay a single iota in starting my treatment I had a fighting chance of making it through the gauntlet.

What came next is for another time as I know that there’s been enough of my blood drained into these words already.

Why am I writing this?

First and foremost I need to personally thank the few people I’ve told directly about my medical challenges and their discretion.  I hope you don’t feel betrayed by my decision to now share these details publicly.  I’m still not sure why I’m doing it.  I don’t know if this will be the first in a series or my only words on the matter.  Will this be cathartic?  Is it an attempt at a meager written legacy?  So much of this requires a level of self-reflection that I just can’t give right now.  The one thing I do know with certainty is that these words chipped away a portion of the stone I now carry and even a miniscule lightening of the load is integral to my survival.

I have no expectations for this post.  It’s not a pity party or a cry for attention.  It is the simple baring of a soul while I still have a soul to share.  It is the drive to write that even in the direst of circumstances is an addiction that must be sated.  This is me, plainly and without polish.

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I was a voracious reader as a child and even through middle school until high school (aka sex & alcohol) took over my lizard brain.  As an adult I found movies to be a great story substitute and my reading habits almost disappeared entirely.  The writer in me struggled during these dry periods without any real sustenance to keep my creative muscles healthy.  When I decided to bring back writing as a priority I knew I’d have to dive into books with the same hunger I once had in my childhood.

Being an IT consultant made book reading more difficult than usual.  My infatuation with dead trees limited how much I could read while traveling.  I’d sometimes stuff a paperback into my laptop bag, but if the book only came in hardcover, forget it.  If I wanted more variety I couldn’t justify the extra weight (my work bag was already loaded with tons of cables and gadgets). This meant that the most I could read in a one week trip was ONE book even though I could easily knock out a book in a day or two. With all the hassle I’d often forego a book entirely.  Reading on any kind of LCD screen was no better and would kill my eyes.  I stare at LCDs all day long for work, so the last thing I wanted to do is stare at them when I’m supposed to be relaxing.  If I absolutely had to read something lengthy off of my computer I’d either print it out or skip it altogether.

This was my dilemma, how could I devour books at a breakneck speed if I could only bring along one paperback at a time?  My desire to consume more words along with my travel restrictions were what finally drove me to join the e-reader club.  We all have different reasons for making certain decisions, but I wanted to share mine and show how a rabid bibliophile could morph into a fanatical Kindle user.

Weight & Size

Throwing a paperback into my laptop bag meant more weight on my shoulders and less space for other essentials.  This made a second book out of the question and the first one hard to justify.  With the Kindle’s slim profile I was able to slip it into an unobtrusive pocket which made almost no difference in the amount of space I had in my bag.  The weight is roughly the same, so it was a wash on that front.  No matter how many books I carried in the Kindle, my bag never weighed any heavier or suffered from a lack of room.  It allowed me the depth of reading material I always wanted.  This convenience alone was one of the top selling points for me.

Variety

Oftentimes as readers we get stuck in our familiar genres or trapped in the wake of our favorite authors.  This typically isn’t a problem until you hit the wall of sameness that every genre has or you’ve read the author’s entire bibliography.  Access to the online Kindle store through 3G–because let’s face it folks, you can never find a Wi-Fi signal when you need one—opened up a whole library of titles for me to choose from.  I could dip my toes in different genres without incurring any cost by downloading samples (the first couple of chapters) of almost any book.  There were even free titles I could consume completely.  If you’re an Amazon Prime member, which I am, then you have the ability to check out one book a month from participating publishers.  It may sound limited, but the selection has been pretty good so far.  You could even send documents to your Kindle for reading on the device.  I read through several manuscripts this way and not only was it easy, but I was able to write my notes directly into the doc thru the Kindle.

Ease of Use

There is a HUGE difference between LCD screens and E-Ink screens.  The glare and eyestrain associated with LCD are nonexistent with E-Ink.  If I were to put a paperback and my Kindle side by side, you’d be hard pressed to notice any difference in reading quality.  I’ve sat on planes right next to folks using a tablet or phone to read their books and every time it has reaffirmed my decision to go with a Kindle.  No matter how long I’d used mine (sometimes hours at a time) it never hurt my eyes in any way.  Also, the touch interface made reading a breeze.  No more broken spines to worry about or cramped hands from trying to keep the spines immaculate.  A simple tap here or there navigated through the book, highlighted a phrase or brought up a definition for a word.  This was a smooth combination of technology and tradition.

