writing

Me and the Marines

~ Donald J. Lund

USMC turns 250-years old!

For anyone who didn’t serve the United States Marine Corps, it really is impossible to explain. I can also say when I enlisted a few weeks after graduating high school, I had no idea what I had volunteered to be a part of.

I suppose the idea was planted in my brain at the start of my senior year. It was half-time at a football game, I was hanging out with some guys talking about what they may or may not do after high school. One thought jumped out, as my pal Todd talked about the U.S. Marine Corps. I knew more about all of the other branches of service, but he talked about the unique challenge of it. I actually considered I would be heading off to college with most of my classmates.

That idea vanished with a lack of funds. 

I had enough saved up for maybe one semester at the city college in Denver, and my family at the time had zero collegiate resources.

I would say if you’re 18-years old without a backup plan, avoid backyard graduation parties with Marine recruiters in them. Coors Light beer and a dude in uniform asking how many sit-ups I can do, should set off some alarms. 

Unless you are up for that unique challenge. They at least warn you up front, this ain’t for everyone, and not everyone gets through Boot Camp. I bought in anyway. I’m glad I did.

I guess that’s one of those reasons the USMC has the track record it does, in peacetime or wartime, things get done. I should note, if I was writing this for a specific audience of Jarheads past and present, it would include a great number of swear words. However, since this is a family friendly reflection, I will leave out the requisite f-bombs that are a part of nearly every conversation I’ve ever had with a fellow Marine.

The upside of six years in The Corps, it is impossible to offend me. You may try, and others have tried, but I have heard far worse things, far worse real world stories from my brothers and sisters during my time with them.

I had some fantastic experiences as well, working at the Pentagon in Washington, DC, at Fleet Intelligence Center Pacific in Pearl Harbor, Hawaii, Fleet Intelligence Center Europe-Atlantic in Alexandria, Virginia, Marine Corps Air Station Cherry Point, North Carolina, and some time at some of those fine U.S. Air Force intel schools, at Strategic Air Command HQ in Omaha, Nebraska and the now defunct Lowry AFB in Aurora, Colorado.

Yes, that is correct, I was in intel. Or America’s favorite oxymoron — military intelligence.

I learned a bunch. A top-secret codeword clearance was fun. I mostly learned that most conspiracy theories are far too complicated. Humans, in general have a steep learning curve. When you mix in international politics and military planning, the mistakes are unending. People do unwise things, that’s really the answer. And people are horrible about keeping secrets — which is the other reason I don’t really buy into any conspiracy from either side of the political isle.

It’s the off-duty Marine activities you have to keep an eye on. Alcohol mixing with guys who think they are bullet-proof is a bad combination. I have life long memories of some of those adventures, but I will not share here, as I am not sure about the statute of limitations stands with a handful of them.

I’ve run into a bunch of former Marines I never served with, but they look out for me anyway, and I do for them. It’s one of those things I didn’t anticipate.

I only got to be a part of six of the 250 years, but I am proud of my fraction of time. While I did enjoy my days in the Corps— it was time for me to get out and see normal people again, and focus on my little family. 

Again, overall, the USMC experience is tough to relate, but I can say the challenges and the work I did then, made me ready for the challenges and curveballs life throws at all of us.

Of course, not everyone gets through their time, some sacrificed all, and I think of them too. I also think of those veterans continuing to deal with health and mental health issues. Most of my charity funds go to helping veterans who aren’t doing as well as they could.

I also know that no matter how upside down the world gets, I sleep well knowing today’s Marines are out there. We do need some hardcore (enter swear words here) on those walls and on those ships, and I am glad they are out there.

Happy Birthday Marines!

Writer’s Block Believes in Me

~ Donald J. Lund ~ 1 Comment

I don’t believe in writer’s block, but it definitely believes in me.

One of my favorite professors always noted that there was no such thing as writer’s block.  And I recall nodding my head in approval, in a ‘preach on sister!’ sort of way.  She didn’t insist that there are not days when ideas aren’t flowing or that one cannot get stuck in a story, she simply noted there are other parts of the job we can continue to work on during those moments when the next words in a story are tough to find.

