“I always plucked a thistle and planted a flower where I thought a flower would grow.”

~Abraham Lincoln

Best. Vacation. Ever.  I am now well rested and ready for ‘09.  

I hope everyone had a wonderful vacation.  Again, my thanks for all the well wishes over the last two weeks.  It was an unexpected aggregate of kindness.  

For the past three months, I’ve been collaborating with Eric Hamm of “Motivate Thyself.”  Even if nothing more than a single email traded, collaboration has been a daily constant.  Our exchanges have amounted to many piles on the drawing board.  The first now ready to lose its veil.  We’ve teased this project for a month, all the while working to make it unique.  

A year ago, I had no idea I would ever blog; the word still funny when I’d only been writing a half handful of months.    Cut to early summer and I traded most of my offline reading in favor of new, exciting online authors.  I started to toy with the idea of building a blog of my own.

By the end of summer, my whys had turned into why nots.  Writer Dad was born.  

The last half year has flown by; never before have I lost my minutes to months with such speed.  I drew a lot of lessons in that short time and have a clear understanding of what I want in this new year.  Much of what I’ve found about blogging along the way has been shared in these pages.  Now, however, I feel as though those lessons feel somehow out of place, perhaps impeding the most natural direction for my first online home.  

Eric and I are sharing office space at the Blogopolis Blueprint, the website we’ve spent the last two months building.  Since I would like you to click over and check out my goofy mug in motion,  I won’t be redundant.

I will say our site aims to be far more than just another blog about blogging.  We learn from experience and share what we’ve learned through a well articulated stream of writing and video.

No one could have seen this coming, the year that just whizzed by me.  This year promises just as many surprises.  My first ‘09 adventure starts here, at the Blogopolis Blueprint.  

Be there from the beginning.

Writer Dad

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“Success isn’t a result of spontaneous combustion.  You must set yourself on fire.”

~Arnold H. Glasow

Across the world, men and women sit straighter, raising heads in consideration as the final page floats gracefully from their calendar.

As each tick pushes the following tock toward a change in our year’s final digit, it is difficult to look forward without stealing a glance in the rear view of our year, wondering if we pulled all the possibility from each of our dozen previous months.

Few of us can nod our heads with certainty.  Not because we failed to try, but because we did not endeavor with all our mind.  Perhaps we thought success would arrive by the brute force of our character rather than from the strength of a well reasoned plan. Or maybe we believed that because we mean the things we say, our plans would spontaneously transpire.

Life isn’t a script with lines to memorize.  It is an everlasting ad lib with zero second takes or pauses.  It happens around us with every breath, deep within a vacuum of inevitability we cannot ever escape.

Most of us leave our last year behind then step obediently into the next, certain this new year will be the one when we will make our dreams sing in the key we’ve always wanted.  We design our dreams with bloated intention, only to find them faded by the harsh sun of reality sometime around mid-February when the burden of daily commitment becomes a bit too much to bear.

It doesn’t have to be this way.

Seeing success means tearing the meat from the bones of our word, rather than leaving the flesh to rot on a moldering carcass.  We must mean what we say and see our commitments through.  This often means the creation of smaller goals, completing each before moving to the next.

“This year I’m going to get in the best shape of my life, pull my family closer toward prosperity, and spend my minutes wisely.”

That may all be true, but without a map we are only nomads; empty phrases are not powerful enough an engine to pull us toward change without our best effort behind.

Plan your goals and write them down.  The permanence of the written word adopts a power unvoiced thought can never possess.

Establishing goals we cannot meet, prompted by arid ambition and little application is no way to find the finish line.  This new year could be the best one yet.  No one has more impact than you.

Writer Dad

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Happy Deja Vuesday.  Today’s rewrite is from the post originally titled, “Wiped Out and Ready For More.”

Enjoy!

“Slow down and everything you are chasing will come around and catch you.”

~John De Paola

There’s nothing so exhausting as a good vacation.

