Mad Libs About You

Posted by Jeff on Jan 1st, 2019 in News | 0 comments

Welcome to 2019.
Among other things, this year is the fiftieth anniversary of the moon landing, the fiftieth anniversary of Woodstock, and the thirtieth anniversary of Return of the Swamp Thing. Take your pick.

We’re supposed to get all self-reflective and humble this time of year, making resolutions for the coming twelve months. Resolutions we intend to keep, but rarely do when reality sets in.
If I am to make a resolution, it’s to write a lot more. Yes, I already write a lot, but I’m not counting what I do for my current day job, which involves little if any true creativity. I mean I need to use this year to push myself to start and work on another overdue big writing project. Hopefully one that won’t turn out as awful as Grouch on a Couch, anyway.

I’ve wanted to write and publish a novel (or at least a decent novella) since I was about eight years old and lost in the worlds of Roald Dahl and Judy Blume and Pippi Longstocking and so on. I wanted to do that too. I probably could have done it fifteen or twenty years ago, if I hadn’t been discouraged by bad writing workshops that tried to turn me into something I wasn’t, and then virtually kicked me in the face when I couldn’t conform. I might have even done it since then if life hadn’t gotten in the way constantly. Instead, I’ve been writing and performing comedic prose poems (and trying to make a living from journalism and editing) while others around me have found the time and motivation to write and publish novels and other kinds of proper full-length books. It doesn’t seem right that I’m still not part of that club, even as a doorman. At least, not when it’s what I wanted to do all along.

I don’t make New Year’s resolutions, but if I have one for 2019, it’s to create something. Even a bad first draft can become a passable second draft, surely? Even if I have to spend a metric busload of money on writing classes just to motivate myself with assignments and deadlines, something has to give.

This need is why I’ve been in a transition phase over the past year – trying to switch my focus from spoken word to fiction. I’m not quitting spoken-word performance. If somebody offers me a local gig, I’ll take it. But I’m not actively pursuing it anymore – not pining for ideas for new material, nor haunting open mics. While I know I’ll never be one of the cool kids of the community (I’m never going to get the respect of a Koyczan or a McGee), I don’t feel like I have anything left to prove either.
(I’m also turned off by some of the gossip that’s been going on in the local poetry community, but that’s another story)

I am through with the U.K. touring, though.
This is something I’d already semi-secretly decided before I went on my last trip there in late October/early November. This trip had seemed like a much better idea when I’d planned it last January or February. And the three gigs I did went very well, as did a few open mics, and it was great to see a handful of friends I don’t get to see often. But although it’s the closest I get to feeling like a real literary success, it makes my credit cards very sad, and it’s stressful, and there are lots of other cities and places in the world I haven’t been to yet.

I actually seriously considered relocating to London about ten years ago, if mostly in my imagination. I was so excited by how broad and diverse the U.K. poetry and spoken-word community was, and I liked the friends I’d made there, and I’ve always loved certain aspects of British culture – the unsentimental wit, the innovative rock music, the gloomy sense of humour. For years, I’ve thought of London as a second home, even though I’ve never lived there. But being back there this November made me realize that I can live without it, too. Sometimes I even found myself wondering why I kept coming.

Of course I’ll miss it. I’ll miss the way St. Paul’s Cathedral looks like an oil painting of itself from the south bank of the Thames. I’ll miss wandering historical districts and imagining people in period garb walking those same streets centuries ago. I’ll miss Walkers crisps and large bottles of cider and buying pre-made sandwiches in the train shops on long journeys. I’ll miss seeing some of the best theatre productions in the world. I’ll miss an underground transit system that actually works most of the time – and riding in the front seat of the second storey of a double-decker bus and feeling as if I’m flying. I’ll miss the accents, and the ability to charm strangers with my own. But I know I can live without them.

*****

Well. Enough of diversions. Here’s the point.

As I said, I’m still accepting performance gigs when/if they come up. (One reason is that I still have a third of a box of This Album Is NIT FENNY! copies to get rid of.) One that I’ve accepted is the Ad Lib Talent Show on the 25th. Yes, my friend Damon Lum likes to celebrate his birthday by inviting all his buddies to get together and perform in a show. I may read a short story. Or I may stick to the old material. Or a little from column A and a little from column B. To find out, show up. Ring the bell to get in and then proceed to the third-floor studio. Details on the right sidebar.

Also, it looks like I’m going to be interviewed on TV in March. Online TV, that is. Stay tuned.

My Digital Journal output has been thin lately, but I did give a decidedly mixed review to this year’s Second City holiday revue. Click here to read the thing.

And now, here’s what Bosko has to say about Doug Ford.

We wish you a Merry Fitness and a Happy New You.