Today went well.

First day back and my course work looks interesting thus far.

Keeping this entry short.

Helped a friend flesh out a story idea and remarked to myself how much easier it is to edit and add to, than create.

Tired.

Possible hit on an apartment.

Need to go to gym.

Bed.

Patterns

I read some of Herman Hesse's poetry today in an old collection that had either belonged to my parents or a good friend of mine who moved out of the area. I don't normally read much poetry, but I've found myself struggling to "lose myself" in lengthier pieces of fiction as of late.

In reading Hesse's poetry, it serves as an insight into his thinking process. From what I've gathered, he was dealing with a lot of the same dificulties I am. It's worth noting that Hesse's poetry has to do with emotion, the countryside, travel, love, and lost youth. Again I emphasize.

Tomorrow's a big day as I begin my new program at CGU and start life anew as an English major yet again. I'm looking forward to it, but I'd be lying if I didn't admit to being a little nervous. But mostly I'm excited. That's enough for tonight.

All jazz lost

I'm sure I'm not alone in being envious of the things that other people write. Take the television show Lost for example, especially under Brian K. Vaughn's watch. I look at Lost and think: "wham, that's it" and wish that I'd written it (the infamous second season included).

I remember hearing a story once that went like this: Jeff Beck, a well respected guitar player and my personal fav., walked into the bar one day to listen to an American guitar player who he'd heard only little about. He sat down and watched this American contemporary silently for several minutes. And when the band finished, Mr. Beck finished his beer and headed toward the door. His friends asked him where he was heading to which he replied, "to go find a new career." The man on stage was Jimi Hendrix.

I've absolutely no idea if it ever really happened and whether it is merely mythopea or tall tale, doesn't really matter. Obviously Jeff didn't quit and went on to later record albums that would define Jazz Fusion and inspire countless musicians, myself included. I like this story. It reminds me to push on, even when discouraged or when facing persons, places, and things that seem greater, bigger or better than you.

Daze gone by.

I absolutely hate it
when the day disappears

Guilt creeps in silently
like a coyote through the dog door

And coats the back of your throat
with something close to cough syrup

Daze gone by.

Bygones, be bygones.

Gone are the days.

The Top 10

I've decided that Fridays on Syntactical Hiccups will be "Top Ten Fridays". Over the course of any given week I encounter enough musings, suggestions, opinions, good ideas, bad ideas, hot topics, and falderal to fill a sizable container capable of holding mass amounts (goddamn idiom shortage).

I've been pestering quite a few people now for some suggestions on The Muse.

Here are the top ten:

1. Be less focused on the idea of producing a novel--that's not the same as writing.
2. Don't let the blog tie you to one idea, consider writing short stories.
3. You don't always have to like what you write.
4. Stick with it and don't get discouraged.
5. Write less about your writing and more about your life.
6. Focus less on the audience/reader and don't worry about how you're coming across.
7. Don't obsess over your "triggering town", it's just what gets the gears turning.
8. Schedule a time to write everyday.
9. Don't be afraid to change horses midstream, WWII stories have become space operas.
10. Remain positive or neutral, and you may allow yourself to be reflective, upset, and concerned--but never discouraged.

Time

I came to the realization this afternoon that perhaps the ultimate reason I appreciate the written word as much as I do has to do with "time". We are a species ruled by time. Our need to communicate with one another as quickly and as effectively as possible underscores a "need for speed" that runs to the core. But tragically, the need to communicate often trumps the need to be understood. For the sound of one hand clapping, can't be heard by forest alone.

I enjoy writing because it helps me to be understood, just as much as it helps me to understand. In person, I will often find myself overwhelmed and can't be slowed down to phrase things carefully. In conversations, I meander and amble toward something resembling a point, but often fall short.

It has all too often been said that good writing is good editing, but good conversations have no such platitude. With that considered, writing means so much to me because it is full of second chances. First impressions are only first drafts and a pause can last for seconds, days, or even years. Writing, for all intended purposes, is a time machine. It is an opportunity to mark a cadence limited only by the ink in your pen or the electricity in your computer.

