I'd like to talk semi-live to you from time to time from this great island paradise. There is such an abundance of wonderful things here, that grow more and dear to me with each passing year.
|Posted by email@example.com on March 22, 2013 at 6:10 PM||comments (0)|
A gentleman from Los Angeles has a point when he says that Stephen King says that sitting down, rolling up your sleeves and writing is the only time you are writing. This LA guy says that he comes to work and his job is to write. Inspired or not, it is his job. I like the blue collar mentality of it, using our brain sweat, instead of blisters and armpit sweat. It is only writing, when you are writing. Reading about writing is not writing. Thinking, dreaming, daydreaming, taking a day off and procrastinating about writing is not writing. Going to seminars, taking classes and searching the arid wasteland for agents is not writing. Getting an MFA is not always writing. In fact, the only way to get to the good stuff, is often to write those mediocre words, until you have a handle on the craft. Writing is writing. Right? Write!
|Posted by firstname.lastname@example.org on April 28, 2012 at 8:00 AM||comments (0)|
I enjoy reading this little story to the kids at the school where the girl told me the tale, and at other schools in the area. The story "Skyla's Dreamcake" has been published twice on the internet at Mad Swirl and Blackheart magazines. It has now gone into paper print at Westward Quarterly magazine. The printed version is the one I am carrying around and reading to the kids to introduce myself when I am going to "go with them forever" as the Chinese say about a teacher and student. Fun is where you find it, and we find it in a dreamcake.
|Posted by email@example.com on March 3, 2012 at 7:45 AM||comments (0)|
My Chinese girls, memories I share with my family, hiking the bamboo forest, Hawaii beach and community parks, working in classrooms and on the courts. Writing is magic, music is magic, beer is magic. The Godfather, The Lord of the Rings and The Exorcist are magic. Drawing is magic, taking pictures is magic. Flowers are magic. Plants rock with magic, and the birds at daybreak and day's end are magic.
Grandpa's train set was magic. The smell of the laundry on 24th street was magic. Rudy the mynah bird was magic. Fish are magic. Aloha, real aloha, and not aloha for us and F you if you aren't us aloha. Real aloha, is magic. The Arizona desert and pines and Grand Canyon, Sedona and Mt. Lemmon are all magic!
|Posted by firstname.lastname@example.org on March 2, 2012 at 10:35 AM||comments (0)|
At the same time I feel for the kids as they march into places that look like prisons, you can't behave like that. Even though I believe old methods are evolving as the old school is being replaced by the new generation of younger and stronger teachers, we are needing old school and new school. Thank you to those that paved the way, and welcome to the new young lions of education.
Still, you can't steal time from other kids and the teachers. God knows I did it. I know a punk, when I see a punk!
|Posted by email@example.com on February 12, 2012 at 11:55 AM||comments (0)|
We started the day by hitting balls on the stadium court. My daughter kept up a great attitude, while I checked my grumpiness for the most part. I then hit balls with some senior tennis players, but we got kicked off at 4-4 due to a men's USTA league. We got Wolf, Al and Dr. Rick for 3 sets of fun doubles on the show court. We showed some crappy, sappy old man tennis. My wife got some fish when K. went across the Kapiolani Park to the Elks Club and threw in a net and caught a few fish. Later in the day our Tahiti guitar man, cleaned and scaled the fish for us. They were our supper. I had also walked across the Kapiolani Park to get gouged by the tourist rip-off market. I bought a styrofoam cooler, some ice, and a six pack each of Jamaican and Hawaiian beer. I trucked that back across the park, we had some beer and conversation. We used that cooler to tote the fish back. The Chinese girls had gone to Diamond Head Surf Park, and were swimming when a wounded from spear 20+ pound tuna got close to shore. My wife wanted my daughter to get it. It ended up going to my daughter's friend. Mom was mad. Earlier in the day, I touched the guitar our fish cleaner plays. I revere it, and it reminds me of Willy Nelson's.
|Posted by firstname.lastname@example.org on January 16, 2012 at 7:50 AM||comments (0)|
I brought my Chinese girls to play in a women's tennis league. They pulled out the victory with a hard fought 3-2 showing. Four out of five matches went 3 sets! They were playing on the seaside courts, so just behind them as they played, they were surfing, paddle boarding, canoe paddling and working kayaks. But, the interesting thing of the day was Gateball! It looked to be combinations of croquet, golf, polo (minus horses). There were teams from Japan, Kauai, Big Island, and Maui. The #1 player from Japan was there.
|Posted by email@example.com on December 19, 2011 at 9:45 AM||comments (0)|
I hesitate to say typical day as the current book I am writing "Love Letter From Hawaii", is all about never having those type of days here. When you become attached to the island heart and soul, there is no typical day. Yesterday I got to play tennis with a former Steelers player, a former tennis professional from Jamaica, and a senior gold ball winner was my mixed partner. All of this under the watchful eye of a former world champion and Davis Cup man. This I do, while my daughter and friend swam at San Souci Beach. So, another un-typical day.
|Posted by firstname.lastname@example.org on December 17, 2011 at 12:05 AM||comments (0)|
My kid, heading into that unknown carnival ride called pre-teen, is starting to own her life. As we create our platforms and names in the writing/entertainment world, and it is our foundation, so we as parents have done for her. It is now time for her to fly, sometimes crash and burn like a phoenix, but get right back up on her wings.
Thus, I now have time to return to my writing. Letting priesthood go, letting top level education/administration go, lettting career soldier go, letting coaching go, what balloon is this child-man left holding? His love, and #1 soul soaring adventure is. . .writing.
Now, having lived some life, I am ready.