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Craft and Draft: Writing and White Lightning

April 24, 2013 · by Oliver Gray

Some of the Jungian Collective Unconscious must have slithered into my brain on that day, about three years ago, when I was trying to come up with a name for this blog. I like to think I named this blog in the way most people name blogs: I randomly came up with something alliterative, convinced myself it was clever, gloated to myself about how clever it was, and then registered the domain.

But in choosing this name, I inadvertently formed a tributary that emptied into those ancient streams of whiskey, and tapped into a keg of ideas bigger than this little blog. I never really considered its meaning, all the latent unspoken truth in two words and a conjunction, until I’d been writing for a while. I never noticed that connection between writing and drinking that dripped into every post, my running themes, and my entire literary life.

We all know that m any famous writers, historically, drank. Many current writers drink. Many unborn masters of literary prose, still swirling in the cosmic well of zygotes and potential, will drink. Alcohol is as natural as wanting to express and communicate ideas. As long as yeast eats sugar and paper eats ink, writers will drink and drinkers will write.

I drink. Not exactly a shock to anyone who reads this blog or knows me otherwise. In the harsh light of reality I probably drink too much, if you compared my intake to the recommendations of doctors, Surgeon Generals, or Mormons. But I don’t drink to dull any emotional pain, for there is very little pain in my life to dull. I don’t drink to escape an unfair world in which I have no control, for I’ve worked hard to be in control of my life.

I drink because I like the taste of alcohol. Ale, wine, whiskey, rum, et al. I’ve gotten to a point where “beer” is probably my favorite flavor. It really has nothing to do with the alcohol content, but more so with injecting my palette with pleasurable experience. I’d gnaw on beer flavored gum if it was available and wouldn’t get me fired for drinking (or chewing) on the job. I’ve eaten “energy bars” made from spent beer grain. I even pop hops into my mouth while I’m homebrewing, nibbling on pellets or chomping on cones.

But I also drink to experience an ephemeral connection to something older, something external myself. A fleeting glance at the infinite. A forbidden communion with greater truth that we pay for with a hangover. A way throw my brain out into the same world as Joyce and Hemingway and Poe, to see what they saw, to figure out why they were looking in the first place. In the same way many people pray to find their gods, to ascertain certain truths, to understand their lives and the universe, I genuflect at the altar of the nature deity, CH₃CH₂OH.

Glass in One Hand, Pen in the Other

What makes alcohol special? There are many other ways to alter one’s mind if that’s the goal: meditation, prayer, marijuana, mushrooms, opiates, exercise. But all of those things are hard to do while writing. Every tried to write while jogging? Believe me, it doesn’t work like you’d hope. A lot of other drugs require both hands or complete focus for a period of time, during which you can’t write. Alcohol sits and waits for you. It doesn’t mind that you’re neglecting it while typing away. It is your passive, quiet friend at the back of the party who you haven’t talked to for 2 hours, but who will still toss you a beer from the cooler when he sees you heading his way.

In addition to being legal and relatively cheap in most places, alcohol lends itself well to the physical aspects of the writing process. It takes time to form a good paragraph, craft a good metaphor, just like it takes time to tame a good single malt, to savor a good IPA. The glass goes down as the word count goes up. There is a direct connection between an increase in productivity and a decrease in liquid.

When you stop to take a moment to reread or to think of your next transition, you can take a sip, let the beer or wine or spirit lubricate the rusty metal of those mental gears. And then just as quickly as you picked the glass up it is back down, your fingers back on the keyboard, the next step in the delicate waltz of clicking and sipping.

And just like an idea takes time to congeal, to fully form into something effective and readable, the alcohol slowly, methodically creeps into your mind. Opiates and cannaboids hit your brain quickly and unforgivingly; you’ll go from sober to stoned too quickly for even your most energetic ideas to keep up. But alcohol, no, it is patient. It lets your ideas sprout wings as the buzz rolls in. You get drunk on creativity and the booze itself, nearly at the same time, as long as you’re not downing shots and shotgunning beers like a Frat boy during Greek Week.

Two sides, same coin

Those artistic types who drink, who appreciate the craft in equal balance with the crunk, seem to fall into two categories. The writers who drink to drown their demons, hide them from the world, and the writers who drink to let the demons loose, free them from their midnight cages.

