Wendesday Woodworking – Atrium Storage Part 2

I’ve been working hard on the atrium storage project and now it looks like this:

Well, the pieces are smaller.

Well, the pieces are smaller.

It’s a surprising large amount of work to cut down 4 x 8 sheets of MDF.  The sheets are likely heavier than a middle-aged man should be lifting on his own but I managed to drag, flop and shove them into the table saw.  So far I’ve got the pieces ripped to width and am starting to build out the frames for the shelves.  The clamps are on the 1/4″ plywood because it all started to warp on me and it was the quickest way to stop the warping.

In tool news, I decided to indulge myself and I bought an air compressor with a brad nailer, a finish nailer and a stapler – one of those Porter-Cable combo things and no I didn’t research, just went to Home Depot, grabbed, paid and ran.  I tried it out last night and it works great (after I closed the drain valve and put the 18 gauge brads in the brad nailer and not the 16 gauge finish nails).  Plus I got an impact driver to drive them pesky screws in with. A Ryobi, yes another drive by tool purchase without clear thought as to what I was doing.

My tendonitis started to bother me again during this build and I recall the physical therapist told me that using a screw driver and swinging a hammer weren’t the best things for my arm.  She encouraged me to use more power tools. Hum… Well then – the tools are a justified medical expense…

If you need me – I’ll be in the shop,

Andrew

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Following the Energy

Follow the energy.

That’s the advice I most often give to writers.  Sometimes I even follow it myself.  The last few weeks, I’ve been following it to places I never thought I’d go.  First place is poetry and second is revisiting my cancer experiences.

If I step back from my life and look at it from the outside, I find a few interesting things to note.  My early taste in fiction was always science fiction – exclusively.  I didn’t read anything outside that genre.  If it didn’t have space ships or ray guns, I didn’t read or watch it.  Over time I picked up a taste for fantasy works like The Lord of the Rings.  I would have claimed at the time to have no interest in poetry or literature.

I wanted to be a science fiction writer and even tried to write a few pieces (and even attended a handful of writer’s workshops and conventions).  I gave it a shot and I’ve been rejected by some of the best magazines in the business.  And rightly so, the stories were terrible.  I never wrote many and always seemed to have trouble coming up with ideas – suffering greatly from what some would call writer’s block.

Likely that “block” was due to the fact that I hadn’t figured out the writing process that now works for me.

A key to that process is writing energy.  It’s hard to explain what that means, but it’s a combination of discipline, being inspired, being mentally ready and emotionally willing to take on a writing project.  It’s also about turning off logical responses and following a feeling, an image or creative spark.  When I look at work I’ve done that others call good, I can almost always recall there being something in my soul that drove me to write it.  There was an energy to the words that just had to come out.

Yes, not a satisfying explanation but it’s the best I’ve got.

In my early desire to become a writer, I did a few things like attending workshops, reading writing books and eventually I went back to school and completed a degree in English.  All the time thinking these activities would help me write good science fiction stories.

I learned a lot.  Not only about writing and language but also about what it takes to write consistently and to overcome the block of my early writing attempts.  I’ve found that the discipline of writing these blog entries once a week to be a great help.  One of my early writing teachers told our workshop, “Writers write,” pointing out that you can’t get good at writing if you don’t ever put words to paper.  I’ve found that just forcing myself to write something – even if it isn’t the next best-selling novel – helps me push my abilities just a little further.

As I learned more, I discovered that there was more to writing and story telling than my early aspirations had dreamed of.  These days I rarely read science fiction and am more likely to read Shakespeare or something from the 19th century.  My interests and tastes have expanded and now I find myself more interested in just telling a story.

I’ve also discovered a taste for the abstract and the condensed language of poems.  I love images.  I like a piece of writing that builds a picture in my brain.  Poetry often does that.  Perhaps it’s more than that – it’s about telling a story, building an image, creating an emotion, sharing a feeling – that’s become of interest to me.  We all have stories to tell and the best stories are the ones we can feel in our soul – the ones that move us to feel and long to understand.

Perhaps.

