I had not expected my last blog post to be as long as it was.  I had merely planned to conclude with the anecdote of the lesbian mother I saw at Traintown, but then, well, as I wrote about her, other thoughts came to mind.

I had intended that post to focus on the debate on gay marriage, how, as I wrote the day after the New York legislature voted to recognize same-sex marriages, “the rhetoric [was] regularly exaggerated,” with the debate lacking “the type of civil discussion of the importance and meaning of marriage that would have helped strengthen the institution“.

Echoing my point “about the lack of meaningful/useful/informative discourse in the public square over the past two weeks” our reader Richard Bell confessed, in the comments section that he’s “still reeling from the hyperbole and hate of both sides.”  I found the debate so annoying with hyperbole on each side that I simply stopped following it.

What Richard saw as “hate,” I saw as hyperventilating;  advocates of the bill assured us that opponents hated gay people and wanted to deprive them of their “rights” while opponents warned of the imminent demise of traditional marriage (if the bill passed).

Give me a break.  Marriage has survived as an institution for as long as human beings have recorded the details of our lives.  It has survived challenges throughout history, most recently the Sexual Revolution of the 1960s and 1970s. Despite those challenges and active efforts to undermine it, marriage remains a defining cultural institution.  Individuals who once rejected it in their youth, embrace it in early middle age and celebrate it in their golden years.

Traditional marriage will survive state recognition of same-sex marriage — and may even emerge stronger than it was when the debate over gay relationships began. (more…)

On Wednesday night when I returned from my shift at Outfest, I started writing a piece on marriage, fleshing out an idea I had earlier in the week for which I had intended my post on Elizabeth Gilbert’s book to serve as a prelude.  But, as I wrote, I found the words on the screen didn’t match the ideas in my head.  Or at least the ideas that had been in my head when I had initially conceived the post.

I also had an idea for a post on the Dodd/Frank financial regulation bill which the Senate passed this week–how it was crafted by two individuals who have spent their professional careers in government, having never worked in the entrepreneurial or financial sectors — and thus having had no real world of experience of financing an enterprise or creating jobs.  I doubted whether the bill would help the anemic economy, indeed, thought it might well prolong the credit crunch.

For some reason, yesterday, likely due to the heat, I just couldn’t write either piece yesterday.  My mind was elsewhere.  I couldn’t focus my thoughts–much as I tried.  Then, this morning, while doing cardio in anticipation of my workout, the whole marriage piece just kind of wrote itself.  Would it that I had had a tape recorder.  I did scribble some notes after working out and hope to get to the post later this afternoon, but must first take care of several requirements related to my day-to-day existence as well as my civic “responsibilities.”

Once again, there’s just something about writing.  Sometimes the words don’t flow when you’d like (need?) them to.  And then when you’re not even thinking about the issue you wish to address, there they are.  And at moment when you like the means to preserve and/or transmit them.

About two-and-one-half years ago when I submitted my “Concept Paper” outlining my dissertation, I anticipated that the second chapter would introduce the goddess Athene, starting with her Minoan-Mycenaean origins and leading up her guidance and support of the (male) hero in Greek myth.  Just over a year after that, I promised the chair of my dissertation committee that chapter on February 1, 2009.

Every time I started to write it, however, I didn’t seem ready.  Some perhaps might say it was laziness.  And perhaps it was.

Only when I saw the parallels between Sonny Corleone and Achilles, whose rage at the outset of the Iliad is about to ignite a civil war in the Achaean camp, did I realize that I couldn’t introduce the deity who restrains him until showing first the nature of his rage.  Achilles was not alone–in Greek myth or human society.  Other men have close to letting their anger getting the best of them before mastering it, while some never do.

In short, I had to show why  the owl-eyed goddess was necessary and to introduce the a problem she addresses in Greek myth (and hence culture) and so show her meaning to that society–and, by extension, to our own.  So, I added in a second chapter, an extended exegesis of the Bronze Age barroom brawl which begins the oldest of Greek epics.  A female friend dubbed it my “testosterone chapter.”  I submitted that two weeks ago.