Lucky 13

Day 13: Day 1

Dear Readers,

Sometimes little things weigh us down. In the film Up in The Air, George Clooney plays a shrewd, hip, 40-50 something, HR specialist who travels around the country firing people. That said, he's not a "bad guy" and is actually pretty redeemable in his approach to looking at the future, namely highlighting the potential that comes from loss. I can speak to this personally. Clooney's character also takes on the material aspect of personal obligations when he presents a metaphorical "backpack" that gets heavier with the more responsibilities, possessions, and relationships you have in your life. I can also speak to that a little.

Last year I was well on my way to a career in education. In spring of '09 I found myself enrolled in Claremont Graduate University's Teacher Education Program. After substitute teaching for a few years, I had discovered that much of the disdain I had once had for teaching had more to do with my experiences as a student and a fear of settling down. So I took the plunge, all the while a little voice, a minute subconscious inkling, whispered in my ear that this wasn't me.

As the program progressed, the initial enjoyment I found in the sociological and philosophical aspects of education wore off quickly as the coursework shifted more toward lesson planning, classroom management, and California content standards. But I pressed on. I promised myself an apartment, new toys, independence, freedom, and that kept me pushing onward, albeit blindly.

Summer was student teaching, which was perhaps the most stressful 6 weeks of my life. It felt longer. It felt like a prison sentence just starting. It made me absolutely admire the determination and efforts of my father, a classroom teacher of 23 years, and brought us closer together. But as the summer came to a close, the economic realities of recession-era living set in.

After 40 applications, 5 interviews, and 2 call backs, I broke down. I felt betrayed by CGU's promises and assurances, and completely invalidated with each district's rejection email. Fears of every shape and size crept into my consciousness. I began to question my rational, my capability, and my grip on life. I recognized how in over my head I was and realized that I needed some outside validation in the most professional capacity. I went to counseling.

With Teacher Ed. I had two options: take a leave of absence from the program or switch to the "50/50 Program", which detailed student teaching and limited opportunities to sub. And then something happened that changed my life.

I had gone into the department office to discuss my options. It was a gray November day and my outlook was even darker. The woman I met with, let's call her "Angela", had done her best to help and looked overworked. The number of students without employment was dire and I was one of them. We talked and I tried to remain positive, which hurt. And then, at the end of our meeting I found myself asking her about a possible major change. A little question. She told me I'd have to check with the other department to look into a program change. I left, feeling something stirring. Something that had been dormant. Something that felt right.

I exited the building and headed home. But on my way across the Drucker campus, I saw a beautiful girl with dark coffee features and raven black hair. And hoping to strike up a conversation, asked her if she knew where the English department was. She smiled, adjusted the stack of books in her arms, and quite literally pointed me in the right direction. Long story short, I found the Arts and Humanities department and transferred to English. Things have gotten steadily better since.

Today I stopped off at Huntley Bookstore to buy my textbooks for the spring and the cashier, upon recognizing me, asked me how the Teacher Ed. program was going. When I told him I had changed my program to English he asked me "how much time did you waste?" I paused, taken aback by his phrasing and replied as follows: "None."

Sometimes loss is necessary for us to move on. In my case, I'm thankful for the bad economy. Teaching high school has always felt like an inevitability and a default destination-- the Denny's of my dreams. But when I discovered the difficulty, oppression, stress, performance anxiety, and lack of jobs in teaching, the genuine reality of the profession sank in. That's when I realized, it didn't make any sense to spend what limited time I have on this planet doing something I didn't at least get some enjoyment out of.

So here we are, blog 13 and a long and rambly one at that. Learning to see change as something other than bad or good is difficult. This is especially true of writing. But what I find as most important lies in recognizing when it is time to initiate change.

As my aunt points out, words have power. Titling this blog "The Laziest Writer You Know" would be like naming a sailboat "Old Sinky". It is with that that I smash open a new bottle of champagne across the bow and set course under a new heading: Syntactical Hiccups.

And in the words of the Sahara All Stars Band, enjoy yourself.

Authoritatively yours,

Jordan

PS

I promise to limit the nautical puns from here on out. Honest.