It’s About the Work Stupid

Often I read film and writing magazines, and stumble across articles relating to why the writer writes. While there is almost always an acknowledgment of the need to get paid, and then the joy of getting published, at the core, the reason for the work IS the work.

As a writer of books, poems, short stories, screenplays, and an opera (yes, I wrote an opera once), I must admit to having lost my way as to my reason for writing. I don’t know why or how I lost my way, but my daughter helped me find it again.
Over the last year or so, I’ve started a number of writing project, but have not completed them. I would usually think that the story wasn’t worth publishing because the financial return on investment wouldn’t justify the effort put into writing it. At times, it was the other way around.

With the pending birth of my daughter last summer, I cleared my plate of all writing projects. That’s right; I wrote nothing except this blog. I made way for her addition in my life and figured I probably wouldn’t be able to do anything until 2007. Maybe I would be one of those people who have kids and then stop doing the things whoever hooked up with them and wanted to have kids, found so compelling in the first place.

Then something strange happened. Since I do my best writing at, I found that after my daughter would sleep during my “shift,” I would have pockets of time (a half-hour here, forty-five minutes there) where I would have absolute quiet anywhere between 10:30 P.M. and 2 A.M. When I didn’t use that time to count sheep, I would work on a short-story for a contest that I wanted to enter, more than I wanted to win. I was so engaged in the guidelines that, although I found out about the contest a month before the deadline, I cranked out the final draft and popped it in the mail ten days ahead of schedule. For work I considered rushed, it was decent. I was proud not only that I had a good story, but that I finished it with time to spare. That never happens to me.

I’ve started reading the Letters of Ayn Rand, She's a writer who exemplifies what I mean about the work being paramount. Money is necessary, publication is validating, (both of which I’ve experienced), but it is the passion for the work and what the writer has to say that drives him or her to write when the work is long and hard, when payday isn’t here yet, and your next (of first) publishing is nowhere in site.

When Your Heart Waxes Cold

Over the last two weeks I’ve spoken to a couple friends and relatives that
have been discouraged in their faith because of despair (e.g. government just keeps getting worse), a hurtful experience (e.g. my wife left me).

That seems to be a widening trend where people feel things are getting worse rather than better. I was a victim of this, until recently. Having a daughter helped with that. Not that I no longer believe that certain things are getting worse, but I believe that certain things are getting better. Also, since I’m here on planet earth and look to be here for the foreseeable future, it’s in my best interest to have faith that there are good people and things in the world, and that things do sometimes get better.

I started to look for my connection between our turbulent times and resurgence in faith. The connection I found was my testimony, particularly how I met my wife. People tell me it’s a beautiful story, but what makes it beautiful to me is not how romantic it may sound, but that it reinforces my belief that prayer works. If you really want something in this life, you should ask, whether it’s catching your train when you’re already late, or a cure for a chronic disease. The only questions are, what you ask for, and from whom.

Remembering the Lessons of 9/11

It's been five years and I haven't forgotten. I still have the MTA pass and receipt from when I took the subway from the World Trade Center on September 8, 2001. I checked out of the Marriott World Trade Center on September 9, 2001 and will remember that weekend as one of the best ever in New York.

Looking back now, I have done all the things I promised to do, like stomping out negativity when it attempts to encroach on my well being. I'm now a father and husband. I am more intimate with Boston than ever.

This year, I wasn't interested in re-living anything. For the first time, I wanted to read stories of how people hand transfored their lives since then. It was refreshing. Some of the key things I gleaned:

1) Count everyday as a blessing

2) If there anything you want to do in this life, get on it, no matter how lofty

3) Work on global goodwill

My faith is stonger than it was five years ago. I still ask God why, why I ended up
with a piece of the World Trade Center and its history? I thank him for the heads-up,
and pray for those left in the wake of the tragedy.

Revelations

It started off as a psalm to my daughter. However, Psalm 38, it turned out, was really for me. That night as I slept, I found myself in the realm between sleeping and waking. The realm where one is aware and can control one’s spirit (i.e. out of body experience). I will my spirit to move to test if I was truly in that realm. Once I was sure, I decide as I always do, to stop playing with my spirit before I scared myself to much.

Suddenly, I felt a great evil spirit around me. Then I felt that evil spirit suffocating me. It took the form of the silhouette of someone very dear to me. However, I was not deceived and the façade soon shattered. I tried to escape its grip with my own ability, but I could not. Finally, as I realized my efforts were in vain, I began praying to the Lord, thanking him for his revelations, and asking him to forgive any trespasses I may have been guilty of.

As I prayed, the darkness of the evil spirit began to fade and I began to regain my breath. I then slipped into a long dream. I was in the city of Salvador, Bahia in Brazil (salvador is Portuguese for "savior") and I was at a party with family and friends. However, there was a lot of turmoil at the party, so I left to wander the city to clear my head.

On my way, I met a guide who took me to a part of Salvador I had never been to in real life (not as it was represented anyway); a church at the top of a great hill. Scores of locals and visitors from a dozen countries strolled through the square in front of the church, which was lined with colorful streamers and banners as if for a festival.

Suddenly the church bells tolled, and everyone stopped where they were and began kneeling or making the sign of the cross and praising God. In confusion, I asked my guide what was going on. He started to tell me that it was a time in honor of the Lord to give thanks for his revelation of…and then all I could hear were the church bells. I instantly understood, and got down on my knees and began praising God.