Fewer Words

Blogging regularly requires finding a subject and crafting a post about it worth reading. The subject can be something significant and newsworthy—or it can also be mundane and personal. As my sister commented the other day, “there is almost no topic that can’t be worked into an interesting post.” That’s what it takes to keep creating content, consistently.

When I got serious about my writing, I realized that writing regularly was part of the process required to develop my craft. Actually, Stephen King shared that secret with me. Since then, my blogging track record dating back to 2003 (although some of that blogging is no longer with us, at least not on the interwebs) demonstrates that commitment.

While I’ve continued to build narratives of 500, 1,000, and upwards of those word counts, the world seems to be moving in a minimalist direction regarding communication. How many words does it take to tell a story? I’m not sure. Probably 400 or 500 would be on the lower end. I’m a firm believer that it takes more than Twitter’s 140 characters to communicate effectively. And I’m no fan of communicating by emoji via Facebook. That probably identifies me as old-fashioned.

No one writes letters these days. People can’t even be bothered to email.

Then there are days like today when life gets in the way and there’s not enough time to tackle something larger. I’ve been ruminating about things I observed during recent work-related travels through western Maine that I can’t do justice to today, so I’ll hold off ‘til a later date.

The Weather Forecast

Nothing jump-starts early mornings for me like a stellar weather forecast. A sunny forecast can carry me through the most challenging of days.

While weather and an accompanying forecast is a smartphone click away, I’m still somewhat beholden to the Tee Vee weather puppets. This habit likely dates back more than 30 years when my baseball star was on the rise at Lisbon High School. I’d check that day’s prediction to see if our game was going to take place that afternoon—or get washed out by spring showers or rain.

Interestingly, I’m once again seeking weather updates related to baseball games. Now, I’m an arbiter, better known as an umpire. With six to eight games on the docket each week during May, I’m checking weather first thing courtesy of Todd Guttner, and later, rechecking hourly specifics via websites like weather.com.

I’m back with Guttner after a falling-out period when he seemed to have a penchant for under-predicting snow totals during the rugged winter of 2014-15. For some reason, Mr. Guttner had a rough stretch, predicting flurries and then having to apologize after we’d get 10 inches dumped on us. After this happened several times, I abandoned WCSH-6 for the upbeat and personable (as well as more accurate) Matt Zidle and his equally sunny sidekick at WMTW-8, Mallory Brook.

Today's forecast-sunny!!

Today’s forecast-sunny!!

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Color Me Eclectic

As much as some people tout that we’re becoming a free agent economy, if you’re the one living that life, it often seems like everyone else is still doing the 9 to 5 corporate (or nonprofit) thing. Maybe it’s just in Maine that most people found their dream employer right out of high school (or college) and has been with them ever since.

When I look back over my own career, it’s the equivalent of a cat’s nine lives. By that I mean that there’s the “Indiana era,” “the CMP years,” time served at “Moscow Mutual,” etc. Work relationships from each one of these periods in my life have fallen away and seem to be forgotten by everyone but me. Oh, a few people from my past are on Facebook, but I don’t consider social media the reality-equivalent that everyone else does. There are a handful of people that I remain connected to and actually spend some time with periodically. I treasure these relationships and the qualities represented by true friends.

Probably the most meaningful period during my pre-freelance career journey were four of the six years that I spent working for the Local Workforce Investment Board (LWIB). Our nonprofit organization was housed at the Lewiston CareerCenter, a place that elicited mixed feelings. I’m not a huge fan of government bureaucracy, and the Maine Department of Labor certainly operates like one. Then there were the other nonprofit partners also housed there. I won’t bother to name them. Continue reading

Pitching Like Wade Miley

The Boston Red Sox just completed a three-game sweep of the hated New York Yankees, so all’s well in Red Sox Nation—at least for the moment. The team stands at 15-10 heading into a Midwest showdown with the Central Division-leading Chicago White Sox, the Sox’ pale hose brothers.

I’ve written about the team’s foibles in signing pitchers for extravagant sums of money, in the past. When Boston’s ownership does these kind of things, the results are usually less-than-stellar. Last year, it was Rick Porcello. This year’s big free agent acquisition, David Price, has looked a lot like Wade Miley, a left-handed retread that couldn’t get anyone out last April. Interestingly, if you compare Miley and Price in side-by-side statistical comparisons after six starts, Miley’s numbers are slightly better at this point in the season. Here’s a look at how they compare using ERA. Miley is actually at 84 and Price at 97. I’m guessing that when the Sox forked out the kind of money that most people won’t earn over a lifetime of working, they didn’t expect he’d be near the bottom of MLB’s pitchers in performance.

David Price leaving another less-than-stellar outing. (AP Photo/Michael Dwyer)

David Price leaving another subpar outing. (AP Photo/Michael Dwyer)

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Claiming Your Deck Space

A month ago, I decided to take a break from writing about anything overtly political. I’m glad I did, as the last few weeks have allowed me to step away from the shrill pitch and tenor of our national debate about which candidate (s) is less tainted than the others. Today, I’ll covertly brush up alongside the topic, albeit briefly.

Be careful where you place your deck chair.

Be careful where you place your deck chair.