When I ordered the Kindle I also picked up a leather cover with a built-in LED reading light.  The cover didn’t arrive until a couple of days after the Kindle which I had been using naked in the meantime.  Putting the cover on the Kindle added something to the reading experience that I didn’t know I was missing.  Opening and closing the cover to read the Kindle replicated the same feeling I had opening and closing a nice leather bound book.  I hadn’t realized how important this simple tactile sensation was.  Suddenly, my Kindle experience brought me back to when I used to read my father’s Franklin Mint leather bound classics under the covers with a flashlight, something I hadn’t thought of in years.  That unexpected gem made me fall in love with the device.

I’ve read more books since receiving my Kindle than I have in all of last year.  That goes to show not only that the Kindle was a solid purchase, but how badly books have been missing from my life.  Armed with my shiny new Kindle I have high hopes for the year ahead.

What has your experience with the Kindle Touch been like? Let me know in the comments or shoot me a tweet @gabrielnovo. If you enjoy these articles then have them delivered to your inbox.

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I’m a movie nut in all conceivable ways.  If allowed, I would spend thousands of dollars to build up my DVD collection, in a single purchase… every couple of months.  One of the few topics I still speak passionately about is film and my knowledge of it is more encyclopedic than my knowledge of Information Technology (shhh, don’t tell anyone).  My ultimate goal, which I’m actively working on, is to become involved in the film industry (creating and producing not acting or directing).  Movies have always been a natural extension for a kid who’s been obsessed with stories since the moment he could read.

Reflecting on all this I asked myself, Just how fanatical am I about movies?  My answer is this little experiment which I will start conducting on January 1st:  I will keep a log of every single movie I watch for the entirety of 2012.  I’ll also keep track of their run times in order to determine how many hours of my life I’ve spent consuming film.  The idea came to me when I stumbled across an old list I kept from when I first bought my plasma TV.  I was trying to determine when I had crossed the first 200 hours of use which is when plasma TVs are most prone to burn in.

It’ll be interesting to see just how much of my life is dedicated to movies.  Quite possibly it’s one of those sobering statistics that no one pays attention to until someone crunches the numbers.  Hell, I hope I have the dedication to keep on track from an entire year.  Compiling statistics is not what I would consider a good time, but hopefully I can bring some of my RPG nerdiness to bear and it’ll keep me motivated.

Are you just as nutso about films as I am? Want to join me in this experiment? Let me know in the comments or shoot me a tweet @gabrielnovo. If you enjoy these articles then have them delivered to your inbox.

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People often complain about the lack of free time in their lives.  They burn through days running on the hamster wheel of modern living all the while bemoaning; If only I had more time I could finally <learn that language/write that book/take that trip> I always wanted to.  For most it’s the daily unease which permeates their existence, an irksome white noise constantly in the background.

I’m guilty of this as much as the next person, but I fall into another camp struggling with this issue.  I’m making the commitment to change my approach and use the hours I have at my disposal to meet the goals I want out of life.  As it has been said many times in aspiring writer circles, all it takes is an hour a day to accomplish any of your writing goals.

I decided that instead of having a nebulous "hour" which needed to be met every day that I would turn it into something more tangible.  The picture at the beginning of this post is my "hour".  I can touch it, look at it and I know what it sounds like.  When I pull the hour out of my book bag I know my mindset will begin to shift and the writing wheels will screech to life.  As I turn the dial it begins the ritual I have now committed myself to, the ritual of stealing back an hour from the day so I can use it to move my dreams forward.  Building this habit will be hard at first, excuses piling up as Resistance kicks my ass, but hopefully it will soon transform from a chore into an addiction. 

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Over a year and half ago I discovered Mark McGuinness and his site, Lateral Action.  I’ve spoken about them many times on this blog because he has consistently helped me to grow.  As a writer I’ve taken his numerous lessons on creativity to heart, leveraging both his experience as a writer and a creative coach to further refine my ability with words.  As an underachiever his articles on productivity and removing roadblocks to success have been invaluable.  Many times it felt as if he were describing my own struggles to an uncanny degree.