The prior are the kinds of people who live on the teetering edge of debilitating stress. The kind who stagger down a fine, fine line between wanting and needing. These people constantly wage a war against their pasts, trying to forget or make sense of those unfair events, using alcohol as a way to quiet the manic buzz of painful history darting around their mind for just a minute so that they can create.

If you are like this, you’re in good company: James Joyce was a ball of neurosis, likening his favorite white wine to the lightning he feared. Tennessee Williams knocked back more than his fair share, trying to confront his sexuality in a time when such things were kept well behind closed closet doors.

But for every head there is a tail. The latter kind of writer embraces the blur, loves the lack of inhibition that comes from the warm and fuzzy ethanol bloat. These writers (including the one you’re reading right now) include the booze-fairy among their muses, letting the scents and bubbles and lacing mingle with and taint their pool of metaphors. These people find inspiration in the bottle and the bottom, often letting their minds wander into unexplored landscapes while firmly holding the hand of inebriation, discovering things they probably wouldn’t have in the harsh burn of a sober morning.

If you’re one of these writers, you’re likely to meet Hemingway, Hunter S. Thompson, Faulker, and a ton of other famous writers who weren’t shy about their drinking habits, whenever you finally make it to that mead-filled greathall in Vallhalla.

Cursed Blessing

Disclaimer! It is not healthy to drink heavily. In fact it’s quite unhealthy if science is to be believed. Excessive drinking also leads to crappy writing, mainly because your fingers hit all the wrong keys and your eyes can’t really see the screen. Alcohol is a power that should be treated with respect, lest it consume you as you consume it. My father passed an adage on to me some years ago, a clever warning about the dangers of that one last beer: “The man takes a drink, the drink takes a drink, and the drink takes the man.”

There is a weird pervasive attitude in the world of art that a person must have a screwed up past or some ravenous personal demons to be successful. It sometimes goes as far as to suggest that the alcohol or drugs or other addictions were the reason for the success. They cite the great artists and authors, point out that some of the most perfect art was created by some of the most broken people. They claim the best memoir is built from a horrible childhood, and the best canvases are covered in just as much blood as paint.

I’m gonna have to go ahead and call bullshit on that. There are any number of successful people who lived either decidedly plain or otherwise happy lives. Like Erik Larson or David Sedaris or David Quammen. They still have plenty to say, wonderfully fresh ideas, and enjoy abundant, well-deserved respect.

Pain isn’t necessary. Helpful? Sure, maybe, for some people. Mandatory? Nah dude.

Alcohol is just another experience out there. One that a lot of creative types turn too, probably out of ease and access and history. One that can be fun or awful, that can enhance or destroy. It’s up to you as a person and an artist to decide how or when or if to use it. But remember to be reasonable. No one writes well hungover.

Remember Hemingway’s immortal words:

Write drunk, edit sober.

“I hate to advocate drugs, alcohol, violence, or insanity to anyone, but they’ve always worked for me.”
-Hunter S. Thompson

A Child of Fantasy

February 8, 2011 · by Oliver Gray

I spent the majority of my waking childhood doing one of three things: reading books, playing soccer, or playing video games. It was a simple existence in which I put fun, fantasy, and anything surreal ahead of the mundane and every day. As a child, I was indulged; my wild imagination a wonderful thing that was fostered and encouraged by pretty much every adult I encountered. My mind danced with thoughts of magic, adventures across improbable landscapes, and a life of constant adventure and excitement.

This mentality continued into young adulthood, but my fantasies became more elaborate and vivid, opening up new vistas of possibility and entertaining strangeness. The books I read were more sophisticated, their language and concepts twisted and unreal, feeding my desire to experience the impossible. The games I played evolved with graphic engines, creating more realistic representations of monsters, castles, and the prior’s nonstop siege of the latter. I was able to indulge my insatiable imagination more than ever. Even my soccer became a calculated game of strategy; the physical exertions of the sport had become trivial and I enjoyed analyzing the war-like breakdown of an unfolding game just as much as I loved scoring a goal.

In college, I was free to indulge to an almost ludicrous extent. While still in high school I had been limited by my parents influence and observation. On my own, I could flood my mind with weird and archaic literature and play copious amounts of games to the maximum extent I could absorb them. I was not just free, I was unchained. My mind went into overdrive, seeking to experience any bit of fantasy I could get my hands on (or mind around) and I would often find myself reading a book, watching a movie, and playing a game simultaneously. I loved the freedom of overindulgence despite the mental and physical ramifications.

