The Poetry of Cartwheels on Doomsdays...it's a good thing

Writing short fiction is hard for me.  Every idea and sentence wants to evolve into a larger beast that I usually have no control over.  I’ve written short stories before.  I am currently writing another one.  It’s a retelling of the Greek Myth featuring surreal takes on Theseus and the Minotaur and it is an idea that is trying to “novelize” itself. 

Writing poetry is even harder for me.  I lie.  Writing poetry is impossible for me.  I’m not exaggerating.  In an infinite universe of endless possibilities, where every possibility has the potential to manifest itself, there is still probably not one dimension where I can write poetry. 

So when I somehow befriended a writer by the name of John Yamrus, I took a liking to him rather quickly.  I want to be clear: pretentious artists and writers turn my stomach.  I also grow violently ill around writers who take themselves too serious.

John isn’t that breed of writer.  John is a poet.  John is not a poet.  He writes things that aren’t novels and he’s quite successful, too.  While I would struggle to write 18 lines of poetry, John has published 18 volumes of poetry.  Don’t believe me. 
Go here.  http://www.epicrites.org/john-yamrus.html

John’s an artist at crafting short narrative gems, a skill I greatly admire.  His two most current books, (both with catchy titles I wished I thought up myself), “Doing Cartwheels on Doomsday Afternoon” and “Don’t Stop Now!”, are available.  (Pagemaster distribution is also running a promo on both books at http://shoppagemaster.ca/Doing-Cartwheels-On-Doomsday-Afternoon.html) 
Feel free to support him.  I do.  In the short time I’ve talked with him, I regard him as a fellow friend and writer. 

Continue writing John.  Don’t stop now. 

When is Writing...and Downdog Yoga

Writers never stop writing.  Not really.  We may go to the grocery store for some reprieve in the fruit aisle.  We may enjoy the fresh air as we walk our dog (or cat, if you’re that kind of person).  We may clean the house, vacuum, and mop the floor.  And yet, we’re still writing.  At least I am.  Even not-writing is writing because an idea is always gestating in my head.  Stories constantly beg to be told.  Maybe a dying light-bulb is fighting off a vampire that feeds on light.  Maybe a fish is daydreaming of the days when men quivered like worms on hooks.   
What I’m getting at, not-writing is just as good as writing, only until you need a physical manifestion of words shaping themselves into a cohesive story.  Where am I going?  Not sure. 

Yoga, maybe.  When I eventually headed towards a career in yoga, I found much freedom in letting go.  Meditation and asanas (postures) and all the other practices associated with yoga (and there are more than I could ever fathom)…are, to me, a kind of writing. 

On the topic of yoga, go check out www.ddyoga.com.  It’s a great school, with great teachers (not saying that because I teach there myself).  Downdog Yoga continues to bring an authentic feel of holistic health and wellness to the area of Reading, PA.  They continue to bring in top-notch teachers from all over the world.  They continue to offer great seminars and programs.    

And I am continually amazed by the talent their school attracts, all teachers who demonstrate the potential of what the human mind and body can achieve, and sometimes physical postures that me, a writer, find stranger than anything I’ve done in fiction. 

People are Books; Also: Meet Seven

We’re all story-shaped.  Parts of our lives may not have convenient endings or neat chapters to close out phases of our existence.  Interactions between friends or lovers, enemies or family may never have the proper conclusions scripted in television and movies and books.   

Reflect on the pages of your life.  Reread them.  Re-dream them.  But never forget: your life is all story.  We are books.  We open parts of ourselves to people we like; we allow the world to read us as we read back.  We can be closed books, too.  And while we’re all being books, we have to remember we’re also all writers.  Every interaction, every encounter writes and marks the pages of our lives… 

Which brings me to the subject of my first novel, Tetragrammar’s protagonist. 

Meet Seven.  Not the number, per se, but the man made of words and ink.  The man I, in theory, bled through pens and pencils into life.

Seven’s a writer, a story, a book.  As much as I plotted his life, he in turn plotted mine.  I may have compulsively typed at my laptop, but it was his voice, his life that drove me to do it.  Who is Seven? 

Seven is the guy you’ll find in book stores and coffee shops and libraries.  He’ll be alone with a table of notebooks and pens.  His hair is the black of spilt ink.  He looks somewhat unhinged, as if he never woke from a dream, and never learned how to iron his clothes.  He smells like office supplies and paper and newly released books.  As I said, he’s a writer like me.  And he practices yoga…like me. 

Seven, like me, is obsessed with fiction and to counter this craze, he embraces activities like meditation, martial arts and yoga.  They ground him; they keep him sane (almost).  

Unlike me, Seven has no memory.  Amnesia provides him the writer’s dream for he can craft any fiction on the blank template of his past. 

And although his creativity is limitless, he lacks the imagination to write himself out of his own plot-holes.  A doomed romance.  A botched marriage proposal.  Writer’s block.  An angry muse.  Rival Authors plotting against him within the Moon.  An addiction to write the perfect novel.    And let’s not forget, he’s got a special word (the Tetragram) tuned to the true name of God withering in his mind. 

Come get to know Seven as the Parliament of Pens continues this weekly (for now) blog.  Continue to check out blurbs and insights into the concepts and cast of Tetragrammar, which are perhaps as real as you and I.  Seven may tell you his secrets.  He’s already told me and I still feel there’s more lurking in his fictional body than I’ll ever know.  But I know this: Seven, like me, fears snakes, hates black olives, loves mythology and Thai food.  Unlike me, Seven is taller, with cooler hair, and for that, I will never forgive him.      

Something like an Intro

Why did I write a book?  I obviously wanted to torture myself with many sleepless nights ramming my head against a wall as I tried to constantly shape and reshape people and concepts into a story people would read.  But I also loved diving into a story-shaped black-hole that I didn’t quite know how to fill but knew it needed filling. 

Why write a book?  Simple.  Too many characters were screaming to break out of my head.  And the only way to free a fictional person (at least the only way I’m used to) is to write them into existence; a birth which usually occurs on something white, like paper or word documents.   After a million revisions, my first novel Tetragrammar is complete.   

It was a painful journey, frustrating, enraging, but entirely worth it.  In the end, my characters Seven and Fable, Father Notion and The Authors, and all the Dynasties have danced the script I wrote for them.  (And many times, I don’t doubt I played puppet as they wrote themselves.) 

Why write a book?  I guess I did it for my protagonist, this guy named Seven, who’s also a writer/yoga guy like me. 

Now I sit back with a heavy sigh as a book-shaped burden lifts from my shoulders. 

I’ve written something.  Relax, right. 

As exciting it was to complete Tetragrammar, I’m equally happy to be done with it.  For now.  Now I’m left in shaky terrain of literary agent searches, query letters, and all those powers-that-be that will break my first novel into the Realms-of-Published. 

How to achieve this…Well, a blog.  I don’t know much about blogging, except it involves writing and social networking.  It’s been 2012 for two whole months, and so many people have taken to blogging for quite some time (except me).  It’s as good a time for me to join modern man and blog away.

I have several intentions for this blog.  One: namely promote my novel Tetragrammar.  Two: build interest in my future novels (there will be more; the insanity of story-building has already started).  And three: connect with those kindred spirits who are drawn to activities like yoga, meditation and martial arts; or for those inclined to open books and read stories that people like you and I make up; or for those who also write; or for all others who indulge in comic books and graphic novels.  And then if none of those things interest you and you so happen to follow the name Tetragrammar or Parliament of Pens during some random night of Google searching:  Welcome, too.