My previous post—where I demanded of myself to “make it happen or STFU“—was tinged with anger, but mostly fueled by frustration.  The desire to change the direction of my life has been eating away at me for over 3 years now and as much as I say I want it, I haven’t taken the steps necessary to start the process.  I’ve been caught in a loop of dissatisfaction which has often times felt unbreakable.  The pressures of adult responsibility and the uncertainty of a world gripped in financial chaos have made it impossible to muster the courage needed to take a leap of faith.

For all the hours spent reading Mark’s creative tips, I wasn’t really paying attention to his entrepreneurial advice.  Here was a man, prolific in several realms (writing, public speaking, coaching), living a creatively fueled life and I wasn’t absorbing how he accomplished it even though he was laying it out article by article.  That’s a mistake I’m no longer willing to make.

I just read Mark’s new free e-book Freedom, Money, Time and the Key to Creative Success (affiliate link) and it couldn’t have appeared at a better time. Download a copy and see for yourself.  He nailed it perfectly when he wrote:

Creative people need three things to be happy:

1. Freedom – to do what you want, when you want and how you want it. Not just in holidays and spare time – but also doing meaningful work, in your own way.
2. Money – to maintain your independence and fund your creative projects. Of course you want a nice place to live, but you’re not so worried about a bigger car than the guy next door. You’d rather spend money on experiences than status symbols.
3. Time – to spend as you please, exploring the world and allowing your mind to wander in search of new ideas.

Usually, you’re lucky if you get two out of the three. But if one of them is missing, it compromises the other two.

Without money, you don’t have much freedom, because you have to spend your time chasing cash.

Without time off, money doesn’t buy you a lot of freedom.

And if you’re doing something you hate for a living, it doesn’t matter how big your salary is, or how much holiday you get. You still feel trapped.

If that doesn’t sum up my experiences for the last 3 years I don’t know what will.  I’ve constantly been juggling the three and never finding the balance to enjoy any of them.

The one thing I’ve lacked in my quest for a better direction is the commitment to see it all the way through.  Half starts are littered all around me adding to the ever looming mountain of frustration.  It’s as if I’m drowning in a pile of my own dreams because none of them have taken flight.  I can’t keep treading these waters, so I’ll have to do the one thing I know I’m not; commit myself to my creative success.  Not false starts and abandoned hopes, but real elbow grease with real results.

Downloading and devouring Freedom, Money, Time and the Key to Creative Success (affiliate link) was my first step.  Putting in the serious effort I know it deserves is my next step.  It’s going to be a long run, but I think I’m finally ready.  Who’s coming with me?

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I’ve really been struggling with this lately.  The push and pull of opposing motivations each packed with their own idiosyncrasies and justifications.  A culture geared in one direction while a dream works in direct opposition.  Anyone familiar with Steven Pressfield knows about "The War of Art".  In the book he describes the force which stymies any artist pursuing their art.  He calls it Resistance and it’s the perfect label.  Like the Prince of Lies himself, it has many faces, many tactics and will constantly surprise you. 

Resistance alone is enough to cripple many budding artists, keeping their would-be works in a never-was state.  Couple Resistance with a culture of consumption and you find yourself in a perfect storm.  When all you’re told to do is buy, consume, eat, and indulge, when is there time for self reflection or actual creation? 

I want to write another 1000 words for my short story, but the NCIS marathon is on.

A guest post for that big site would be killer, but not before I check my emails, blogs, Facebook, Twitter…

If I wasn’t so tired after work I’d finally create that e-book I know my readers will love.

Does any of this sound familiar to you?  The excuses might not be the same, but I’m sure the tone is.  Why can’t we move forward on our dreams when by definition alone dreams are things we desire?  When you’ve been running in place for so long—with the horizon still as far away as ever—you begin to wonder if the goal is really what you want or merely the pursuit of the goal.

In a society that rewards mediocrity and complacency it is extremely difficult to break out of the common routines.  The best way I can put it is, imagine a conversation between someone who has traveled internationally and someone who has never left the city they were born in.  The burning desire to explore the world is an alien concept to the person content with their tiny circle of existence.  Both parties end up frustrated because they can’t understand one another.  Sometimes I feel like this dichotomy results in a "crabs in a barrel" situation where society at large pulls down those who want more out of life.  It’s hard to build a support base to achieve your goals when all you get are blank stares from those around you.