We closed our preschool ten days back and have been reveling in a rather loose routine ever since.  This is the first time we haven’t had a house guest during the winter break.  We love our usual visitor, but sharing our space during a long anticipated vacation is like getting to the front of the bathroom line, then being told you have to hold it.

It’s been difficult lately, shutting my mind off.  My body is exhausted, begging for rest, but a new year brimming with possibility is on the other side of the horizon and my brain only keeps bouncing as I try to slow.  I of course employ a multitude of methods, but each tactic is merely an umbrella in my brainstorm.

I count backward from a hundred, but before my tally nicks ninety, I find myself pondering a half year worth of yesterdays and twelve months of tomorrows.

I feel wonderfully wired after the most relaxing vacation I’ve ever had without passing city limits.  Daisy and I ambled through long, lingering conversations; unbuttoned words born from rest rather than the ashes of fatigue.  Horizons were mapped and conclusions agreed on.

Never has a New Year felt so promising, never have I felt so eager to greet it.

I’ll see you all tomorrow, and happy early New Years!

Writer Dad

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“Motivation is when your dreams put on work clothes.”

~Author Unknown

Happy Monday everyone!  It’s almost New Years, a grand time to talk about motivation.  Who better to discuss the subject than the motivation expert, Eric Hamm?  Please enjoy.  I’ll be back tomorrow and through the remainder of the week.

When I started “Motivate Thyself” in late July, I was of the mindset that our lack of motivation was at the core of our societal frustrations.  I thought we were somehow capable of accomplishing our every goal and dream, just not willing enough.  After almost a half year of blogging on motivation, I must admit - this idea is now devout belief.  The difference is  now I understand my own struggle with the motivation.  It’s one thing to scream from the mountain tops at a high point in our lives, another to repeat ourselves a week later when we’re not feeling the motivation in quite the same way.

As the New Year draws closer to the present, many of us will start thinking about the areas of our lives that need our attention.  Common thoughts focus on exercise, diet, career, etc…  We look at the change in the final digit as a new start, and hope that THIS year will be different.  Thankfully, we often do inch forward by learning from our past, but these changes are often short sighted and quickly fade as the first few pages of the calendar are flipped.

This year CAN be different.  ‘09 has the potential to be the best year yet, but it isn’t going to happen unless you manage your motivation, and never lose the hunger for positive change.

The Magic of Motion

In the first month of blogging I found I could keep my adrenaline pumping with ease.  It was the second and third months that threatened to mute my motivation.  I found it impossible to ALWAYS maintain enthusiasm about a project or particular habit, but keeping my wheels spinning was essential.

Let’s use our imaginations:

You are driving to Bob and Betty’s house to celebrate New Years.  You decide to take a shortcut, convinced you know precisely where you’re going.  You veer from the road, but after a few miles you realize the shortcut is nothing more than a path to somewhere OTHER THAN Bob and Betty’s.  You are lost, without a clue how to get back to the beaten path.

What do you do?  Pull over to the side of the road and ponder your bearings?  Do you get angry, yell at everyone in the car, and tell them THEY are somehow to blame?  Or do you keep moving forward, adjusting direction until you find your way back to familiar road?

Motivation is not just a feeling inside us.  It is an ACTION; a verb that translates mediocrity into excellence.  To bring any sort of consistent growth into our lives, we must harness the magic of motion as we seek the correct coordinates.

The Magic of Motivation

Motivation has gotten a bad rap over the years.  Visions of ‘Motivation Gurus’ swinging their fists and screaming, “YOU CAN DO IT!!!” over and over sends shivers down the spine.  Blindly running as fast as we can while never looking back, let alone forward, is not productivity.  Yet, this is what some promote and many attempt.

Motivation is a simple ingredient.  Like salt, it’s purpose is to enhance the flavor of our lives.  Without it, we risk living each day blandly going through the motions.  With it, ANYTHING is possible.