Editing, revising, working on other stories, outline new ideas, flesh out a new character, but  allow for the process of writing to progress instead of languishing in a helpless mode of being stuck.  Those moments it feels like all of your creativity got together, planned an escape route and ran away from your brain like a Stephen King Shawshank Redemption prison break.

Of course, you set the hunting dogs out to find your creativity, but it is too clever, like Harrison Ford in the remake of The Fugitive — diving off cliffs to avoid your mind at all costs.  And you wonder, did your creativity have help getting away?  Did the monstrous entity known as writer’s block have a hand in all of this?

I recall my journalism days and there was no writer’s block impeding progress there.  Or was there?  With 15 bylines a week it didn’t seem like there were any days writing was more difficult than others.  But there were some stories I avoided, or delayed much longer than the assignments I had an easier time completing.  Subject matters were predetermined, so there was that, but some articles were definitely tougher to assemble.

Old school newspaper columns or modern blog topics were easy, because I was able to go with an interesting anecdote, or a hot topic or just something fun.

Fiction writing is proving to be a vastly different animal.

The attempt to create something unique, that feels new, of quality and a story no one else has told is a fascinating daily challenge.  The ultimate creating something from nothing experience taxes creativity like nothing else.

Perhaps my creativity isn’t trying to permanently escape, it just needs a break, or to be taxed less often.

Fiction can be fun, yet difficult.  I’ve seen those series of quotes and pictures on the ‘net, the ones “What people think I do” as a writer.  There are a bunch for writers, as there should be, so many perceptions right or wrong about the craft in the ‘real’ world.

Usually, the first photo is what my friends think I do and it shows anything from drinking champaign in limos to staring at old typewriters all day.  The next photo displays what society thinks I do, and the classic homeless person resting on a mattress on the sidewalk reading a newspaper is rather telling.  My favorite is what publishers think I do and there is a photo of monkey in a hat sitting in front of a 1940’s typewriter.  Infinite monkeys telling infinite stories indeed.  The what I think I do photos can be fun too, the best is Albert Einstein working a chalkboard.

Genius at work here people, please stand back.

The what I actually do photos are all different in those meme sets, from playing video games, to surfing the ‘net to actually hammering away at a keyboard.

My reality is, I am constantly second guessing and then third guessing everything I put on a blank page.  Is this good enough?  Will anyone actually be entertained?  How is this unique in world full of amazing stories from the beginning of time until the last season of Breaking Bad?

If writer’s block truly exists, these are the questions it asks your creativity every four and a half seconds, everyday, and into the night, in hopes of haunting your dreams.

I have the ego to do this.  Ask anyone who ever heard me on the radio or read one of my sports column opinions.  The swagger is all there.  But generating quality results on the page everyday can beat down the most confident humans on the planet.

Thus, the hunt continues.  I will track down my creativity.  I will lock it up, but maybe give it more time in the yard.  A little more time in the sun.  And I will work on other revisions and story bits until I get my creativity in the right place.  Eventually, I will win.

As for writer’s block, I will continue to refuse your existence.  I will ignore the dark whispers that question why I should even bother to write at all, or if any of my words will ever be remembered.   Ultimately, these words and stories must be told, or I’ll have entirely different sanity issues with the fiction trapped within.

No time to believe in writer’s block, or to hear those gnawing critiques of my ability hanging in the wind.  One word, one edit, one day at a time if need be.  Sorry to dismiss you old, imaginary nemesis of mine.  I can’t afford to believe in you now.

Even if you believe in me.

Politics of Fiction

~ Donald J. Lund

It happened again.

I woke up this morning and I wasn’t the President of the United States.

It may sound weird to some, but it used to be my dream job.  In fact, for the better part of my first three decades on the planet, it is the job I told people I would eventually pursue.  Luckily, enough of my life path changed, and a healthy dose of reality kicked in and I abandoned my goal.

Raising children and building a family are certainly contributors to the change of perspective, but I do not blame them for me not waking up in the White House this morning.  I don’t blame my marriage for pulling me away from Washington D.C. to build a political resume.  Raising my kids in the wilder west was more fun anyway.  The real reason is more simple.  I hate modern politics.

I don’t consider all of the discussions or arguments presenting my youthful political views were a waste. Neither were the handful of disagreements I’ve encountered the last ten years when an invisible, ancient political button gets pushed.