Make It Happen or STFU

This is the point I’ve reached with myself.  I mean, honestly, how long can someone say they’re going to do something or half-ass doing something before it becomes a sad never ending loop of futility?  This is going to be the year I make it happen.  I NEED to make the transition to a creatively focused and driven life.   At the rate that life’s been telling me I’m on the wrong track I’m going to end up being hit by a train if I don’t start listening.

My motto for this year has to be: Make It Happen or STFU.

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Many will agree that 2010 was a crap year.  For some it was the worst year they’d ever had.  For me it was a barely less crappy extension of 2009.  Still shitty in many respects, but after the hellacious 2009 in Los Angeles anything was better.  In spite of this there were a few good moments worth remembering.  To forget history is to repeat it, so I hope that in recapping the year I will prevent myself from dragging its misfortunes into the next one.

Highs

• Destroying My Debt: Los Angeles dropped a nuclear bomb on my finances in ’09 and the move to South Florida in ’10 was an attempt to reduce the damage.  With several strong consulting projects back-to-back and a monk like approach to our living situation I was able to eliminate the debt from all 4 of my credit cards.  It was no small feat or amount.  Thankfully I wasn’t trapped in the mortgage hell that would have made this accomplishment impossible.  There’s something to be said for staying nimble.
• NYC Midnight Short Story Challenge: With as long as I’ve been writing I had never entered a contest before.  This challenge came to my attention from the lovely ladies at King is a Fink.  Their participation in the NYC Midnight script challenges along with a glowing recommendation of the organization’s process convinced me to throw my hat in the ring. Out of 22 authors in my heat (Genre: Spy, Subject: A News Anchor) I came in third with my story “Retirement”.  I missed the cut to advance to the finals, but for my first contest entry ever to have placed so well made me immensely proud.  I’m trying my hand again in 2011 and maybe this time I’ll make it to the finals.
• Creative Cohorts: Constantly traveling for work allows no time to cultivate like-minded friends.  You can make acquaintances by the bucket load, but real connections are elusive.  Through the weird circular nature of social networking I was introduced to a fellow writer named Mike Elrod who is a talented reviewer and very sharp guy.  We got along famously (via Twitter, email & Facebook) and eventually started working on creative projects together.  Some are in the idea phase, some are actively being produced, while one in particular (which I mention later) is soon to be unleashed.  I haven’t had a creative compatriot in such a long time I had totally forgotten the joy it gives me.

Lows

• Miami: Going back to my hometown after 5 years away was a calculated move to reduce the financial damage from Los Angeles.  Lower cost of living coupled with a familiarity of the town were huge pluses.  There was also a glimmer of hope that after being away for half a decade and coming back with a fresh perspective Miami would open itself up to me in new and exciting ways.  When we started settling in I was painfully reminded of all the reasons why we left in the first place and the only thing Miami revealed was an ugliness that has been eating away at South Florida for years.  Miami was not the city I wanted it to be and it definitely wasn’t a home.
• Traveling: I’ve been a traveling IT consultant since ’06.  It has taken me to some amazing places, but it has also consumed a huge portion of my life.  I love to travel yet when you’re traveling day in and day out you completely lose your sense of self and balance.   Often times I feel like I visit my home and really live in all these scattered cities I fly to.  Building a life in this manner is hard enough so imagine being married as well.  I never once expected it would be this difficult to live and work in the same city. Burnout has come and gone several times, but with the economy still in the tank I can’t easily get off this merry-go-round.

Next Steps

To wallow in the past with no goals in mind keeps you trapped on the hamster wheel of life.  These items, though not be epic in scope, are my first steps toward a new year where I can be more genuine and have the balls to do things now instead of waiting for “later”.