And now, I’m about to submit the chapter I was supposed to have completed one year and 17 days ago.  It came together in a matter of days (I took four days off in the two-week period).  I had done most of the research (and all that I had used in the first week of writing) well before the initial “deadline.”  It came together not then when the research was complete, but after that new chapter was.

There is something in this, though I am, at this moment, perhaps not qualified competent to express it in a succinct catch phrase.  Perhaps, one of you can.  I struggled over something for nearly a year, only to find it falling into place in little over a week.

All that said, I’m pretty drained from all this writing and may take the whole weekend off from blogging.  I’ll see how I feel.  While Bruce blogs up at storm from CPAC on Friday, I’ll be at the Getty Library where I do my research.  And I won’t be bringing my laptop.

Last night, ever eager to provide something for you, our loyal readers, to peruse as you begin your day, I organized an idea I’d been considering (and expounding on in conversations with friends) on why the President won’t be able to get away with Bush-bashing for much longer.  As long as he’s seen as the new guy, Americans wanting to give him the benefit of the doubt and will accept his whining as a justifiable expression of frustration at the difficulty of dealing with a new job.

We Americans, as Jennifer Rubin puts it, want our presidents “to succeed.”

Once I finished the post, I was eager to get it done so I could get to bed.  So, I came up with the best title I could, Blaming Bush (& GOP) won’t help Obama recover* lost popularity*, even if it wasn’t ideal and unlikely to attract much attention–even though I thought I might have had an interesting insight–that we cut a new President some slack up until Labor Day because by that time, we’ve come back from our summer recreation to find that the same president is there who had been there when we turned away from regular news-watching (on or about Memorial Day).

I find that like last night, many of my titles don’t perfectly fit the post to which they’re attached (and then sometimes our critics respond to the title and not the post).  Or don’t get at the essence of the idea I’m trying to express.  Other times, however, the title comes with the post idea and on occasion has preceded it.  More often than not, as last night, I’m just eager to find something that will work so I can get the post up and get on with my day (or move on to another post).

But, if I do find a clever way to “package” the idea, I increase the likelihood of links and thus attract more attention to the post.  Sometimes, it seems a good title more readily attracts notice than does a thoughtful post.  And yet the great irony is that often after putting a lot of time and thought into a post of which I’m particularly proud, I’m mentally drained and just eager to get it done so tack on a title that does the trick (as best it can).  So the title fails to attract the punch (I believe) the post does.

Maybe we’ve heard this all before, you know, when they talk about books and covers.

* (more…)

Earlier today, I tried working on a post on Obama, gay bloggers and DADT.  But, for some reason, I couldn’t think to string words together to make a coherent and thoughtful sentence, so I decided to take the afternoon off from blogging.  (I do hope to get that up before I go to bed tonight, but we’ll see.)

As I’m working on two pieces (which pay) for other websites, I may not be able to devote as much attention to this blog as I’d like until later in the afternoon Thursday, early evening GayPatriot blog time.  I had intended to blog on writing and compassion–how today’s difficulty writing filled me with compassion for others.   It seems sometimes that when we do show kindness to others, it is not so much our own nobility as our own consciousness of the difficulties we face.

Those of you who have read George Eliot may suspect that I’ve been reading some of her books lately as the above idea is akin to much that she has said.   And you’d be right; as yesterday’s post suggests, I’ve been re-reading Scenes of Clerical Life.  

When, after taking my break and finding the words for that post, I was checking the web and learned about South Carolina Governor Mark Sanford’s latest travails, I wondered at how news breaks on days when I’m not following it.  And yes, I do have some sympathy for the Governor, understanding the pressures he’s faced in standing up for principle, against a spendthrift legislature controlled by his own party and against a tenacious White House, trying to force him to take “stimulus” cash.

All that said, he should have known better.  He was wrong to violate his marital vows.  And he should have realized that when you’re a public figure, particularly in the age of a multi-source news media, people are going to find out.

