i'm just the same as i was

Lately I've been wondering what I'm doing. Today. Tomorrow.
In career. In free time. In relationships. In life.

I don't have any answers.
I go through phases when I think I know where I'm headed and I'm happy with that. And then I hit a patch - not necessarily a rough patch, just some inexplicable instance - that throws me off. All of my goals seem like obligations - drum lessons, filling three pages a day, submitting stories every month, studying the craft of writing, working out, washing dishes, doing laundry. My thoughts are caged in rigid lines while I just want to let my imagination run loose in abstraction. I can't stop thinking I haven't been reading I haven't been writing I haven't been creating I haven't been feeling I haven't been doing enough.

But I have been enjoying beautiful sunshiny days with my windows open and records spinning songs for me. I've gotten lost in the fiery sunsets that I had previously been too distracted for. I've been weighing what I should do in life against what I want to do and I'm letting the good stuff win. I've been listening deeply to music that is helping me get back in touch with myself and others.

I don't really have words to explain how this song makes me feel,
all I can do is share and hope it moves you in some way.

Code for Failure Winner

We asked for embarrassing stories, and you gave us fire, Cinnamon Crunch Bagels, cross dressers, dog pee, ripped pants, and the word "crotchula". Thank you all for the laughter, but there can only be one winner.

And the winner is...

I'm Going To Eat You

Congrats! Send your mailing info to allison(at)allisonwrites.com
And, as promised, here's Ryan's story:
My most horrifying gas station story took place right after my boss left for the day and it was just me manning the station. An old man stopped in and parked away from the pumps. He drove a nice car and was dressed nicely as well. He went into the restroom on the side of the building and I thought nothing of it, went along with my day. About five minutes later the man exited the bathroom, got in his car and drove off. Still I thought nothing of it. Maybe ten minutes later things were slow, so I locked the office and went to pee. When I walked into the bathroom EVERYTHING was covered in crap. The floor, the walls, the toilet, the stall partition. EVERYTHING. It was like that old man's colon had exploded in there. I quickly exited, shut the door and locked it. Then I called my boss and told him there was no way I got paid enough to clean that mess up.

Truth or Dare (and giveaway!) with Ryan W. Bradley

You oughta know Ryan W. Bradley by now: I spotlighted him as part of my Inspiration series, I reviewed his book last month, and, when I'm lucky, he graces my blog with hilarious comments. And now? Well, now he's Failing the Internet.


Ryan's book, Code for Failure, is being released Tuesday, March 27th, and I'm honored to be the 2nd stop on his blog tour! His first stop was here, and follow him this week:
3/21 || 3/22 || 3/23 || 3/24 || 3/25 || 3/26 || ending 3/27 at Ryan's own blog.

Why not pretend we're in middle school again and play a little Truth or Dare?
A: Truth or Dare?
RWB: Truth.
A: You've blogged about your journey with this book for quite some time now. Did it take a long time to write, or has it just been a lot of work to find the right publisher?

RWB: I'm actually a little embarrassed to say how long the book took to write. The first draft was written in two months in emails to myself from work when I was running a children's bookstore. For a point of reference, I have 1,000 word stories that have taken longer. As for the book finding a home, well, it went through the paces like most books. There were a few interested parties here and there, but ultimately Black Coffee Press was the right place for the book to land. They've got a pretty packed advanced schedule, so it's been about two years since the book was accepted. Ultimately it's been about three and a half years since I wrote the book, so, while it may have only taken a couple months to write I've had quite a long time to tinker with it and I'm one of those writers who could tinker endlessly.

A: Truth or Dare?
RWB: Dare.
A: I think most readers assume there's a lot of the author's biographical information in novels. I hate to ruin the magic but I gotta know - how much of this book is true? A ballpark estimate? Inquiring minds want to know - not that you have to tell WHAT exactly is truth, just how much.

RWB: In some form or fashion I would say that roughly 60% of the book is truth. There are parts that are just pure, unadulterated nonfiction. Chapters like "Tourette's" are as true as can be, right down to the dialogue. Even though I wrote this years later there are many moments of dialogue that I remember clear as day, especially the weird stuff that used to come out of my boss' mouth. Other parts have little bits of truth, or slight changes. There are things I took from other times in my life and placed in the context of my gas station era. But yeah, there's a lot of truth in there. Even when the events are pure fiction there's some truth there somewhere, whether setting, emotion, or more. A better fiction writer would have made more stuff up.

A: Truth or Dare?
RWB: Dare.
A: Your narrator says that no one would believe the stuff that happens to him, so… what's one section/story in the book that is true, that seems so far-fetched no one would believe it?

RWB: I've done/endured a lot of crazy things in my life, particularly between the ages of 18 and 23. But the gas station days took the cake of crazy. It's still the simplest thing that baffles me about that era, though, and that is how many girls/women gave me their phone numbers. Pumping gas doesn't seem especially alluring to me, and I would think it'd be the last place where a woman might consider giving a guy her number. But when I quit and got back into college I cleaned out my wallet my first night back and there were about 25 slips of paper with phone numbers on them.