• Crafting Comics: One fantastic fruit from my collaboration with Mike Elrod is the creation of CraftingComics.com, a new web community for comic creators to discuss and hone their craft.  We’re looking at an early 2011 launch (fingers crossed).  Our focus won’t be the big shops (though we appreciate and support them), but the independent writer or artist who is trying to make it happen on their own.  I’ll finally get to indulge in my love of comic books while working with other creators to get ourselves closer to the holy grail, a real published comic book issue.
• Writing Projects: For the first time in a long time I actually have a couple of projects I’m working on.  One is a script for the first issue of a comic book, another is a re-write of an older piece to get it into submission shape and finally, I’m looking to turn a short story of mine into a short film script.  I’ve learned the hard way that if I focus on just one thing I’ll write myself into a block and never get past it.  With a couple of plates spinning I can keep my interest high while changing gears to keep the writing juices flowing.
• Escape Plan: Every great escape started with a wild idea and a wisp of hope.  Mine is no different even though the escape is more mental than physical.  “Later” is a concept that will never arrive so I’m gearing myself to finally make the move out of the traveling IT consultant role and into something different.  I might stay in the Information Technology field (with much less travel) or focus more in a consulting direction (more people driven with technology as a background) or even make the shift into a creative field, but no matter what I’m demanding change from myself.  The camel’s back is broken.

I can’t be the only one feeling this way at the start of 2011.  I’d love to hear what you’re doing to make your life more genuine and free yourself of the crap that’s been dragging us all down these past couple of years.

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Recently I’ve been re-reading Mark McGuinness’ article "The Story of a Reluctant Entrepreneur", a fantastic tale about how one man’s desire to become a poet somehow led to a successful career as an online entrepreneur.  It was one of those pieces of writing that entered my life at the exact time I needed it.  I was struggling with the lack of movement in my career, seeing only dead ends or death by stagnation, and felt unable to make the change into something closer to my true passions.  It was as if the time to choose a creative path had long since passed me by leaving my current trajectory as the only viable option, which was depressing to say the least.  Being trapped by life, a prisoner on an endless loop of sameness, is my own personal version of hell. 

I looked at successful folks in creative fields trying to discern how they reached their goals.  Blinding passion was one key quality as was an intense sense of direction, but their paths had a linear quality to them with most having started in roles similar to their current endeavors.  When I stumbled upon Mark’s article and read through the winding path his career took, it filled me with a sense of relief.  Here was a person who was succeeding in a creative role, even helping others achieve the same, and the steps that led him there were anything but normal.  From poet to therapist to sales man (though there is a common thread if you look close enough) he didn’t take a direct route at all yet still maintained his momentum throughout the journey.

With the end of 2010 looming nearby, I’m not looking for quick schemes or cookie cutter plans, just another piece of wood to keep my fires burning as I prepare myself to wrestle with the coming new year.  His article didn’t provide me with a blueprint or a better grasp of my passions, but it did give me the hope I had been missing in my creative pursuits and showed me that a transition into a creative field can lead to success equal to if not greater than the starting point.  Even though I firmly believe a person can achieve anything they desire it helps to see someone else pull it off first.

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I have a hate machine in my life.  He hates everything that isn’t like him.  People, religions, careers, even thoughts, beliefs and emotions, the list goes on.  It’s not surprising he is this way because he knows no other.  He was raised by a hate machine, one forged in the fires of a seething hatred far worse than anyone can imagine and who only stopped hating when he could no longer remember who he was, but that’s another story.

The tragedy of my hate machine is how he ignores the truth and love in his world.  He cannot accept these things because they aren’t his type of truth or love and so he must hate them.  I wonder if he ever has a moment of clarity, a sliver of time where he sees the pain he’s inflicted upon the lives around him and when he realizes all that has been pushed away by his cloud of hate.  I can’t change the hate machine anymore than I can stop water from being wet, but I’d like to believe he can.  Maybe somewhere in his stunted soul there lies a seed of goodness that understands his rage will only end in misery.  One can only hope.

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If you’ve been following my Twitter feed, you probably heard about my interesting weekend in Ybor City.  Goths in surgical masks, a pit bull sitting at the bar, and one-eye bathroom attendants are just some of the highlights of my adventures in Ybor nightlife.  The transformation from tumbleweed town earlier in the week to hordes of people clogging the streets on the weekend was amazing.  Definitely one of the more impressive Dr. Jekyll & Mr. Hyde acts I’ve seen.

