Writing

If a blog falls in a forest…

~ Donald J. Lund

And no one is around to read it, does it make an impact?

I’ve always thought the tree made a sound anyway, whether or not anyone was truly around to hear the answer to that philosophical question.  Same with a blog, even if it is new and shiny and has a mere handful of readers.

For me, this blog is a lot like the warmup scales I played with my old alto saxophone, to get ready for the real deal before band practice.  I jump in, I start putting words in some semblance of order and communicate with the world, or at least anyone who gives this place a glance.

The fascinating aspect of a blog is that for as long as the Internet exists, this stuff will be around — kind of like the half life of a Twinkie.  It just isn’t going away anytime soon.  So, if this blog goes quietly into the good night of cyberspace today, there is a chance someone may eventually trip over this link.  Or better yet, find a story I’ve published and followed up to find out more about this particular writer.

More than a simple warmup exercise, this place serves as a reminder each day, whether I’ve accomplished a lot or very little, what the life writing mission is.  I’ve had a chance to scan a lot of blogs over the last couple of weeks, and there are a bunch of humans sharing their experiences and I gain something from nearly each one I read.  At the very minimum I get a glimpse into their creative process and the unique perspective each one presents.

Of course, there are always some examples of how not to share with the world.  Some blogs can be a lot like an uncomfortable experience with public transportation, sans all of the potentially bad smells that can be associated with a bad seat assignment on a plane.

The Tymes here will attempt to avoid the type of chatter that distracts, annoys along the way, and instead go for mildly entertaining exchanges about the journey of sharing stories with humanity.  We will go for good hygiene here and avoid those way too long public display of affection moments that make everyone want to leap off a moving bus.

If you’re here reading this today, be like the tree in the forest and make a sound about what you see.  Or even if you see this 40-years from now and I’ve slipped this mortal coil, post a couple comments anyway.  I will not be able to respond, but the thoughtful response will be appreciated just the same.

Why Write Now?

~ Donald J. Lund

Write right now.  And then every moment every after.

It does beg the question, why?

For those souls who discovered the writer within and then dedicated themselves to the craft at far younger ages than me, more power to you.  There is a part of me that tugs at the question of why it took so long to jump into this with both feet, but I’m not big on regret.  I think it took all of the moments, previous jobs, life experiences, piles of miscues and flat out failures to reach a place where the light only illuminates the path I am on now.

As noted previously, I’ve always known what I wanted, but the practical aspects of such a pursuit pushed the priority to write on to the back burner.  It took several life events to literally shake things up so radically, my entire life perspective was altered about everything I thought I knew.

I was certainly going through the motions, doing what society deemed I do next, finish a college degree, find an acceptable vocation, work a job 10-20 more years and retire to shuffleboard or travel to warm places.  And then on a day when I was walking around in a deep funk, my wife hit me with a question, “Why did you ever stop writing? You’re a writer.”

I wasn’t certain my loving wife, who has a busy career of her own even read any of my newspaper articles over the years.  The fact that she had, and she noted the impact those words had on her and the community did give me pause, and I had no answer to her question.  I really didn’t know why.

The next life changer was losing my father.  He was the healthiest, happiest man I knew and he was taken from this world far, far too soon.  A seemingly innocent misdiagnosis of indigestion turned into stage four esophageal cancer.  If they caught it any sooner, the incredibly brave 14-month battle could have gone my Dad’s way, but it didn’t.  I still wonder the how and why it happened.  However, his indelible mark on my existence was to truly live happily each day.  He wasn’t a laid back chill kind of happy, he worked very hard everyday, played hard, and laughed at just about anything.  It was his example of how to approach each moment that further altered my perception.

A few months after Dad was gone, I walked into a college classroom taking a course about writing plays.  As an English minor, it was a random selection and to be honest, I wasn’t sure I wanted to learn about this particular process.  The professor, a published playwright herself, began a class discussion about the excuses potential writers make.  We covered most of the bases, fear of being unoriginal, trying to write the next ‘great’ story versus simply writing, expertise on certain topics, fear of critique, not enough time, and a number of others.

Suddenly I was surrounded completely by kindred spirits.  Humans who shared the same passion and held the same fears as me.  For years, I utilized every one of the excuses posted onto the white board in front of the classroom.  I was not alone.

You know what else?  Writing plays is an absolute blast.  Any topic, any conversation, with proper format and structure can be a play.  Okay, so it sounds so obvious now, but it certainly felt like discovery.  My fellow students were all incredible talents, and they were each very kind and supportive at every step of the creative process as we all exchanged edits and critiques.  Our professor packed in more information into a semester linking every aspect of what it would take to become a successful writer.  The class was more than inspiring, it was transformational.

Everything I’ve done leads to this moment.  The military time to help my wife finish college, the painfully unpleasant corporate job that followed, the joy of journalism for a decade, the life in and around comic books and artistic creativity on multiple levels, and the seemingly endless pursuit of education bring me the experience I use to generate my own adventures on paper.

A loving supportive family, a wife who somehow likes me for me, two frighteningly literate sons, a Mom who reads my silliness, my talented brothers three, and lasting friendships across various state lines and several decades all helps a bunch as well.  Actually, I don’t know that one can be thankful enough of a great support system.

Why write now?

My path is clear, the excuses are gone.  It is who I am.  Words beyond this blog may or may not entertain others, the stories may or may not be of epic quality, but it sure is fun trying.

Two Steps Forward

~ Donald J. Lund

I have always been a writer, I just didn’t always allow for it.

From the first book of poems in fourth grade, to a flurry of articles generated throughout those semi-glorious middle school days, I have always been putting words on paper.  Prior to that I discovered via some Irish genetics I loved to tell stories and really expand the boundaries of imagination merely to entertain anyone willing to listen.

My first audiences for some of those stories were my younger brothers and cousins but they were fairly kind as far as critics go.  And, to their credit, they all caught on rather quick when I tried to pass off some of my tales as true.  One summer, we discovered an empty grasshopper exoskeleton in the back yard and I was able to generate an entire saga about organized wars and troop movements among the insects, based on that find.  A few too many details perhaps, but they figured me out by sunset.  That and I couldn’t keep the grasshoppers I found in any notable formation.

Falling in love can deter some writing careers, and a young marriage needed real money, so my words would have to wait.  Six years in the United States Marine Corps, and then two in the world of defense contracting offered a practical monetary solution.  Then, my brilliant and beautiful wife embarked on her ambitious career as an engineer, which in turn, opened the door back up for this self proclaimed scribe.

Nearly eight amazing years of working in radio, writing news and sports copy, commercials led to a concurrent run as a sports editor in the great state of Wyoming.  An absolute joy that involved more hours than were available in the week, and not much cash to show for it, but getting paid any amount of money to write offers a level of happiness not often found in life.

A move back to Colorado and a substantive downturn in both newspaper and radio jobs led me to a decade of retail life, owning a comic shop, and continuing my education along the way.  Being surrounded by great stories and art and getting to discuss film and music with hundreds of customers and fans of the medium fit rather well in my meandering path as a wordsmith.

Now, just about one half century into existence, my calling was always clear, but now is the time to finish the stories, make up a bunch more and wait for someone to figure out my story is too weird to be true.  Creative minds are easily distracted, and well, no one ever advised anyone to go off and dream of stories to tell.

Whatever else I do, published or otherwise, writing is life, and thus it truly begins.