Reposting this little rant on writing today because I’m reading John Lennon’s biography and also just because.
When you do something noble and beautiful and nobody noticed, do not be sad. For the sun every morning is a beautiful spectacle and yet most of the audience still sleeps.” – John Lennon
The minute you start writing for anyone other than yourself is the minute you lose the kind of authenticity that will make your writing great. Pleasing the reader is an ill-fated practice in ridding your prose of the distinct “you-ness” that draws him or her to your work in the first place. Read More
It takes a lot of grace to run a successful pastry business and it takes a lot of gusto to make Sia’s famous black-and-white wig out of nothing but fondant and dreams. Kathryn Gunderson, a professional pastry chef baking out of San Francisco, is doing both, boldly carving her sweet niche in the wedding cake world with her company, Grace & Gusto Cakes.
Kathryn’s creations are crafted with life-like precision, works of edible art reflective of hard-earned experience and talent. Kathryn spent years honing her skills in professional kitchens, including the Culinary Institute of America in Napa Valley, where she obtained her degree. In every Grace & Gusto cake creativity abounds, and the only thing better than looking at her works of edible art is eating them.
I took the butterfly photo above yesterday morning on an iPhone. 🦋
It’s amazing to work with the big clients, the ones with huge marketing budgets that allow for a “let’s do it” attitude at every strategic turn, but there’s something imaginatively wild about a scrappy brand able to execute with nothing but the phone in their hands. Read More
I’ve learned a lot by giving back. I’ve learned there’s happiness in selflessness and that even one person with a will to create change really and truly can. (I’m not referring to myself, although I hope to one day be such a catalyst for charitable revolution. I refer instead to Judy Burlingham, chairman of Pipeline to a Cure, an event dreamed up by Judy and a few friends, who years ago imagined a “magical night” to save lives by the sea.)
Yesterday morning, I drank two cups of coffee and rode the train to San Diego. The frothy ocean views and muted seascape I’ll save for another more literary post but sitting on the train, watching the ocean curl below mottled-gray clouds, I felt like a detective on a civilized coastal adventure. Read More
In most cases learning something essential in life requires physical pain. – Haruki Murakami
Right now I’m in training to write a novel. I do think it’s strange to say I’m in training, but I am. If you read the best books on writing (King, Murakami and Bradbury are good places to start), there’s always a physical element to the way the masters describe writing that people who don’t do it professionally might overlook. I’m not putting anyone down who writes for fun (please, write, WRITE!), it’s just the truth. To most, writers are sad people. They drink a lot more than they should, shower less than they should and sit hunched over leather notebooks in dark corners of dimly lit coffee shops, stealing brilliant ideas from the cinnamon-spiced air to scribble down and publish. Read More
I had two hours until the meeting. One hundred and twenty minutes to open the door of a hotel room that faced a neon-lit atrium and wander a city I’ve never been. Outside on North Main Street in Greenville, South Carolina, humidity bricked against my face, thick as unmilked cows. And seen: the grass, the shrubs, the willow oaks, wispy along parts of the road, bold in other places, trailing toward the cloudless sky. Cars ambled by with the unhurried air of sweet tea sipped on a slow, creaking porch swing. People clutched to paper-wrapped coffee cups and dog leashes and the rhythm of Monday morning.
Two hours. A lot could be done in that time. I could find a quiet nook for breakfast, discover why grits seemed to hold such charm, scan the sky for the Blue Ridge Mountains, walk to the waterfall a sweaty concierge had insisted held small-town promise.
OK, I’d do that. Read More
Yesterday, I received word from Z Publishing House that my short story “The Disappearing Act” was included in a published anthology called “America’s Emerging Literary Fiction Writers: California,” available on the publishing house’s website and through Amazon. My words appear alongside those of 32 other writers and I do have to say “published author” has a nice ring to it. Anyway, a few people (e.g. my dad and third cousin) asked about the story featured, so I’m reposting it here in case you’d like to read. In other news, I apologize for the weeks-long silence of this blog. Posts will start to appear with a much more frequent rhythm over the next few weeks, especially as I prepare to start writing my book in July. Stay tuned …
The Disappearing Act
This weekend I attended the world premiere of The Tony Alva Story presented by Vans at the Newport Beach Film Festival. The screening took place inside Lido Theater, Balboa Peninsula’s one-screen wonder plumped with 1920s decadence and bygone cinematic drama. (The glittering marquee! The thick, red curtain! The wide seats! The Vans-sticker-wrapped stage! The SHOW!)
Good morning, Breana called out sick for tonight. Will you be willing to come in at 1930 hours? Thank you, Terry
Jamie knew Breana wasn’t sick. She knew it like she knew that she had two freckles on the right side of her neck and like she knew she would eat a hard-boiled egg for breakfast because it was right now hissing inside boiling water on her stove and like she knew today was a cloudy Tuesday in San Diego and like she knew Breana wasn’t sick.