Gratitude: The Golden Human Trait

I first heard the notion put plainly by Dennis Prager. Lack of gratitude is the best guarantee you can give yourself that you'll be unhappy. And the obvious corollary of this idea is that simple gratitude is the closest thing we have to a guarantee of happiness.

It's a notion so simple that it should surprise no one. But I think, even worse than being surprised by the idea, a large portion of the populace would have a hard time believing it.

I don't pretend to have an unfailing handle on the idea of gratitude-at-every-possible turn. But I do think about the notion. And I try to follow through.

Simple things like carrying a little camera around and capturing the photos above and below make me see--and be grateful for--what nature brings us.

On the writing front, I'm grateful when the words seem to work, when the story makes sense and has impact. Is it the same as having a best-seller? Of course not. But it's still and achievement worth noting. And enjoying.

It's also an interesting consideration for anyone working on characters for a story. How do these people approach the world? Is ingratitude and misery their automatic approach? Or do they find meaning in the little gifts?

A New Toy

view from office window

I just got a new camera (Nikon D300) and am looking forward to learning to get the most from it. I've only taken a few dozen pictures so for, but it's clearly a huge upgrade from my first DSLR (a Nikon D70) in every meaningful respect (autofocus, handling, low-light image quality, and speed).

This is the good light season in Southern California, and I should have some wonderful early and late-day opportunities in the coming weeks.

Fire Moon

In the wake of the recent California wildfires, the full moon glowed eerily red.

Nursery Santa

We visited a wonderful nursery in Fallbrook (fires destroyed immense acreage nearby) yesterday. It's woodsy, with aged buildings (a barn, a small house, a carriage house, ...) and terrific flowing fountains. Each year they sell Christmas trees and have a great assortment of ornaments and decorations (with a Santa statue whose lap the kids can sit in)

If I could live on the premises, I'm sure I'd last twenty years longer than I will here in the burbs.

Summer's End

For the first time in ages, I'm actually a little sad to see summer go.

And here's why:

This summer in Southern California was, until this last week, very mild.

I didn't accomplish anywhere near what I'd hoped to during the 'break.'

My son, going into second grade now, is growing up much too fast.


The fall is (and always has been) my favorite time. But it, too, will slide away much too fast.

A Day of Fishing

I took my son fishing for only the second time in his life today (I'm ashamed to say). We were unsuccessful. It's clearly time to venture out to a more serious lake (or perhaps the ocean), rather than the local man-made lakes we've hit so far.

Building a Better Structure

Yesterday, thanks to the encouragement of a very capable writer friend (and after a several-month-long detour), I became a member of an online flash fiction critique group. It's a group limited to 70 members, and it has a very disciplined structure. As a member, I'm required to submit one story a month and critique four others.

Based on the limited experiences I've had with flash fiction this year (some of which I've documented in earlier posts), I expect to learn a lot. The requirement to stay engaged with consistent critique--and to routinely produce new material--should have wonderful side-effects beyond improving my skills.

As a man who claims to love writing, a large part of me believes, at some barely conscious level, that inspiration--and wonderful stories--should flow without a battle. But the truth is, I'm happy to have some external encouragement to produce stories.


An aside: Groups like this would be a particularly great outlet for writers who can't find others to commune with in their own hometowns.

Languor

passing car

I'm working--without nearly enough vigor--on my novel still. Waiting for the publication of a piece of flash fiction that came in second in a contest for an online lit magazine (I'm avoiding mentioning the details here until it's actually out in the world so I don't risk jinxing the thing).

Unfortunately, the children's book I want to write is continually nipping at my heels, demanding attention I don't want to give it until my current novel is out in the world.

Two Grand Traditions In Need of Defense

My son got to see real up-close-and-personal fireworks for the first time this 4th of July. It's a wonderful experience that's fading fast. One more sad victim of our Nanny-built society.

A Moment in Albany

I recently spent a week on business at a hotel in historic downtown Albany. A couple times, I went out for little bits of exploration, finding parks hidden away between buildings, a wonderful historic state capitol, and some lovely brownstones. Herman Melville lived--and, I believe, wrote Moby Dick--very near here.

Lacking Inspiration? Try a Contest

This past Saturday, WritersWeekly.com had their quarterly (I think?) flash fiction contest. The contest kicks off with a prompt and a twenty-four hour window in which to respond. This particular prompt centered around a campfire ghost story that gets interrupted by a disheveled man and an infant who come creepily out of the dark woods.

It's a fun, tense challenge to be boxed in by both story and scope, and I think it's particularly good for any writer who's struggling with the burden of ideas-from-nothing.

There are many other prompted flash fiction contests, most of which don't have the tight time constraints. It's nice inspiration and good for your writing discipline.

I can't recommend the experience highly enough.