I also got the chance to hang out with the locals (always my goal in a new city) and meet some real people.  One in particular drew me in with sharp, funny conversation and then startled me with eerie similarities.  He was a young guy I met at the local micro-brew, who was teeming with rage and frustration just below the surface, fueled by his current situation in life, which was one I knew all too well.  There he was, an intelligent and capable man, having tasted briefly what it felt like to truly meet his potential, who was now trapped in a subpar role, in a substandard place, living a barely sustainable life.  For those who’ve always scrapped along, it’s business as usual, but those who fall under Icarus’s shadow know the pain of grasping a moment only to have it torn from you.

I was that guy, back in my early twenties, humping away at menial computer work which was what passed for a living after the dotcom bust in South Florida.  Grateful for the pay, but resentful of the work, I dragged myself from crappy project to crappy project.  The fear and struggle gnawed away at me constantly.  It wasn’t until I received a real opportunity that I was able to free myself of such misery.  The call to Microsoft, in essence, was the light which led me out of the well.

There I sat at this bar, talking to a conflicted yet genuine man, seeing him flounder in the same darkness with the same pain in his eyes.  I tried to talk him through it as best I could, leveraging all my experiences from the same period, yet in the end all I can do was hope he gets out of it on the right side of the equation.  In humanity we see bits of ourselves in everyone around us.  It’s the moment when we can recognize others living the same scenarios we’ve played out before that still catch me off guard.  Introspection through others is a surreal method of self analysis.

I can’t blame him for his rage, the fire burning in his belly is the same one that resides in mine.  Both a blessing and a curse, ambition is a trait which few have appreciated in recent years.  I’ll almost venture to say that most enjoying the start of their youth don’t even acknowledge its existence.  With the rise of instant gratification this comes as no surprise.  Why hone oneself to a fine point when the rewards for being a dull blade can be the same?

Now I find myself getting pulled back into the same well, frustration and anxiety creeping in as I clash with my neglected creative potential.  Injecting myself with the unfiltered life of Ybor has been beneficial, returning a little crackle into my smoldering fire, but that alone is not enough.  Luckily I’ve gone through this game before and the pull I feel in my gut will take me through the darkness even though I can’t see the steps.  I just need to trust in its guidance.

I’m curious, has anyone else seen a stranger playing out scenes from their own lives?  Did you try to help them through it or run away from the painful reminder?

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I’ve been constantly struggling between the Techie and the Creative in my life.  The Techie pays the bills and has been my bread & butter for years, but is honestly a little burned out these days.  The Creative took a backburner when Techie hit high gear, but is trying to make a reappearance in my life even though it isn’t financially viable (yet).

As a Techie my path was always clear cut and easy to follow.  You get some certifications, do some projects, move up the ranks, lather, rinse, repeat.  The Creative side of the house has been an idea without a map,  leading me down twisty roads with no end in sight.

Like most, I’ve been trying to find the direction I need to get to the kind of life I want to lead.  More living and less reacting.  As reader’s of my blog know, Lateral Action is one of my favorite sites.  It combines creativity and its effective execution.  Not just poetic people thinking creative thoughts, but how to take your abilities and leverage them toward tangible results.  That’s been a huge problem for me.  I have an idea of where I want to go without knowing how to pull it off.

Listening to Mark McGuinness’ latest interview with Steven Pressfield (The Art of Doing Remarkable Things) really got my wheels turning again toward getting closer to a creatively focused life.  Looking at the vast landscape of the internet there are many people doing exactly that, carving out a life based around creative pursuits which are financially viable.

One in particular, who’s path I’ve been watching closely, is Brian Clark of Copyblogger.  Not only has he been very successfully running several online business, but he’s regularly giving away great info on how to get there yourself.  Recently, through Lateral Action, I came across some interviews and articles Clark had on just this subject called How to Have a Great Life and Great Business.

Personally, I’ve always been one to look at the successful people around me, figure out how they did it and then try to do the same, only better.  Mark and Brian are doing what I hope to one day be doing.  Not necessarily their niche, but a life where I can sustain myself on creative works and not techie works.  I’m definitely checking out what these two cats have to say and perhaps it will finally get things going where I want them to be.

