I’m On the Nightrain

Guns N’ Roses indulged in the classic 80s excess Americans enjoyed before the ever-disappointed slab of alternative music cooled teen America in the 90s. I’m not being critical of the 90s music scene, as I was very much a part of it (and ever-disappointed) as anyone else. I loved it, and still do today. Here, have some R.E.M.:

That’s for mainstream America, because it’s accessible. Here’s a young Corvidae’s jukebox in the 90s:

Back to my original thought. The song “Nightrain” has the musical feel of the steam-powered battering ram that is my drive. I’ve been told several times I’m “intense” in conversation, and what people don’t understand is that it’s an extension of my ambition. It’s steady and slow to yield, much like a locomotive. If I retire for the night, you can be rest assured I’ll be back at it soon enough until the job is done.

Today marks the first anniversary of the purchase of Stonefield (my house). I’ve marked the occasion with the completion of the walnut table. It has turned out reasonably well, but has taken over two weeks and $150 to get it back into service. Not many of my contemporaries have that tenacity anymore. I often see people let tasks slide to the point of decay, as this house would have been a perfect testament to that a year ago. It’s far from remodeled, but it’s at least comfortable now.

Before

After

I find it very rewarding completing a job without quitting. In fact, I think my personality is primarily based on goal achievement. The happiest moments in my life were the times I have nailed all the goals I set for myself. The lowest were the times I couldn’t complete the simplest of tasks. I’m actually an active person. I need to sweat to feel good, and this feels wonderful.

Now that my chores are done for the day, I think it’s time to stop by the local bar and celebrate. Cheers!

Advertisement

Keeping Up

Over three years ago, I lived in Charlotte, NC. It’s hard to believe I was actually a resident of the Tar Heel state, but that was an attempt to find my “home.” People unlucky enough to be born in a place of which they are ill at ease will understand that statement perfectly. There’s a place for everyone, but that doesn’t mean you start out there.

Since then, living arrangements weren’t all that healthy. I’m back in the fields nowadays, but still hold on to the idea of leaving again. I know I don’t belong here. What disappoints me is family and other residents simply can’t seem to understand that. I’m not even sure they want to respect it. Regardless, during the course of three years, I accumulated a little bit of writing which I posted last week. It wasn’t much; I was in a deep depression for a long time. It’s not much fun to talk about, but it unquestionably affected my work. I’ll leave it at that.

I’ve made efforts these last few months to simply write. With a topic proposed by another aspiring writer, I started writing My City by the Bay. I forced myself to write, to tie loose ends together, and to think creatively. Writing is a job, and takes energy to do but to share a story with someone else makes me happy beyond words. It’s the connectivity I never get in real life. It’s the chance to bond with like-minded people. That seems healthy to me.

Coffeehouse gibberish, or why I should always have a 24-hour waiting period on my work.
© 2013 by Corvidae in the Fields, all rights reserved

On Sunday, I went to a coffee shop nearby and decided to put more ink to paper. It could be called brainstorming, but I wanted a more complete piece. While I did write, and come up with some good ideas, the work itself turned out to be flawed. I wouldn’t say it wasn’t worth my time, but I don’t believe now what I wrote then. The angle of the story put words into other people’s mouths. I have little reason now to believe that was the best way to approach the story.

The new approach will be more genuine and I know I’ll feel 100% better that I was honest with myself. True, the chances these pieces will see a wide audience is slim. That doesn’t mean I should pile together any old set of words. That would make my efforts pointless.