We can…

• Further our education, regardless of age and/or financial situation.
• Start the business we’ve always dreamed of.
• Travel to places that we never thought we’d see.
• Change our lives for the better, each and every day.

Motivation won’t magically make this happen.  We must learn new things, grow more flexible, and put in the time to pay our dues.  Motivation isn’t the engine that propels the car, but the fuel that feeds it.  Without fuel, we have only a capable engine, sitting idle.

Make It Happen In ‘09

I don’t question the aspirations of the human race.  I have no doubt we all dream of greatness in our lives.  It’s our lack of resolve to keep putting one foot in front of the other that seems to keep us from accomplishing the majority of our must-dos.

I’m sure there are many of you who have no problem maintaining motivation.  To you, I encourage consistent assessment of your direction.  It’s just as easy to go nowhere when you’re moving as it is parked by the roadside.  To those who struggle with motivation, I’d ask that you take a close look at the fuel you are feeding your engine.  Physical, mental, spiritual, whatever.  Make sure you’re not keeping your foot on the breaks by the habits you hold to.

Whichever camp you tend to live, this can be your year.  We ALL have the potential for great things; our goals, there for the taking.  It is simply a matter of constantly pushing forward, re-dialing our daily direction, and making our motivation a priority.

Eric

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Happy Holidays everyone!

This is one of my favorite times of year.  The final quiet of an old year is the perfect time to both look behind and peek ahead, celebrate all we did well and acknowledge where we must try harder.

I’ve never been more excited to face a new year.

Thank you to every reader for these last few months.  Back in late summer I set out to find an audience.  This community has been immeasurable in pushing my growth as a writer.  There is nothing like the daily feedback of a blog.  Period.

Thanks to all for the emails and well wishes over the last few days.  I did not lift the lid of my laptop for two days, for the first time in two years.  Please be patient, I promise to respond to each of you.

Have a wonderful weekend, and I’ll see you on Monday.  Bright and early.

Writer Dad

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Merry Christmas Eve everyone. Today, David Wright is telling us what Christmas means to him this year with “The Gift.” Enjoy.

The gift

I was not looking forward to this holiday season.

I’ve been without a job since June and it’s been quite a transition. Being broke and jobless at Christmas sucks. I don’t mind that few gifts will have my name on them this year. I’m more bothered that I can’t buy gifts for others.

Fortunately, I have a wife who understands our situation.

In fact, she’s been very understanding since I lost my job. She hasn’t given me hell about finding a new one. She hasn’t complained about all that we have to do without. She’s been great.

It’s hard for me, though, to know that she’s carrying the weight of most of our financial burdens. It’s hard that purchases normally made without hesitation are now critical decisions.

Being without a job has led me to some dark places the past six months as I face the unknown and my limitations. I’m loathe to feel sorry for myself as I’m hardly alone in my predicament. Too many people are finding themselves in situations they never thought would happen to them.

But at times, I feel pretty damned hopeless.

For the most part, I’ve withdrawn from many people because I’m not feeling particularly good about my situation. I don’t want to have “that conversation” with people.

“So, you find a job yet? Ah, too bad, man.”

It’s awkward and a reminder of my failings. Part of me would like to just hide away until I’m back on top of things. I don’t want to infect people with my growing cynicism. I don’t want to be “that guy” who brings everyone down with his woes. I’m normally a pretty funny and upbeat guy.

But when you’re not working, you have lots of time to focus on how bad things are, how much rotten and evil runs rampant in the world and how little evidence of goodness.

So, like I said, I was not looking forward to Christmas.

But recently, I’ve received some reminders of what I couldn’t see - the kindness of others.

It started a couple of weeks ago when someone anonymously left several bags of groceries at our doorstep. It could not have come at a better time, either. Later, we found out who the person was - someone from my wife’s church.

A couple of weeks ago, my father spent an entire day installing cabinets and building shelves in our laundry room - something my wife has wanted since we moved in. He offered his time and bought the materials because he knew that we couldn’t afford it.