It’s particularly disappointing to see such a principled conservative suffer such a public embarrassment.  Unlike Senator Ensign, he was truly someone Republicans could turn to as a plausible presidential candidate.   (more…)

Sunday and Monday were days I used to dream about (and delight in) when I aspired to make it as a screenwriter.  It had been a while since I enjoyed the delight of playing with a story idea and seeing the characters come alive in my mind.

A few years ago, when I was developing a short film with a straight friend, he offered an alternative version of our story which lent itself more to humor that the script I had written for him.  His story had the same happy ending, the girl getting the girl, only they two lady lovers didn’t meet at a funeral.

Well, yesterday, shortly after seeing a friend on stage as part of the Young Playwrights’ Festival, I suddenly realized how to tell that alternative version–and to set up what could be a very funny story where love triumphs.  Of course, I always need help writing funny, but my director friend has a good sense of visual humor, so should be able to add some laughs once I have put the story on paper.

As soon I figured out how to “crack” his story idea, the characters just emerged, each with his own strengths and with certain defining weaknesses, each of which (the weaknesses, that is) figure into the humorous and romantic denouement.  It’s such a cool thing when you start playing with a character in your head and find it it necessary to turn off the radio or CD player in the car so you can listen to them speak.  And then there are times when you welcome a red light so you can scribble your ideas onto a scrap of paper so as to preserve them. (more…)

Long before Michael Chabon was considered one of the leading writers of “literary” fiction, I discovered–and devoured–his Mysteries of Pittsburgh which I consider one of the best novels of the past quarter-century, more worthy of acclaim than his more recent stuff.  His moving conclusion is a stunningly beautiful piece of writing.

So, when I learned he’d be reading from his next novel Wonder Boys at a Washington bookstore (when I lived across the river in Arlington), I rushed to hear him speak, eager to ask him how he wrote that conclusion.  He said that once he had completed the narrative, he just wrote the ending.  He didn’t think too much about it.  That was what he had to say.  So, he said it.  He just wrote it.

Sometimes, it’s like that with writing.  The greatest things we have to say just happen.  They seem to write themselves.

Yesterday, as I was working on a piece for Pajamas about a gay bashing ABC was staging at a New Jersey sports bar, I was struggling with finding a good approach to the story.  The writing trickled out and I sought refuge (and respite) in an e-mail exchange with a critic of this blog.

Finally, I finished all but the conclusion, not quite sure how to wrap it up.  So, I printed up what I had and set off for the gym where I pounded out my frustrations on the Stairmaster.  After returning here and fixing dinner, I popped in Fanny and Alexander, then once I had cleaned up and dashed off a quick post, I sat down to edit my print-out.

Perhaps because of the difficulty I had had writing the piece, I was surprised at how happy I was with what I had written.  When I had read all that there was, I picked up my fountain pen and, in a matter of minutes, easily wrote the conclusion that had eluded me earlier in the day.

As I finished the first draft of the piece, something struck me, on how blogging has changed the way I write. (more…)

I apologize for not being able to blog today even though I have much on my mind. I had wanted to comment on yesterday’s Oscar nominations and what they say about Hollywood. My thoughts are not much different from those of Roger Simon who blogged about this yesterday, noting that the nominations were “met with a yawn.”

And there’s much to be said about the nastiness of Ms. Hillary and her husband and how they may well have succeeded in their attempts to bait Obama. Perhaps the left will realize that all things they ascribe to Rove are based on their assumptions that that man utilized Clintonian tactics.

Anyway, a local paper has asked me to write an endorsement of my man Rudy. I just finished the first draft and am now editing it, hoping to get it in by the deadline. It’s funny how I initially struggled with the project when first assigned. I wanted to make my piece so good that it would convince skeptical Republican to vote for the former New York City Mayor. Perhaps overwhelmed by this ambition, I failed to make any headway.

Then, when I decided to write it, it pretty much fell into place. (I will link it when they post it.)

I guess the lesson is that when we often fail to accomplish when we exaggerate our own expectations, when we fear something will not be as good as we would like it to be.