Shifting to Craft (Non-Fiction, Writing)

MOAB, Utah - 2019.

Before the outbreak of COVID-19, I was working on many different projects. We were covering the Portland International Film Festival right in the middle of the outbreak; I was working on three different writing projects in various stages of submission; and was trying to build some background ideas for sound art pieces, which was a newer interest. Productivity was high and the projects were exciting. It started to feel like things were getting done.

I tend to be a high producer - meaning I work on a lot of projects and get a lot of stuff done. This does not mean it is all quality. A lot of it isn’t. But with writing and new skills, it takes me a lot of practice and error to get something decent. But as long as things are moving, things are good.

But then everything stopped and, in Portland at least, we were faced with a weird limbo. Because Portland didn’t have a big initial spike, the roll out of governmental regulations and information was slow to hit everyone. At my day job, for example, masks were not required until July, which seems criminally late now. Most people shifted to working from home, but a lot of us were left to keep the job going at the facility.

Work got busy, but creativity took a big hit. I kept creative projects for evenings and weekends, so by Monday I would feel like I did something worthwhile. It felt good to have things on the calendar.

For the first few months, I didn’t know how to get back to being productive outside of my day job. I worked longer hours and on weekends, because there were things to do - accomplishments. Tasks to cross off a list.

But over and over again, it came back to: What do I do if I can’t create anymore?

In 2020, my main focus has been learning how to write fiction: submitting stories to magazines, looking for publication, building a portfolio so when the next submission period comes around, I will be ready. Some real progress was being made, but most of all I felt creative. I felt like I was able to sit down and bust out words. Night after night, sometimes.

But suddenly I could barely read fiction, let alone try to write it.

Fran Meneses, who is a Vlogger and illustrator I’ve been enjoying lately, said in one of her videos: “Creativity is like a plant, you have to water it.” In talking about the COVID-19 lockdown, she and her husband have been going through The Artist’s Way by Julia Cameron to try to simulate the watering of their creative plants. They used to go to galleries and talk with other artists, but now they can’t, so they’ve turned to craft.

25th Anniversary Edition of “The Artists Way” by Julia Cameron

In late June, I started listening to The Story Grid Podcast, trying to find more information on story structure and The Hero’s Journey. Story Grid is an intensely analytical look at story structure, but the way it’s presented in The Story Grid Podcast is fascinating and funny. Shawn Coyne, the creator of Story Grid, took a new writer, co-host Tim Grahl, from idea to outline to first draft to editing (and ultimately to published work), through a series of episodes that dives deep into story craft and theory. It broke me open and I dove in. I ordered the book The Story Grid: What Good Editors Know and treated it like the proper textbook it is. I worked through it. I chose my masterwork to study. I took a week off from my day job to read more and go deeper.

“The Story Grid: What Good Editors Know” by Shawn Coyne

And creativity came back. I started to water the plant, and it slowly grew. I gave myself this blog space to write more and be on a schedule - to give myself permission to share. I started writing fiction again and, after some reworking and rewriting, submitted a radio play to a publication.

The anxiety about all of our current issues didn’t go away. I still worry about a lot of things. But I knew, if I didn’t take the time, I’d be even more unhappy later. So my advice to you if you aren’t feeling creative is: Get into the craft of your chosen art form. Do some learning and give yourself the space to not produce. Dive deep. Learn something you’ve been putting off because you were busy. Work the creative muscle until it starts to work itself again.

It is very likely we will be in lockdown for a long time. If you’re not feeling creative right now, that’s alright. I believe in you.

Let me know in the comments if you’d like to hear from other creators about how they’ve been getting back to their art. I’d love to do an interview series.

A Eulogy for Travel Dreams

Climbing back from a hidden beach - my brother.

Last year we decided to go to Iceland in 2020. We take a few trips a year, but international trips are every couple of years. When we went to France, we bought our tickets almost an entire year in advance. It allowed us to save the rest of the money we needed before the trip came around. Luckily, though, this year we hadn’t yet bought tickets when COVID-19 hit.

There have been many horror stories about people losing all of their reservation money from airlines and hotels. Having to fight to get even credit back from these big companies.

But the space from this trip to Iceland still lingers. Recently, we watched Zach Efron’s Down to Earth series on Netflix, which debuted with an episode about Iceland. The black sand. The great ocean surrounding. The mineral pools and waterfalls and winding roads and Reykjavik. In Down to Earth they visit a cliffside; a giant river. Cascading, roaring falls from a crack in the great earth; grey skies. Gullfoss Falls. One of the most popular tourist spots in Iceland. Over a million people a year.