*Note* all links to Lateral Action are affiliate links

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I am a Gemini and thus definition has never been good for me.  It feels restrictive, limiting and claustrophobic.  The proverbial daydreamer, I’m prone to dream big and dream small, but always look for more in life.  I thrive in chaos like few others can, the whirlwind of constant change makes me giggle like a Catholic school girl, giving me a rush and soundly defeating the monster known as boredom.  Assimilating, adapting, overcoming,  it’s all second nature to me.  I swear gypsy blood must run in my veins because the itch for movement is constant.

My attraction toward the mercurial has never ceased, but it has overwhelmed me these last couple of years.  Some parts of my life have suffered and atrophied while others are stymied.  I finally heard the gears of the amusement park ride screeching over the roar of the crowd  and know that continuing at this pace will end in catastrophe.  Trying to cut through the bullshit of a modern life is a big undertaking.  It’s truly amazing the amount of noise we wrap ourselves in, fooling us into believing that was all there was or distracting us from all there isn’t.

Putting myself into a box and labeling it has never been my style, so instead of trying to ground my dreaming self, I’m going to recognize the pieces of me which are essential and immutable.  The details or methods may change as the years pass, but these facets will always be around.

Declaration of Me

This is who I am.  It is not a rigid set of criteria, but guidelines to my core passions.  No matter where I’ve been, what I’ve been or who I’ve been, these elements have never left me.

I Am A Writer

I’ve had a love affair with letters and words since birth.  I can clearly remember first encountering certain words, writing my first “book” and short story (horror of course) and reading favorite authors for the first time.  These moments are seared into my memory with the fire of my love for the written word.  An inescapable fact has always been it’s more painful to NOT write than struggle with a blank page.  What I produce changes over time—short stories, blogs, articles, poems, novels (eventually)—but I’m always writing.

Neglect of this portion of me has led to a lot of background pain and disappointment.  I’ve come to the realization that further denial will guarantee a miserable existence.  Re-injecting writing into my life and re-igniting the passion for it will take effort, dedication and a bunch of other stuff I won’t know about until I get there, but one thing is for certain, this is no longer a negotiable aspect of my life.

I Love Film

If you’ve ever spoken to me at length, in almost every one of my conversations movies come up.  No matter how tired I am, when movies are the subject I light up like a Christmas tree.  You hear it in my voice, you see it in my mannerisms (how do you get a Cuban to shut up? tie his hands) and you feel the passion pouring from me.  Some of my very first memories are of movies.  I can still vividly remember my first time watching a movie in a theater (Nausicaä of the Valley of the Wind), the feel of the chair and being mesmerized by the images on the screen.  I’ve become an offline IMDB, rattling off plots, characters, actors, directors, and genres at the drop of a hat because I honestly can’t get enough.

A natural offshoot of my writing tendencies (and book loving, story telling, character analysis, etc), the visual medium of film has always drawn me.  Simply consuming films, while enjoyable, is not enough for me anymore.  Like the creative fires that push me to write, I need to eventually create in this space as well.  How, I haven’t the foggiest, but the need to add to a world which is ingrained in me has become overriding.

Moving Forward

Recently I’ve learned a couple of hard lessons, ones Time and Experience conspired to teach me whether I wanted it or not.  Because the ink is still fresh, I’m writing them down in the hopes it’ll be one step closer to burning them into my memory.

Technical & Creative Must Balance

For far too long the Technical focus of my life has dwarfed all others.  I started down this path by deluding myself, believing I could throw 90% of me into Tech and the 10% left over would be sufficient for Creative outlets.  Boy was I wrong.  Denying creativity led to a slew of problems, professionally and personally, which screamed at me “this isn’t working.”  I didn’t listen to those warning signs for a long time.  It wasn’t until pieces of me flew apart, as life spun out of balance, that I acknowledged I couldn’t keep living like this.

Balance is very hard to learn.  There’s no manual to help you out and what works for some, frustrates others.  It’s going to be trial and effort while I find the sweet spot, but a balance must be found.  I can’t let the Tech keep pushing me into the red.

I’ve Been Reacting To Life Not Living It

This is a byproduct of the constant chaos which follows me around.  Thinking on your feet and keeping cool under pressure are fine traits to have, making you adaptable to almost any situation, but as a way of life you find yourself tap dancing from one train wreck to another without ever figuring out if you want to dance in the first place.