My success in college was simply a byproduct of this fantasy-lust; I just so happened to study a field that benefited from mental flexibility and rampant creativity. I actually enjoyed reading the things I read and writing the things I wrote, which I am sure not many college students can say with a straight face.

I never stopped to think that my obsession with fantasy was unhealthy for my development and perceptions. I always considered it normal, just a hobby like any other. I knew many who were as fanatical or even moreso, and figured I was a functional, social being somehow unaffected by something that consumed me so wholly.

The effects were subtle. I did not devolve into a schizophrenia where I thought I was actually a wizard casting spells in my cubicle. I did not dodge imaginary dragons while driving my car. I didn’t even consider myself particularly fantastic, despite constantly being awash in the genre.

I did however build a massive repository of expectation, preconceived notions, and overly exaggerated perception. Any time an adult described something to me, I gathered every tiny piece of information about the topic and began to construct my imaginary idea of what this thing would be like. With emotions I aggrandized what it would actually feel like, expecting it to be as obvious as cold water on a hot day. With events, I expected wondrous celebrations; wildly yet surreptitiously planned and executed. Sensations were not spared either; I always imagine alcohol to taste like candy, having a job being a daily adventure in a hip environment, and various achievements literal milestones that I could tangibly see, touch, and remember with pride.

This doesn’t sound bad. I had very, very, very high expectations for things. This meant I had a powerful curiosity and tried almost anything I could. Exotic foods, various athletics, even sources of altered states, when the opportunity presented itself. I was not out of control, but I was certainly hedonistic for a period, in an attempt to reach that exalted pinnacle of emotion that I had built in my mind. In college I played the role of hedonist to an extreme at times, hoping to get a brief taste of what seemed so ordinary and accessible to others.

When I didn’t feel these things, I was confused. For a bit, I considered myself a sociopath, incapable of feeling the gamut of the human psyche. But one day, I had an epiphany about my life and all my experience. If I remember correctly, I was reading the introduction to Walden for the 4th time. I had not not felt the various emotions and sensations I sought, I had felt them in a way completely polar to how I had expected to feel them.

I had been in love, I had been truly angry, I had felt spirituality, pride, honor, grace, humility, aggravation, embarrassment. Unlike physical pain and pleasure, these feelings were impossibly ethereal, only felt in wisps and tickles. A lifetime of fantasy immersion had made me brace myself for these feelings hitting me; instead they tapped me one the shoulder and passed right on by without me even noticing.

The result: a general disillusionment. I am nowhere near unhappy, in fact I love where my life has meandered and am proud of the things I have accomplished thus far. I have big dreams and am taking steps to realize them, and feel, for the most part, satisfied. But I am admittedly two dimensional in my emotions, mainly because I never felt what I thought I should feel, when I expected to feel it. I had to force myself to say, “Oh, so that is what X feels like”, where “X” equals any emotion normally recognizable by a person.

I had to spend some time realigning what was reality and disconnecting it from what fantasy had taught me was reality. While this sounds absurd, it was actually quite difficult, and I still find myself underestimating certain emotions and events. I didn’t walk at my college graduation because the entire event seemed washed out and banal to me; to this day I could tell you why I thought that. I also had to acknowledge that I have experienced many, many things that I had simply overlooked, and take time to appreciate them for what they are, not what they might be.

I would say that fantasy ruined my mind, but that would be an oversimplification and overreaction. It certainly altered my judgements and made me expect more than I think is reasonable for the world we live in. But it also taught me to never take anything for granted, and instilled in me a sense of dedication and stoicism that I might not have had otherwise. Because I “missed” many emotions and feeling when they first manifested themselves, I have developed a very placid demeanor; it takes a lot of consistent frustration to push me over the edge. I am passionate, but only to a certain extent, and I do not easily get carried away.

All this as a result of many hours of Tolkien, Asimov, Lovecraft, and Sierra, Blizzard, Bioware.

I do not regret it, as with all of the above confusion about the world comes a few, dominating positives. I find fun in the mundane, by being able to project frivolity and fantastic scenarios on what would otherwise be a total snoozefest. I also have high mental dexterity; I attribute my problem solving skills and fast-thinking to the years of synapses firing over which monster to take down first. I also have developed an immense database of historical and folklore knowledge that often aids me in conversation and in writing; both of which I find myself doing quite often.