However much I would prefer to avoid future entanglements, the reality is — politics in some form or fashion, infect everything.  And now it has infected the Hugo Awards, the top awards for science fiction and fantasy stories each year.

To boil down a complex set of circumstances, some conservative writers considered their works were on the outside looking in to the Hugo Award process, so they built a voting block (just Google Sad Puppies — yes, Sad Puppies, to see more about them) and apparently their efforts have paid off.   So, while I can’t say that I would agree that the awards are ruined, it could be time to reexamine the qualifications to vote for the awards.

As a writer who is still looking to break in to the business sometime this year, I’m not writing for rookie of the year honors or for the market or for a lovable Hugo Award.  Of course, anyone who makes something from nothing appreciates a positive response to their work.  I’m just saying if I try to to write for someone else, I’m doing it wrong.

I don’t think George Orwell wrote 1984 to be popular.  I think he envisioned a political world that scared the hell out of him, so he had to write about it.  And that’s where good stories come from — not intended to be from the left or the right side of a political spectrum.  Stories are derived from our fears, hopes and dreams.

To this day, I’ll disagree that Robert Heinlein was trying to glorify war during the contentious days at the end of the Vietnam War in Starship Troopers.  I think he wrote a story about what a modern military might experience against aliens.  Yes, we can find politics in those pages and those truly looking to expose one “side” of politics over another can find something to disagree with, but it doesn’t mean the author was dutifully selling a specific perspective.  One’s perspective will certainly show up in pages we write, but readers always know when they are being hit over the head with ideology.

Science fiction and fantasy are great vehicles for exploring perspectives, taking concepts farther than non-fiction and exploring human emotion in an array of fictional landscapes faced with a myriad of known and unknown political circumstances.  How would we react to an alien race of sentient bugs?  I’d like to think we would be open minded, but there is a real good chance our reaction would be violent.

I generally try to avoid the personal politics of a writer – or musician, or actor, so that I can enjoy whatever entertainment the person is trying to offer.  Ultimately, that approach doesn’t always work either.  But I would contend that people always looking to be offended will find a way to be offended.

I tend to embrace opposing views in order to understand them.  I lean toward an understanding that the ‘middle’ holds far more truth than the far ends of our current political existence.  Unfortunately, in this platinum age of information, it has served to drive humanity farther apart than closer together.  People tend to cling to their circles of agreement.  Those circles turn into tribes and those tribes tend to generate their own news — MSNBC v. FOX as one example and we’re happier to hold onto tribal misinformation than truth or even compromise.

Am I against Sad Puppies?  Well, how can anyone be completely against puppies?

These writers felt slighted, they unified, organized and selected authors they identify with on the final ballot.  The only thing more impossible than arguing politics is arguing a feeling.  If someone ‘feels’ left out, no amount of logic is going make them suddenly ‘feel’ a part of the process.  I don’t agree with their action, but I can’t tell them how they should feel about the previous results of the awards.

I would have preferred the Hugo Awards not have pre-chosen ballots passed around for a block of voters on either side of an imaginary political fence.  And it is imaginary.  We all know how fast political sides vanish in crisis.  Turn the power off in a country for 30-days and try to find political parties in that pile of anarchy and chaos.  Attack a country and everyone unifies under a banner in mere moments. These are a couple of the concepts explored in science fiction everyday.

The genre will ultimately survive, even if the awards associated with them may be adversely altered for a few years while the ‘sides’ reorganize and take turns jabbing each other online or off.

If I were the U.S. President, I may draw up an executive order eliminating political action committees all together.  Instead, I woke up as a writer and thus I’ll have to write a story about it.  I’m off to listen to the Van Halen cover of Little Feats A Apolitical Blues.  As the song suggests I’ve got no time for Chairman Mao or John Wayne.  Not today.

So much more fun to write and then have readers try to guess where I fall on that imaginary spectrum.

To Thine Own Self Be True

~ Donald J. Lund

It sounds simple enough, it just took me a lot longer than most folks to figure it out.

When Bill Shakespeare dropped that little pearl of wisdom via his character Polonius advising his son Laertes in Hamlet, his platitude launched an existential debate that has been going on ever since.