A: Truth or Dare?
RWB: Truth.
A: Your chapters read like many could be individual stories. Did you write the entire novel and then break it up into shorter sections, or did you combine pieces to make a novel?

RWB: I think writing the book in emails to myself at work really dictated this format, but there were other reasons, too. For one I started the book by trying to write out as many of my memories of my gas station days as possible. I also wanted it to feel like when I re-told these stories over drinks at bars with friends. It was written mostly in sequence, but I believe there were a few instances where I moved a chapter around.

A: Truth or Dare?
RWB: Dare.
A: Your narrator gets ink done throughout the book. You recently got a new tattoo; I dare you to share it - and any other tattoos you like showing off.

RWB: I love John Dermot Woods' illustration for the book so much, I'm really proud to have it permanently on my body. I have intertwined trees inspired by the myth of Baucis and Philemon representing my wife and me, my kids' handprints, a bird with Pearl Jam lyrics spilling out of its guts: "Guess it was the beatings made me wise/but I'm not about to give thanks or apologize" from "Rearviewmirror," several Alaska-themed pieces and a couple others. And I've got plans for many more.

A: Truth or Dare?
RWB: Dare.
A: Your narrator and another character get tattoos together. Have you ever gotten tattoos with someone - matching or otherwise?

RWB: I've only ever been tattooed at the same time as someone else once. That was with my oldest sister on Valentine's Day 2007. I was hanging out with her in Vegas, where she was living at the time, and her husband was stuck working in Alaska, so she and I went and got tattooed. But they don't match. I do have a semi-matching tattoo with my wife. Under my trees is a line from the Wilco song, "On and On and On" that says, "I will live in you or you will live in me" and she recently had the same lyric split across both her wrists.

A: Truth or Dare?
RWB: Truth.
A: There's a hardass quality to the narrator and how he tells his stories with detachment, but there's a change which makes him very sweet and emotional… which is the "real" you? Are both you?

RWB: It probably depends on who you talk to. I think realistically it's both. I'm not a real emotional person, but I do have a strong romantic side. That said, I can have a bite to me at times.

A: Truth or Dare?
RWB: Truth.
A: Have you always wanted to be a writer, or did you ever want to be something else?

RWB: I hated writing for a long time. I was always a reader, from a very early age, but I didn't take to writing until middle school. And even then I dreamed of being a professional baseball player. I would give any small amount of writing skill I may have to pitch for the Oakland A's. Even for a single game. That said, and knowing that the baseball thing is clearly not going to happen, I love writing (even more than I hate writing) and would be happy if I could find a way to make writing my "career."

A: Truth or Dare?
RWB: Dare.
A: I dare you to give away a free copy of your book. (So hokey I can't resist.)

RWB: Oh, I totally will! And I'll happily sign it with a mildly appropriate message :)

- - -
To win a copy of Ryan W. Bradley's Code for Failure, riddle me this:
What is the most embarrassing/horribly unbelievable thing that has ever happened to you on the job?

Comments will be open until Thursday, 3/22/12 @ MIDNIGHT CST. The winner will be chosen on Friday, 3/23/12, which is when we'll make sure Ryan shares his answer to the same question.

If you're too impatient to wait for the giveaway, you can pre-order Code for Failure HERE.

I want to - eat drums!

At the end of lesson one, Teach flipped ahead a few pages in the book. "We sped through the first section, so I think you'll be ready to work with the whole set during the second half of the next lesson."
     Hitting a practice pad is one thing, one quiet thing. The idea of actually sitting at a drum set and having no idea what to do made me really anxious, even though I know the point of lessons is to learn.

(Un?)Fortunately we didn't get that far. I practiced every day, I really did. I got better at keeping a steady pace and keeping up with my metronome. The problem is, I think, that I practice alone. I don't have anyone looking at me, watching my sticks hit, listening to me count "one, two, three, four," as I play a rhythm over and over and over again. I don't have someone nodding along in my peripheral vision, I don't wonder if someone can see me tilt my head or shrug my shoulders on the rests. So when I did have that… I clammed up. I talked more than I hit the practice pad. I asked questions I already kinda knew the answers to, and I asked questions that were way beyond what I needed to know at that point.

If Teach thought my constant questions were to cover up a lack of practice, he didn't say so, which makes me happy that he took me at my word that I practiced every day. He gave me a few new pages to cover for the next lesson, saying that will now be the time I actually sit at a drum set. I'm going to practice every page of the book, including the two we'll cover in-class before moving to the set. I'm going to be prepared, I'm going to know it all by heart, and I'm not going to worry about what I sound or look like as I play.


I knew he was the right teacher when he mocked the ugly baby before I could.
At this point, I think I'm going to keep taking lessons for awhile. The hard part is practicing. Teach recommends getting a drum set soon after playing one in lessons, but… that's a massive investment. I'm still in love with the drums right now, but what if I buy a set and then lose interest? I'm trying to convince myself that it's like a baby - I'm not big on the idea now, but if I had one, I'd love it - right? Right??