Whenever you frame things in an either/or paradigm, you severely limit possibilities for change. Merely mentioning “hope and change” won’t alter a thing, unless you open up a dialogue vastly different that the current one centered on maintaining the American status quo. To do so would require all of us (not just the “other side”) to dramatically reorient how we think and ultimately, how we live. No one (save for a few) are willing to do this. Instead, we’re left with re-arranging deck chairs, to reference one of my favorite writers/bloggers, John Michael Greer. I’d highly recommend this week’s post, about merely “rearranging the deck chairs,” once more. Better, bookmark The Archdruid Report, and spend some time working your way back through what I consider some of the most thoughtful writing out there on the interwebs, about our present malaise. Continue reading

More Than Fried Chicken

Who would you consider our most iconic national figures in the U.S.? In addition to the faces on Mount Rushmore and recent presidents, what 10 to 15 names would you list for people from the past? One name that I’d include would be a man who “arrived” a bit later than most. That would be Harland Sanders, better known as simply, “Colonel Sanders.”

Sanders’ resume is a diverse and varied one. From his very humble beginnings in Henryville, Kentucky, he rose to prominence as an unlikely entrepreneur who refined a recipe for fried chicken, one that became known due his secret recipe containing “11 herbs and spices” that gave Kentucky Fried Chicken its distinctive flavor. It also allowed him to build a business enterprise that he sold at the age of 69, to John Y. Brown (former governor of Kentucky) and Jack Massey, a Memphis financier.

Today, Kentucky Fried Chicken (aka, KFC), has revenues of $23 billion, with nearly 19,000 outlets in 120 countries around the world. Not bad for a recipe for frying chicken that was forged in the backroom of Sanders’ family diner, in 1952.

Southern-fried chicken, corporate-style.

Southern-fried chicken, corporate-style.

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A Purple Friday

The obvious thing to write about today if I was following the herd, would be the death of Prince, the great purple one. Actually, I will follow the masses today, as I did want to touch briefly on the sudden end to his music career.

In terms of music coming out of Minneapolis (Prince’s hometown) in the 1980s, I was a fan of The Replacements and Hüsker Dü. I knew of Prince, but he was too commercial for my tastes at the time. In terms of popularity, he tended to curry favor with the mainstream music crowd that I looked upon with disparagement.

According to Wikipedia, Prince sold more than 100 million records worldwide, making him one of the best-selling artists of all-time. I knew he was popular, but didn’t know his sales were that substantial.

I always enjoy catching Purple Rain, whenever it runs in the loop of B-fare movies that show up across cable television. There’s something about him that obviously resonated with his followers. For me, his appeal was that of observing a prodigious musical talent, but from a distance. Prince’s death is similar for me in many ways to David Bowie’s—if you knew anything about music, you never were not aware of either Prince, or Bowie.

Prince is frozen in Purple Rain in my memory.

Prince is frozen in Purple Rain in my memory.

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A Good Coach

I’m not sure if the best coaches are the ones who everything came easily to, or maybe the better ones are those who had to struggle a bit and figure some things out. There are examples from both categories, so relying on the anecdotal won’t deliver the definitive on that question.

Coaches are important; that I do believe. They can identify some minor flaw, and get you to focus on positive assets while dialing down your liabilities. I’m sure we can all name essential coaches and mentors who helped us along toward success at key times in our lives.

Sometimes our lives simply get choked full of weeds and debris, and we need someone objective (bringing necessary “distance and space”) to help us unclutter, refocus, and even breathe deeply and regularly. Sort of like what Mainers and others do coming out of winter, when we rake up the yard, and clear out the detritus from winter, tidying up our flower gardens.

I was on the radio this morning, on The Breakfast Club, talking about publishing your own book with local writer, Linda Andrews, a coaching client of mine. Linda did an awesome job, talking about her amazing new book, Please Bring Soup To Comfort Me While I Grieve.

On the radio with Linda Andrews, talking indie publishing.

On the radio with Linda Andrews, talking indie publishing.

Sometimes a coach can make all the difference for us. Continue reading

The Land of Confusion

It’s Saturday (not Friday). I’ve been consistent about posting on Tuesdays/Fridays. I’ve remained steadfast about that schedule, because that’s how self-imposed deadlines work.

As a freelance writer, I’ve always been proud of delivering on (and prior) to agreed-upon deadlines. Occasionally, I’ve had to ask an editor—usually someone I’ve developed a relationship with over time—for an extension. I guess blogging and self-imposed deadlines allow some flexibility, too.

Questions about content?

Questions about content?

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Bands That Suck

Indie rock is something I’ve blogged about before. The DIY mindset that permeated the period between say 1979 and 1995, pre-interwebs, was a unique one. If you happened to have tapped into it in some small way—simply as a fan, or perhaps a DJ, let alone as an actual band member—you know that it’s something we’ll never replicate again.

Jon Fine played in what he’d call one of the “weird bands” of that period, first with Bitch Magnet, then later with some bands even less well-known (like Coptic Light and Don Caballero). It’s not like Bitch Magnet’s a household name, but in the world that counts Black Flag and Sonic Youth as the best-known of a group of bands that were all a bit off-center, the period was worth recounting in some detail.

"Your Band Sucks: What I Saw at Indie Rock's Failed Revolution (But Can No Longer Hear)", by Jon Fine

“Your Band Sucks: What I Saw at Indie Rock’s Failed Revolution (But Can No Longer Hear)”, by Jon Fine

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