I only write this because I know there must be others like me out there who have not come to terms with why the feel (or don’t) the way they do. Others of my generation who played just as many games, read just as many books, and otherwise smothered themselves in science fiction and fantasy surely must have similar sentiments to mine.

If so, fear not. There really is a wonderful world out there, filled with amazing scenery, people, experiences, and yes, adventures waiting for you to discover it. There is sorcery abound in human interaction and pure magic in a lover’s touch. As much comfort as there is in your digitally or scholarly created worlds, they will not serve you indefinitely. I do not suggest complete removal of the thing that has defined you and that you love so dearly, just an active recognition of which world is actually real.

"Humanity has the stars in its future, and that future is too important to be lost under the burden of juvenile folly and ignorant superstition. " Isaac Asimov

The Luddite Dilemma

January 12, 2011 · by Oliver Gray

For those of you unfamiliar with the etymology of the term, the Luddites were a group 19th century British textile workers who physically and politically opposed the Industrial Revolution. It was their belief that the mechanization of production would eliminate jobs, encourage shoddy workmanship, and ultimately cause the downfall of the entire industry. The term has evolved since and now is used to reference anyone who is opposed to, or incapable with, modern technology.

Many people use the term in self-deprecation; suggesting that they, in their misunderstanding and incompetence, somehow represent the Luddites in their quest against progress. While I appreciate and admire the use of an archaic term, this comical application doesn’t quite encompass my definition of the word. To be a Luddite, one must be vehemently opposed to (even if only subconsciously) technology, automation, and most importantly, progress.

Those who know me might say that I am in some ways a Luddite, as I have voiced concerns over the necessity of things like smart phones and 3-D televisions; but I never argued that these things should not exist. I recognize the impact that smart phones have had on our culture, and do not oppose the idea, I simply oppose the reliance on a singular gadget by so many for so many things. I worry that a generation raised with all the world’s knowledge in their pocket will never know the joys of reading a book and having to go find a dictionary to look up a word; hell, they may never even need to read a book, which I find quite depressing. It is a different matter to understand and be able to functionally use a piece of technology and oppose it for educated reasons, than it is to disdain and denounce something because its strange magicks are like voodoo to your voluntarily primitive mind. The latter describes my kind of Luddite, and unfortunately, their breed is just as prevalent today as it was at the turn of the century.

At a point in the late 90s, it was sort of cute to be a technological dunce. People made jokes that they didn’t know which button turned their computer on, that their CD-ROM drive was really a cup holder, and the internet consisted solely of animated GIFs of fire and men digging figurative HTML holes. We, as a culture, accepted this attitude, especially from an older generation of people who had never needed a computer and had little to no experience operating one. It was like a 16 year old learning to drive a car; we laughed lightly at their attempts to parallel park but knew someday they would master at least some of the subtleties of driving.

The analogy between computers and driving stops there. While it is a given that most people will eventually figure out enough about driving to not crash into something every time they turn the wheel, the same cannot be said about people who fire-up their computers. The mindless majority often don’t realize that they are driving around a controlled explosion, nor do they really understand how their vehicle works, but at least they understand how to use it (ie. push the pedals and turn the wheel) and what not to do to it (crash into things). No such assumption can be made about someone with a computer; owning and using a computer does not guarantee the development of an appropriate skill set. Somehow in the cosmic chaos, education on computing was left as an optional check box, which most people left blank.

My experience as a desktop support monkey has provided me with years of anecdotal proof of this strange phenomenon, and my current position as a young professional in a sea of old-schoolers has seen daily frustration at the hands of those with an aversion to technology. It seems strange that a tool which promotes efficiency and convenience would be so widely misused and under appreciated, but too many people, a lot of them who can’t even claim age as an excuse, seem to be willfully ignorant when it comes to anything that has to do with a computer. The sad fact is that this aversion is no longer OK; computers are no longer a cutting-edge, fringe concept that can be ignored, they are integral to functioning normally in this new age. Being old-school only works if you are actually old.