Gimme a Beat

I signed up for two drum lessons at a local shop.

Two because I knew just one would leave me either loving drums or hating them - and either result would be false and exaggerated due to the limited exposure. Two would give me a chance to experience, practice, and come back to it. Also, two worked out perfectly because I was jetting off to Florida for ten days and could decide if I wanted to continue lessons after some time away (yet hopefully not time away from practicing).

My first lesson was on Leap Day. The teacher helped me pick out supplies: a standard book he always uses, and some sticks. "These are the weight you'll need," Teach said, "unless you want glittery ones." I wish you could hear the tone in his voice when he said this, the way he semi-scoffed in my direction because, sporting Converse, jeans, and a tank top, I probably looked like someone who loved glitter just as much as he did.

WRONG.
I shot the look right back at him, and he directed me to the display of glittery drum sticks. I picked out a lovely purple pair.

Later I told him I should have gotten regular sticks, rewarding myself with the shiny after I made progress. He said that having pretty sticks would make me more likely to practice because I'll want to play with them all of the time. So far, he's been right.

The first lesson went pretty quickly because I already have a varied music history. I played piano in elementary school, flute in middle school, and started teaching myself guitar in high school. I knew what certain notations meant, I could count out the time signatures and pause for rests. Plus I was only hitting a practice pad - seems simple enough, right?

It's not.

I have rhythm. I can hear a song and tap my feet along with it, and my hands can tap out another beat altogether. But when it's just me counting "One and two and three and four and"? I speed up. An incredible amount. Teach had to slow me down several times, and I have a tendency to speed up still while practicing, even with a metronome.

Another difficult thing is that I'm used to playing instruments where half and whole notes matter. I can hold out a note for two or four beats on the piano and flute, but not on the drums. (Note that I'm still talking about basic drums, aka a practice pad at this point, not an entire set. I'm not even ready to think about that yet.) It's strange for me to see a whole note or a tied note and still count it as one beat.

My current practice set-up isn't that great...

Music stand and drum set all in one! Doubles as a kitchen table chair during dinnertime.
I'm trying to be honest with myself:
- Do I love drumming because it's something I've always wanted to do, and I just love that I'm finally doing it?
- Or do I love pounding out a beat and getting things right?
- Do I want to keep doing it for myself even if I'm never a rockstar?
- Would I ever even be confident enough to start a band or audition for one?
- Do I just love carrying around my drumsticks and hearing them click in my bag because it makes me feel like a badass? (I seriously carry them around more than I should. But I have NEVER reached into my bag for a pen, pulled out a drumstick and said "Oh my goodness, THAT'S not a pen! Silly me. Silly, badass, rockstar me." Never.)

After one lesson, I had no clue - but lesson two?

Do-you-think-he-saurus*

The Dinosaurs exhibit opens at the Memphis Zoo this Saturday, but members were allowed in a week early. I was a little apprehensive, due to my inexplicable fear of animatronic creatures/larger-than-life statues. You can hear the dinosaurs roaring as you walk up to the zoo entrance; the first time a dino turns his head and directs his gaze at you, you're going to be a little creeped out! I got over it pretty fast - thank you, thank you, no need for applause. It was a gorgeous spring day, but we all agreed that the exhibit would be way more fun at night!

This guy sprayed poison if you got too close.


Here I come!


Headshot


Because I am a child…

Or, as my dad said, "What a thing to be remembered for…"

T-rex smiles proudly,


and shows off his prize.



I made friends with one of the dinos,


but he threw me off and preceded to gnaw on me.

(I think it was because they cut off his lower half.)

*What do you call a blind dinosaur?

Lottery Luck

When the plumbers showed up at my house at 8a, right on schedule, I was already up. With a pot of coffee flowing through my veins, yes, but I had been functioning for a good hour. However, seeing three young, attractive workers made me wonder if I was still dreaming.

I promptly texted my friend Julie:
     A: Service men at my house - my age AND cute!
     J: That NEVER happens. Either old, or your age with no teeth.
     A: I know! And I got THREE cuties!
     J: 3??? You should buy a lottery ticket.

And so I did.
I went to the gas station and realized I had no clue what to buy. I didn't want a Powerball, because I don't have a TV to watch the numbers get picked and, let's face it, I'm not the most patient person. So I pointed to a case of scratch-off tickets and told the clerk, "A lottery ticket, please!"

She looked at the case, then cocked her eyebrow at me. "Those are twenty dollars."

I wasn't feeling that lucky. "Can I have one that's, like, a dollar?"


I should have known Monopoly would have a lottery ticket. It's one of my favorite
games, in various incarnations: original, the Simpsons, McDonald's.


Apparently luck was not in my favor… it would have been tempting fate to win
good money on top of having three cute boys wanting to climb my ladder.

No, really - they wanted to climb my ladder.

Everyone loves my treehouse.