Staying one step ahead of a tidal wave turns your life into a nonstop race where you’re the only one running and the finish line doesn’t even exist.  I’ve suffered a 10 year detour living this way—in pursuit of a career, in pursuit of an idea—not taking the time to see if I even wanted what was supposedly at the end.  I’ve experienced a lot in my short time on Earth, but having things happen to you is not the same as making things happen.  I need to start taking control of the wheel.

What Next?

This isn’t a lofty proclamation of future goals and ambitions, it’s a simple moment of self reflection.  Hopefully by recording my observations I won’t forget them again as easily.  I’ve distracted myself with the wrong kind of things for a frighteningly long time and while I don’t regret the years I’ve lived this way, I know I will if my focus doesn’t change.  To quote a sage philosopher,  “Life moves pretty fast. You don’t stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it.”

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The shark is a remarkable animal having evolved over millennia into the sleek ocean predator we both fear and admire.  Singular in purpose these fantastic creatures suffer from one major design flaw, if they stop moving they drown.  Driven by this biological drawback sharks endlessly prowl the waters, condemned to a life devoid of rest.

The clownfish (popularized by Finding Nemo) is on the other side of the spectrum.  Once a host anemone is found they will usually stick to that spot for the remainder of their life.  Both these creatures inhabit the same oceans, even crossing paths from time to time, yet embody completely different approaches to living.

Just Keep Swimming

A constant frustration of mine is being in the same camp as the former, propelled by biological forces written into my very DNA which leave no room for discussion.  Not everyone is wired this way.  From my personal experience I would say a majority of the population wants to find that perfect symbiotic relationship and maintain the status quo until they expire.

This is where I find a lot of friction between myself and the world at large.  For me, like the shark, forward momentum is life.  I feel the potential of my design shouting at me, trying desperately to keep inertia at bay.  Whenever I’m idle in my passions both body and mind rebel.  An unease sets into life, tainting everything around me.

Since most folks aren’t compelled in this manner, it is difficult to find kindred spirits.  The basic desire for growth is one that’s also hard to find.  Sad to say routine ad nauseam is the way of life for most and in many cases something people strive for.

Where Am I?

At this point I’m not quite sure.  Everything feels either stagnant or like it’s backsliding.  The stillness of it all has me apprehensive, like a long tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs, just waiting for the inevitable.  And if the inevitable never comes then that’s a torture in and of itself, languishing in a personal limbo.

I’ve tried all the usual tricks to climb out of this, but they fall flat.  I don’t even know what to expect from writing this entry other than to get it out into the open.  Perhaps giving it an objective eye once it’s up will uncover something new.

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This was my first time participating in any sort of charity event and it was an INCREDIBLE experience.  Being the nomad that I am, it’s hard to be anywhere long enough to do these kind of things or even get the chance to connect with like-minded individuals.  Not only was I supporting an important cause, but I was doing it with an amazing group of people. 

"Club Us" wasn’t an organization or a company or a non-profit, they were just a group of friends who banded together to commemorate the memory of one of their own and in honoring his memory, do everything they could to help prevent that same kind of loss for others.  65 wonderful people raised $56,000 dollars, an impressive amount on any day, but especially so in the current economic climate. 

Standing up on that stage and looking out to see so many people fighting the good fight filled me with a sense of pride and togetherness unlike anything I’ve felt before.  Thousands of people—each carrying their own story leading them to this day—united and supporting each other for a common cause.

When I first spoke about the AIDS Walk back in February, I mentioned Tim Yocom as the catalyst for "Club Us".  Due to the amazing efforts of our team, the Aids Healthcare Foundation gave "Club Us" a plaque commemorating our efforts and in memoriam of Tim Yocom.  Our team captain, a good friend of Tim’s, was in tears when he heard this announced to the entire Walk.  It was a beautiful moment. 

We were also given the privilege of leading the Walk.  10 km with good weather and a great group of friends, I couldn’t think of a better way to spend my Sunday.  Tired (and starving) by the end, I was filled with an electric buzz from the joy and hope of everyone involved.

I want to thank all my friends and family who donated to the AIDS Walk and helped with this worthy cause.  Your support meant the world to me.

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