And then last week, more generosity - strangers gave new clothes and presents to my son. And thanks to my mother-in-law, my son has a few more gifts under the tree this year than he would have had.

It’s amazing that so many people surrounding us were willing to open their hearts and help us.

I’ve never been on this end of charity. But it made me think a bit more about just that - giving.

My wife and I have donated to charities in the past. Not a lot, mind you, but when we could. I’ve never really thought much about what that money buys, though. In most cases that money buys hope.

And hope is one of the best things you can give to those who have lost it.

So, thank you to those who have given me hope.

Merry Christmas.

Dave

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Hi everyone.  Happy Tuesday.  Today’s “What Christmas means to me” is from Jamie Simmerman of Blue Duck Copy. Enjoy!

Christmas Hope

When I was a child, Christmas Eve meant traveling to my dad’s hometown to celebrate with my entire dysfunctional family.  My grandparents’ house was nestled at the center of a community of less than 100 people. The highlight of the town was the nearby lake and the General Store’s handmade ice cream. The town wasn’t even big enough to qualify for a stoplight.

My family is more than a little unusual.

My grandfather was big and boisterous; my grandmother was petite with hair that stood straight off her head. Grandma purposely burnt everything she served to my grandfather, and he turned his hearing aids off every time she began to speak.

Fistfights in the kitchen broke out often, where my grandmother would inevitably jump on grandpa’s back and pull his hair. They would cuss like sailors and wish horrible diseases on each other at will- an odd couple if one ever existed. Together, they had 5 children, yet they both claimed neither ever wanted any kids. Still, the whole family gathered every year to make each other miserable for the holidays.

“Merry Christmas you worthless piece of dung.”

So off to grandma’s house we go.

We would cram in whatever junker car my dad was driving and rumble over the back roads, the trunk loaded with presents and food. Most years, it would rain giant fluffy snowflakes that glittered in the headlights and smacked into the windshield like tiny shooting stars. A beautiful yet beguiling prelude to what awaited.

As we unloaded the loot from the trunk, you could hear the uproar inside through the thick old front door. Grandma’s house was far from clean on the best of days, but add an extra 10 adults and 9 grandkids, and the clutter and chaos grew to overwhelming proportions.

Let the chaos begin.

Stepping inside the door, you would find nine different arguments happening in the same room, kids playing tag in the gigantic old rooms of the house, and my grandfather pushing his latest batch of fudge like a drug dealer with a fresh group of junkies.  Curse words and insults could be heard every couple of seconds, and nothing was considered sacred or off-limits. If we’d had any close neighbors, or even a local police station, the cops surely would have been called.

Can I get a get out of jail free pass, please?

As the midnight hour drew near, a few brave souls would seek solace in the peace and quiet outside the house. The single streetlight cast a yellow glow as fluttering snowflakes drifted silently from the heavens, and the accumulated fresh snow muffled both footsteps and voices as we climbed the hill to the old church perched at the edge of town.

The parishioners provided a candlelight service every Christmas Eve and the warmth and quiet of the church was irresistible after the cold trek through the bitter blowing wind and the deafening roar of the party below.

Years later, the words spoken during those late night services would be presented again with the same promise, peace, and warmth, yet I would finally understand their meaning.

Christmas Present

Now, Christmas no longer means dreaded family get-togethers, humiliating conversations, and sporadic bouts of violence.

With the birth of a single baby boy, I now have hope. There is healing for my scars, rest when I need it, and an unconditional love that erases the dysfunction that has plagued my family for generations. That baby has taken the splintered ugly shards of my soul and left something beautiful in its place that I could never have created.

For me, Christmas means hope.  2000 years ago, in the basement of an old watchtower situated in a field near Bethlehem, a tiny baby boy was born in a sheep pen and placed in a feeding trough. That seemingly insignificant event brought the hope of the Messiah to the local shepherds, and it brings hope to all who seek Him today.