As in what does it mean to be true to oneself?

Philosopher Jean-Paul Sarte would likely concur with Polonius’ statement on a basic level, but he probably aligned more with Hamlet himself, who disliked “the tedious old fool.”  After all, Polonius was more of a company man, into the power and wealth and not really concerned whether or not his son followed his dreams or not. The evils of society and compliance versus the individual, or individualism appears to be at the very heart of Sarte’s core message.

Or if we seemingly run counter from Sarte and go farther back to the metaphysical thinkers, like Socrates and Plato, it gets a little more fun.  Plato’s writings reference the ancient phrase “know thyself” inscribed above the entrance to the Temple of Apollo at Delphi, and pushing him to examine the power of self-knowledge.

And their philosophy, in essence, made some sense; we have to know about ourselves before we can begin to understand the world around us.  Or the bigger curveball from Socrates, “The only true wisdom is that I know nothing.”

Now I feel like Neo in the The Matrix right before The Oracle gives him a cookie to make him “feel right as rain.”  Forget about figuring whether or not there is or is not a spoon, as perception versus reality would really derail us at this point.

Returning to the line from Shakespeare then, once we gain knowledge about our self, and learn of the world, then we get existential, and live a life true to individual providing meaning in a world that often feels meaningless.

Skipping over a few thousand philosophical and theological debates over that previous paragraph — if we are lucky enough to find what drives us, fires the engines of passion, then we are being as true as we know or understand how to be.

Other than a phrase that looks great on a bumper sticker or an Internet meme next to a fluffy mammal, it is a fairly powerful combination of words.  Being true my own self is this very discussion with the world in the form of writing.  Be it a blog, or a poem, or longer bit of fiction, this extended conversation on paper has become the only truth I know.  I write, therefore I am.

I can’t ask him, yet I ultimately think Shakespeare was giving a shout out to the ancient Greeks, as he often did among his works.  However, for poor Polonius, it was likely a platitude, a throw away line for a character who loved the sound of his own voice, but, “to thine own self be true” has taken on a life of its own.  Overall, it becomes common sense, but for me, when I first read the words I wasn’t quite capable of answering what I was all about.

And now it’s a quote that generates a lot of business for tattoo shops, cross-stitch patterns and life advice posters.  However you interpret the line, above all dear reader — be true to you too.

Fired Up Over Ray Bradbury

~ Donald J. Lund

If you know what the temperature is when paper burns, you can thank the lovable legend Ray Bradbury.

As so many wise people before me have observed, anyone who wants to write, must first and always be a reader as well.  My brain is where it is today, because of many good and great books across many genres, and starting with an appreciation for Mr. Bradbury is a really good place to begin being thankful.

Fahrenheit 451 was one of those early inspirational, live changing books that forever altered my perspective of my Universe.  Published in 1953, I did not discover this gem until about 1980, and I recall it was one of the first books I could not put down once I started reading it.

While all fiction reflects some aspects of the human condition, the genius of Bradbury was recognizing a pattern long before the rest of us, and in essence, predicting the potential outcome of the human behavior he observed decades before.

I will include some minor spoilers in regards to characters and setting, but there is no reason to reveal the plot, because I would rather keep those elements a surprise for those who have yet to discover this science fiction masterpiece.  And as this particular piece is to honor the writer, I should note he did not consider himself a science fiction writer, but more of a writer overall, who happened to write a lot of fantasy and horror.  For example, he considered the Martian Chronicles more of a mythological retelling or fantasy than science fiction.  I could also tell he was a big fan of Edgar Allen Poe’s work when I read Something Wicked This Way Comes.

Moving back to the joys of Fahrenheit 451, it seems society in general jumped in on the horrifying premise of burning books, and the irony of firemen of the future destroyed rather than saved things with fire.  Silly me locked in on that singular concept, and I assumed that since the book was written less than a decade after World War II, it served as a caveat about government thought control and book burning.

My family had much love, but very little resources when I was younger and books were an enormous part of existence, because it wasn’t too tough to hit the library or snag a cheap paperback.  So here was a book illuminating my greatest fear, building a dystopian world sans books.  Bradbury showed me just how frightening life could be in such a place.

