Blogging: Passion

It’s almost impossible to write with passion unless we have something in life we are truly passionate about; being dedicated to something you love doing.  It could be mountain climbing or embroidery.  If you’re passionate about it, you can covey those emotional moments of triumph and defeat, as a translation of the written word.  We can always draw from experience as well…

When I want to write about something I’m passionate about, I need to place myself within a situation, so I prefer to blog these kind of stories late  into the night, where silence and solace are my allies!  I’m one of those very fussy writers who must have complete silence, someone to bring me a snack, or I’d starve to death…  I hear we tend to think more clearly on an empty stomach; must be some extra alertness survival method that kicks in.  Anyway, I find it works for me!

Ever have an argument, and after, write down all you can remember that was said?  That’s just journalism in action!  Journalists do sugar coat the facts to make events sound more exciting, more dramatic!  So if you find you need to beef up the excitement,  shore up the details, and inject more mystery, more questions!  Some things must be left to the imagination of the reader.  So it’s good to impose a sense of question-ability at times.  We don’t want anyone guessing the ending now do we?

Character descriptions must flow with some sense of continuity, to get the reader involved!  They are most important to provide a hero and a villan, a climax and an anticlimax.  If it isn’t working you up, you won’t work up your audience!  They are your objective; the ones you must hold captive to the story line!  What plot twists and moral questions do you wish to impose? 

When writing about a boxing match for example, you’re not writing about technique to work someone up.  It must be about pain; the fight to get back up when you have no strength left to do so!  It’s the crocked business, confrontations, a real behind the scenes look, the boxing audience doesn’t see!  That’s what we wanna read!  What life shattering event have you come through?  How did it change you?  What was the final result?  These are the questions you need to be asking!  Become whom you are writing about.  Embody their charactor as a living being on the written page…

_MG_1994

Advertisements

Welcome to My World

_funny_exam

Introduction

As soon as I was born, they put a tag around my neck that read: ‘And now for something completely different!’  I loved Kindergarten because it was completely chaotic and uncontrolled: something I’m passionate about for it’s deep, hidden meaning!  Grades 1 and 2 were a complete write off: Teacher:  Now class?  I want you to draw concentric circles, and try to stay perfectly between the lines!’  Me: (to the student beside me) ‘Pssst!  What’s ‘concentric’ mean?’  Him: ‘I dunno…  But I think it’s something sexual!’  <Five minutes later>  Teacher:  Now class?  Put your crayons down, and fold your hands neatly in front of you…  Who here can count from 1 to 20 for me?  Me: ‘Pssst!  Don’t put up your hand!  They’re trying to control us!’

Then he’d start giggling, and get into trouble for something that I instigated…  The new sense of power, manipulation and just this over-all good feeling I got when I cracked people up, was exhilarating for me!  It was then and there, (when and where?) that I decided I had my own itinerary, and must pursue my new, all important career, as class clown, and eventual international Idiot: a vocation I can assure you to this day, still delivers perks: examples include, watching people turn purple cuz they can’t catch their breath!  Seeing drinks sprayed all over the room!  And witnessing mushroom clouds immerge from Klingons circling around Uranus!  Again, to me, it was the achievement of maintaining complete chaos and un-control: something I’m passionate about for it’s deep hidden meaning!

_dodo1

How to stand out as an abject Failure!

Above, is my class photo from grade three…  I actually failed grade three because I convinced the entire class not to take the teacher seriously!  To me, lost in my own twisted world, this was actually a promotion.  I know because every time I’d speak at her personally, she’d turn her head to one side as if nobody was talking at all.  Oh yeah!  I shoved a bug so far up her ass, she had to look cross eyed to drink a glass of water!  She was a slender lady, in her forties, with curly, black hair, and looked just like Roseland Russell.  Here’s a picture of my grade three Teacher:

_Rosalind Russell

So I decided to knuckle down in grade four, and achieved grades that your usual self taught juvenile delinquent was not supposed to achieve.  So they gave me an I.Q. test, and to everyone’s astonishment, I passed!  In fact, they skipped me a grade, and I quote: ‘Let’s see what the little Con Artist can do in grade five!’  There I breathed a sigh of relief, having once again been submerged within complete chaos and un-control.  My mother quipped: ‘The sneaky, little Bass, Turd got his way again!’  Here comes the good part…

The school gave me money!

Well, not actual dollars and sense, but more like a blank cheese check for whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted it!  They wouldn’t tell me what my actual I.Q. was cuz they said they didn’t want my head to swell up, but that it was up there.  So my Mummy (Now displayed along with my Neanderthal Step Stool Dad, in: The Museum of Natural Corpus Delecti, Cancerous Tumors Unit), sat me down ,and said I could have anything I want, if I just ask, because the school says you have a natural talent for wasting people’s time…

[Hmmm…]  I said to myself: ‘OK…  … …  I want a Telescope, a Microscope, a Chemistry set, a Swiss Army Knife, a hand crafted spinning Top with a Diamond tip, a name brand Tape Recorder, a Butterfly Net, and two, large baskets of sour Gum Balls!  I’ll know more about what I want after I compile a list’  She gave me one of those amazed yet bewildered looks.  You know?  Like she’d just witnessed something beyond comprehension!  And answered with a classic remark: ‘What do you think I am?  The Bank of Montreal?’  It wasn’t long before I actually went to The Bank of Montreal, and asked them if they knew my parents…

Two weeks later, the Telescope arrived…   I was to hear those words more frequently than not, from both her, and my Step Stool Father, with the same amazed yet bewildered look:  like two deer’s caught in headlights!  I’ll explain in full, shocking, detail, just why I needed those things in the sequel (seek well?) to this: ‘An Urgent Need to Be Greedy!’  Mean-while, here’s a picture of my parents:

_Neanderthal man and woman