These thoughts have been spinning in my subconscious for a while and I think are part of the reason why lately my writing energies have turned to poetry.  In a poem I can quickly build an image or share a feeling – something I find difficult in prose.  Last week I spent a little time reviewing my blog and discovered that over the last year I’ve been posting more and more poetry.  My view of the world must be changing.

Which brings me to where my writing is today.  It’s likely I’ll be shifting away from these essays to more verse.  It’s also why the book I decided to write now has 18 poems with notes for 19 more.  I could write a well researched book on cancer, with facts, figures, case studies and all manner of helpful stuff .

But that’s not where my ‘energy’ is.  I’ve written about my prostate cancer here many times and from time to time I think I am done with that story, but I am not.  There is an energy that won’t dissipate – somehow I want to make you

Feel the stunning blow of that call
see the long hallways
understand the fear
and know the uncertainty.

I want you to feel
the guarded joy of remission
the hopeful fear that all is done.

I want you know why
I still cry.

Till next week,
Andrew

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Wednesday Woodworking – Atrium Storage

At our house we have this atrium area that is most just filled with plants.  What we’re short of is storage space so I came up with a little storage unit.  Here’s the sketch:

The fifth version of the plan.  Yes, I just stopped drawing.

The fifth version of the plan. Yes, I just stopped drawing.

Now here is all the material in the back of my car:

Three sheets of 4X8 MDF, couple of hundred feet of pine and a massive backache.

Three sheets of 4X8 MDF, couple of hundred feet of pine and a massive backache.

I milled some of the pieces down and as soon as my back recovers, I’ll start assembling the thing.  I was going to picture of the milled pieces, but it really just looks like the picture above, only with smaller bits of wood stacked neatly in the atrium.

If you need me – I’ll be in the shop,

Andrew

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Four, Five, Six,

There are four of them,
one of her,
and then there is my Heather
to name them all is the task.

Cats and more cats
Is there such a thing as the crazy cat man?
Who lives next door?

In the early morning, Spirit the cat
slow crawls between us
nuzzling, snuggling and curling
black fur and green eyes
pushing between Heather and I
as dark night enfolds all
under warm covers
and restful cool air.

I move my hand
and hear a meow
and find furry ears
I wonder what she knows in the watches of the night.

The other four – the rescued ones
the little ones
the ones I had hoped to find a home
are asleep in their room, I hope.

Bella, sleek and graceful
Leader, the gray, the elder
is likely sitting by the door
as dawn breaks, knowing we’ll soon be there.

Boots, fat and awkward
Potato on furry legs, black striped, and cloudy eye
is likely staring at the food dish
after Bella stirs, knowing soon they’ll be full again.

Socks, wire fur and claws that never stop
The only boy, cuddler, gray warrior
is likely on his bed looking out the window
as Bella scratches at the door, knowing it will soon open.

Spot, frightened and angry
Black stripped marshmallow, fast and angry claws
is likely in her little bed
as gray light filters in, knowing that she will be lifted from her cage.

Spirit, black as night and old as the hills
Gentle, persistent and jealous
is likely sleeping on my toes
until Heather stirs, knowing that soon she’ll be outside on her morning patrol.

Heather, my love and my life
Creative, playful and caring
is likely rising from bed
as I doze, knowing the day has begun.

I sit here at the keyboard
looking for rhyme
contemplating the mysteries of a cat
and wondering at the power of love.

Such is a Sunday afternoon
Kittens play
and old cats nap.

And I and my Heather
Live the life
and share our love
for the little cats and each other.

 

Well there it is, another poem.  I tried to write a nice narrative essay about the four feral kittens we’ve rescued but this came out instead.  Sigh, I am about to give up on writing essays and just do poetry.  Not sure what is going on, but my brain seems to have stopped thinking in complete sentences and fully formed paragraphs.

In other poetic news, I am now up to 4570 words on my cancer poetry book.  I am hoping to be able have a completed draft ready early in the new year – still not sure how long it’s going to be. It’s very doubtful I’ll find a publisher and I haven’t decided if I’ll self publish it or not.

The only thing slowing down progress on my book is the wood shop – I keep going out there and building things.  Pictures of the latest project on Wednesday.

Till next week,

Andrew

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