A computer is, despite its complexities, a tool. If your life required you to constantly adjust screws, after a while, you would figure out how to skillfully use a screw driver. It would take a very special mind to struggle with the concept of a piece of metal that you rotate in your hand. While a computer is a much more sophisticated tool, the basic principle remains the same. After months (sometimes years) of daily use, a user should learn what their computer does, and why it does it. They should also learn what it cannot do, and what happens when you do the wrong things. Ultimately, they should develop an understanding, without any formal training, of how their tool functions and in what capacities. To not garner any insight after years and years of using a tool either suggests that the person is incapable of learning at all, or for some reason actively refuses to learn anything about computing.

The latter has to be the truth, otherwise we have to surmise that we live in a society where there are millions of people somehow surviving with debilitating learning disabilities. Since that is obviously not the case (ignoring Jersey Shore fans and the entire {and future} cast of 16 and Pregnant for the moment) there has to be a deeper reason as to why the normal, heuristic method of learning does not apply to computers. My only guess is that somehow, the complicated roots of very early computing still vex everyday users, who simply refuse to acknowledge that using a computer is now easy. I truly think the majority of people manifest their own destiny with the presumption that using a computer is beyond them, as only highly skilled nerds who dedicate their lives to the mystical intricacies of coding and software development can possibly use such a dense piece of machinery.

This overarching concept is what companies like Apple built their entire marketing platform on. When I see an Apple product, all I can think is, “Who cares how it works? It’s pretty and it just does.” Apple removes the fear of using a computer by taking away any challenge or risk and they have fallen all over themselves to prove this to their target audience. Don’t want to deal with the terrifying (but easily avoidable) world of VIRUSES?!?! Get an Apple, we don’t get scary viruses, so you’ll be fine. People love this concept; the imaginary complications are taken away, and suddenly, they are masters of their technology.

Unfortunately, with safety comes limitation. Apple tends to “lock people in”, telling them what software they can and can’t use, forcing them to purchase everything related to their computer through them, and ultimately taking away any freedom of computing. Their clever guise of accessibility and safety obviously works, but it does nothing to solve the original problem of people fearing their computers. The irony is that the same feeling of safety can be achieved using any operating system on any computer from any manufacturer.

Awareness is key. The majority of problems people experience comes from them not knowing what they’re doing, but more specifically not caring that they don’t know what they’re doing. I use a Windows based PC, spend a lot of time on the internet, don’t run any virus protection software, and yet – gasp – I never get any viruses. How then, do people with Norton, McAffee, Avast, Kepersky or any of the other hundred Anti-virus protection suites manage to get dozens of malicious objects every month? I do have a passion for computing, but I am hardly more intelligent or dedicated than your average user. The difference is that over time, I have learned not to download attachments from people I don’t know, I’ve learned what websites are sketchy simply from a glance, and I’ve learned that the person using the computer makes all of the decisions, not the other way around.

I am sick to death of people claiming they “did nothing” to their computers. I hate to tell you, but if you just plugged your computer in and turned it on, it would do absolutely nothing until a piece of hardware died. That could take years. When your computer “acts up” or “has a mind of its own”, it’s because of something you (or someone who used the computer) did, not because there is a goblin living inside of it who is hell bent on ruining your day. There a relatively few problems that are caused solely by a piece of software going ballistic, and these only usually manifest themselves after the user has thoroughly abused their machine. It is not only time to embrace computer education, but also time to stop diffusing the responsibility of computer problems by claiming some invisible, malevolent force screwed it up without your knowledge. There is nothing magical about a computer; it works just like your toaster – bread in, toast out. If you pour Gatorade into your toaster because you don’t know better…don’t expect toast.

If a person is lagging behind the norm in 2011, chances are they will be behind until they die. It is almost too late to try and play catch up now; if you were too slow to fully grasp file formats, basics of websites, word processing, and the difference between CC and BCC, by the time you do, there will be a hundred other things you have to learn. I am not saying that a person shouldn’t try to educate themselves, nor do I expect everyone to be able to solve any problem that ever arises related to technology. I do wish people would embrace, instead of eschew, what is undoubtedly the future of American society. Sooner than later it won’t be “regrettably endearing” that you can’t function around a computer, it will be unacceptable and ultimately make you look stupid.

So to all those Luddites out there actively or subconsciously trying to avoid learning something new, I say wake up. The digital age is no longer dawning. It has long since dawned, it is about 1:42 PM, and the midday sun is shining on your still-sleeping face.