More than this, though, the space holds the part of me that wants to leave the country. I was talking with a coworker recently about the vacation time I was taking - one whole week off, a Staycation. She said she had a trip booked with her sister, who doesn’t live in town - To Nashville, to see music - but it was cancelled a few months ago. They held out for a while, believing the summer would turn around and that they wouldn’t be locked down. But that didn’t happen.

“Next year,” she said, still hopeful the pandemic would be gone by then.

I told her about Iceland, and about how another coworker used to live in Norway. She said she was scared to leave the country.

“I’d like to see the ruins in Peru,” she said. “But I’d have to go with a lot of people.”

My coworker said it wasn’t safe to travel alone, which made me feel bad for the way Americans see the rest of the world. To Nashville, to The Grand Canyon, to Mardi Gras in New Orleans, but not to Argentina or Chile. Not to Peru with her husband. She heard you have to travel in a very large group. Like twenty people. It’s no surprise, of course, she felt that way. Especially during the Trump Presidency, but it was sad.

When we travelled to France, it was the first time I had left North America. The flight was long and the coffee was bad (always I will remember the coffee). But in the small towns, in the old castles and at the top of dormant volcanoes, grassed over for many years, barely cold, was an experience I couldn’t have had the same way if we stayed in the US because for me it was somewhere else. It felt different. People lived differently. I didn’t understand. It was isolating a lot of the time because I didn’t speak French. I saw people talking, familiar. Missing each other. I didn’t understand, but I could see.

You can have this experience traveling in your own country too. 

In a cabin-hostel at Glacier National Park, we cooked dinner quickly to avoid talking to anyone. There were black bears in the forest. PCT Hikers were passing through. Stopping for the night. Coyotes in the dusk, surrounded by brilliant snowy mountains. On the first floor was a general store that had vegan ice cream. The showers were gendered.

In The Painted Hills, we stayed at a bicycle hostel that used to be a church. The couple who ran it were getting ready for a big race that went all the way down the west coast. Big pots of pasta and quick-to-eat meals were prepared for the last day we were there. I played them The Blood of Others on Spotify. They said they liked it. The shower was in a small covered area outside of the church, a few feet away. There was water pressure, but also spiders.

Last February, we went to Hawaii on a family trip. There was a long ridge covered in spindly trees, the top of a mountain that ran through the middle of the island. It took an hour to get there. My brother went out ahead of us (he was more brave), and took pictures on the part of the trail that was too narrow for my comfort. We made dinner in a million dollar house. I read Isadora by Amelia Gray on the beach while everyone else went in the ocean. The co-op had vegan Musubi.

Last month, we went to Mount Hood and spent four hours trying to find a place to hike without a permit. I gave up and went to Timberline Lodge, so we could at least see some snow. It was ninety degrees and there were hundreds of people in the parking lot. We didn’t stop. Eventually, with no help from me, we found a spot to hike. Up into the trees and away from any sound of the road. The forest became another kind of forest - clover-covered and dense, up we went. When we decided to turn around, we’d only gone 0.7 miles. It was steep, but the day made me tired and grumpy. We were home before five o’clock.

At the end of my staycation, now, I feel the missing space of travel even more than I did before. I read books. I studied. I watched movies and made dinner. We walked around our neighborhood every night. The rest was nice, but the space grew deeper. When will we be able to leave again?

Reading Werner Herzog’s Of Walking In Ice didn’t help.

Watching Fran Meneses’ travel vlogs to Berlin and Tokyo and Mexico didn’t help.

But I recommend them to you. 

It’s hard now to see a world in which we can travel as freely, at least within the next couple of years. As Americans, I feel, it’s irresponsible to go to a country like Iceland or Finland, who have taken the proper steps - who have believed the science and helped their people - to control the pandemic, but I still want to. I still mourn the loss - over dramatic as it may be - of traveling.

"Prizes! Prizes! Prizes!" (Interactive Fiction)

Prizes! Prizes! Prizes! is the story of two friends trying to navigate life and get to the arcade. Through multiple pathways and endings, Prizes! Prizes! Prizes! explores young friendship, loneliness, and family life.

The approximate play through of one story line is 40-60 min. If you play all pathways, this may extend by 30 min.  

This game was made during Summer Slow Jams 2019 by Michael Kurt. The theme was Arcade: Occult Classics. All writing, images, and design was done by Michael Kurt, for better or for worse.

Thank you for playing.

This game is best played in full screen.

Direct Download