Bradbury’s protagonist Guy Montag was very easy to relate to, he struggled with his world and how it should be, but when we first meet him, he happily goes along with the program.  After all, his job was burning books as a modern fireman.  His journey is one that really stuck with me, and so many characters I write have a little bit of the Guy tragedy in them — wanting to do the right thing yet, not really sure how to do it.  Add to that, I initially missed the primary point of his character learning by what others told him to do, prior to trying to learn/read and make his own decisions.

Of course, then there was also the great Bradbury quote always hanging in my head, “You don’t have to burn books to destroy a culture. Just get people to stop reading them.”

And yet, I didn’t fully understand the lesson or the bigger warning within the tale.  It wasn’t fire or burning pages that we should fear. It is the lack of attention to another, the lack of empathy, the fear of intellect, knowledge and life experience that allowed books to fade from society.

The genius of Ray Bradbury is he saw our world today in 1953.  Book stores, newspapers are vanishing, and science and intellect is being mocked at every turn. We get lost in big screen televisions and portable devices instead of each other.  Even if the next logical step isn’t to burn them, it is scary the banned books list in communities grows exponentially each decade.

As education is at crisis level in many parts of the country, the argument seems to have fallen to what should not be read instead of the concept everything should be read.  Love or loathe a book, it is not the idea inside that will hurt you, it is ignorance that occurs by avoiding differing ideas altogether that sets us back.

But I digress.  Merely taking in a fictional adventure ride with the likes of Ray Bradbury and we need not have such concerns.  In other words, if you have not yet read Fahrenheit 451, run, don’t walk to the book store or your favorite reading device.

Do You Want Lies With That?

~ Donald J. Lund

A serving of truth, with a side of lies please.

Is this not fiction?

Of course there are all manner of collision between reality and fiction, and a story can emerge from nearly any life experience.  And it is especially fascinating as I find myself an aspiring writer who is currently writing full time — yet is required to explain such an existence to a society with extremely practical standards.

It was a cold winter day, like many similar days before it, and I left my writing chair to run some errands through the snow to integrate among normal humans.  An early afternoon journey to the bank kicked off a list of seemingly innocuous chores, when my identity was questioned.

In retrospect, I understand why.  A late 40’s male, unattended in the middle of a weekday, sans work boots or a briefcase clearly looks suspicious.  It was well beyond the standard lunch hour, and people needed to figure out just what it was I was up to.

The bank teller asked with accusing eyes, “Did you get off work early today?”

“Oh, me, I work from home, I was just taking a break,” I answered.

“Really? What kind of work do you from your home?” her eyes narrowed.

“I’m a writer,” I said meekly.

“A writer, eh. Anything you have written that I might of read?” she said, and then she signaled to some people behind the bank counter.

“Not really, unless you were a loyal newspaper reader in Wyoming,” I answered, but my voice broke as if I was fourteen-years old again.

“Well, we don’t believe you,” said a man with a heavy German accent, wearing a grey uniform, a black hat and holding a completely unnecessary riding crop tucked under his arm. “No man runs around merely writing in ze middle of the day. Vhere are your papers?”

Damn. I didn’t have any identification papers. My cover was blown, but I’m a creator of fiction, so I improvised. Two more guards appeared behind me, so I did a shoulder roll, tripped the men behind me, grabbed a weapon, jumped to my feet and prepared to blast my way back to freedom.

The bank teller’s droning voice shattered my daydream, I shook my head and my focus returned me to similar bank surroundings. She repeatedly asked if there was anything else I needed today.

“No, thank you,” I replied. “You’ve done quite enough already.”

In truth, it was a bit awkward, and I may well get a number of questions exactly  like her query until someone can read something more recent and entertaining than my old journalism days.  All that, and it was funny to imagine the simple scenario blossom into a noir history set piece story, complete with bad accents.

It is all part of the joy now as nearly any dialogue I hear in public becomes fair game to be included in anything I am working on or a completely new idea for something else. Every chore can become an adventure, and each aisle in the grocery store can evolve into a nightmare. Well, that happens anyway. The grocery store really is a nightmare at this point in life.

So, go ahead, ask me what I’m up to, just understand there may by some embellishment on the side.

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.