Merry Christmas,

Jamie

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“The ability to simplify means to eliminate the unnecessary so that the necessary may speak.”

~Hans Hofmann

Happy Holidays everyone.  Vacation has started.  I will be online sporadically for the rest of the year as I tidy up this one and prepare for the next.  I will drop in with a couple of important messages, and the pages will be kept fresh by friends of Writer dad.  Please enjoy the first in a series of guest posts, as Dave Fowler tells us what the holidays this year mean to him.

This is my first Christmas as a stay at home dad, so it’s going to be different.  This year is going to be better than any Christmas before.  It will be more joyous and there will be more merriment.

Not because I have some meticulous plan set in place to execute with military like precision - but because I don’t.

I have no plan, other than to go with the flow.

Except for the purchase of a few gifts and a major round of early grocery shopping, I’ve done nothing else to prepare.

It feels brilliant and liberating.  “So what,” shall be my motto.

There is not much that can’t be fixed by the careful application of personal attention, and who better to give it than someone not tied to a rigid agenda and steeped in the ludicrous expectations of a perfect Christmas Holiday?

I have fallen foul of this too many times before.

Whenever I’ve planned to design an event to perfection, it always misses the mark and finds its bulls-eye in disappointment instead.

Always aspiring to something greater, I find  my mind is often elsewhere, thinking of something that has already happened or is yet too, but I am usually missing out on what’s transpiring right before my very eyes.

Not this year.

This year I’m going to be in the moment as much as I possibly can.  Aside from the obligations I’ve made to getting fit, I have set no rules for myself.

The countless conventions normally set in place have been sidelined in favour of spontaneous fun and frequent dashes of hilarity.  All my children have reached an age where they can fully experience the delight of the holidays, and I want to be present for them.

We are financially challenged this year, owing to the loss of my earning, but I can still give my young family the most wonderful gift I have.

The gift of a father’s time.

Being with them, playing with them, talking to them, and loving them, will make this a Christmas I will never forget.

Merry Christmas,

Dave Fowler

For those of you who have not yet received January, I am sorry. The problem is being sorted and you shall have it by the end of the day. It’s an automated email thing and I want to make sure people aren’t getting inundated with duplicate emails. If you want it immediately, shoot me an email and I’ll send it ASAP. To all of you who sent feedback over the weekend, WOW and thanks! I’d like to especially thank Jamie Grove for his 1000 word review. Definitely awesome and one.

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“The seasons are what a symphony ought to be:  four perfect movements in harmony with each other.”

~Arthur Rubenstein

I have a new writing project.  It’s called Four Seasons.

Four Seasons is a collection of twelves short stories, each taking place in a different month.  Each tale’s events are unique to their time, and should each one assemble toward something special.  It’s definitely an experiment, but I’m thrilled with the first one, finished just hours ago.

The project is newsletter only.  You can sign up at the bottom of this page.  If you’ve already signed up, it’s already in your inbox (I hope you guys love it).

Below are a few bites from the story:

• Maya’s breath hastened into short bursts of labored punctuation, each tiny cry climbing closer toward frantic.

• Time fell from its normal rhythm, into a syrupy pool of swirling seconds; each trudging forward minus meaning.  Brian pushed one leg through his pant bottoms, then the other.  He pulled the shirt over his head, mopping his forehead on the way down.

• He had lost only three minutes since the blond nurse handed him the folded scrubs, but in that time, the doctors had already cut Maya wide in an abyss of blood and gaping flesh.

• The officer ambled toward the minivan, carrying the undisguised gait of a man looking forward to writing a ticked.  “License and registration,” he commanded in a boom which invited no banter.

• Brian sailed through the third red light like it had point value, clearing the empty intersection somewhere between speed limit and death on impact.  “I have to stop doing that,” he thought.  “There’s three of us now.”

See you all on Monday, and have a terrific weekend.

Writer Dad

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