I've decided to give podcasting a try. I'm accepting that although I have strong communication skills, my verbal ability just may outweigh my written ability. I think there's more flexibility within conversation, and as a result, more topics and more ideas are touched.
I work with two guys whose fathers are in the military. Justin's father was in the Marines, a special-ops guy who was constantly away on some mission in a dark corner of the globe. Danny's father was in the Army and served two tours in Iraq; he came home and started drinking. Both fathers were negatively affected by things that happened while they served, although I wouldn't hesitate to say that both were proud of their time in the military.
Speaking with both Justin and Danny, I discovered that both wanted to join the military. Justin couldn't get in because he was diagnosed with asthma and bi-polar disorder. Danny's father wouldn't let him join. The thing that interests me the most is that both said enthusiastically that they would fight in Iraq, despite their fathers' negative experiences in the military.
The conversation was lively, and I thought there was a lot to work with. My problem now is taking that raw idea, that "hm" factor that hung over the conversation, and turn it into a digestable, packaged story. Maybe it won't be cleanly produced, but I want a connecting idea, some central point around which the conversation will revolve. And that central point should have some common quality, something to which many people will relate.
This happens to me a lot: I'll have a conversation with someone and discover something interesting about them...it could be something from their childhood, something about how they just handled a recent breakup, any number of things. I feel like they tell me these details in a natural, engaging way, and I want to capture that natural, honest expression. But I've got to do more than just that. I've got to frame their narrative in a way that means something more than just an interesting conversation.
I'm not sure how I'll frame Justin and Danny's story. I'm hoping for now, recording their feelings will lead to something else. I'm on to something, I just don't know what.
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
Thursday, May 14, 2009
Test Run
I'm at an impasse.
Have you ever heard of Radiolab? It's a radio show broadcast from NYC by these two guys that speak on matters of science, technology, and other stuff that I have yet to hear. The first episode I heard was on the topic of choice. The person who told me about the show presented this argument: when it comes time to make a decision, the act of choosing is more important than the choice you make. In other words, it doesn't matter which option you pick, just pick something.
Imagine a single bacterium, and imagine a chunk of food some distance away from it. The bacterium is trying to make its way to the chunk of food, but doesn't know the exact path...as a result, it takes a squiggly trip full of wrong turns and backtracks and looping detours, but it eventually finds the chunk of food. To an obeserver tracing its path, the route appears to be all over the place. But step back, and keep going back...from the right distance, the right perspective, the wayward path looks more and more like a straight line.
I quit my job as a software developer about a month ago, opting to launch a writing career. Do you need some time to make comments about what a stupid, irrational, scary, quixotic, cliche, not-too-well-thought-out move that was? I'll wait. Actually, you're probably just shrugging your shoulders, a "whatever, I don't know this guy" kind of reaction. I realize the truth; the only person that feels as strongly about my move is me. It seems to me to be ground-breakingly, earth-shatteringly significant because...well, because it's happening to me.
I've grown tired of thinking about all the details that frame this as a bad decision. I made the move because I couldn't stand coding: I couldn't stand the rigidity of logic, the condescension in almost every message board comment when I searched for help, the expectation of technological omniscience from anyone who found out I was a programmer. I sucked at it. I loved the people I worked with, but they couldn't sit down and bang out code for me. And in the end, neither could I...so I quit.
And now here I am. The comforting thing about "here" is that it has substance. I can look around and see the surroundings of my sister's house, where I'm staying, and count the dwindling dollars in my bank account. "There" isn't as clear. Trying to imagine it is both unsettling and exhilarating. "There" hasn't really been seen or experienced by too many people, if any at all. "There" is where I'm trying to go -- to find a niche in this crazy period of time in which we live, when so many things are changing at such a rapid rate that history's stenographer is wishing for speech recognition.
Details to come, but it felt good to get something out there for right now...thanks, Penelope.
Have you ever heard of Radiolab? It's a radio show broadcast from NYC by these two guys that speak on matters of science, technology, and other stuff that I have yet to hear. The first episode I heard was on the topic of choice. The person who told me about the show presented this argument: when it comes time to make a decision, the act of choosing is more important than the choice you make. In other words, it doesn't matter which option you pick, just pick something.
Imagine a single bacterium, and imagine a chunk of food some distance away from it. The bacterium is trying to make its way to the chunk of food, but doesn't know the exact path...as a result, it takes a squiggly trip full of wrong turns and backtracks and looping detours, but it eventually finds the chunk of food. To an obeserver tracing its path, the route appears to be all over the place. But step back, and keep going back...from the right distance, the right perspective, the wayward path looks more and more like a straight line.
I quit my job as a software developer about a month ago, opting to launch a writing career. Do you need some time to make comments about what a stupid, irrational, scary, quixotic, cliche, not-too-well-thought-out move that was? I'll wait. Actually, you're probably just shrugging your shoulders, a "whatever, I don't know this guy" kind of reaction. I realize the truth; the only person that feels as strongly about my move is me. It seems to me to be ground-breakingly, earth-shatteringly significant because...well, because it's happening to me.
I've grown tired of thinking about all the details that frame this as a bad decision. I made the move because I couldn't stand coding: I couldn't stand the rigidity of logic, the condescension in almost every message board comment when I searched for help, the expectation of technological omniscience from anyone who found out I was a programmer. I sucked at it. I loved the people I worked with, but they couldn't sit down and bang out code for me. And in the end, neither could I...so I quit.
And now here I am. The comforting thing about "here" is that it has substance. I can look around and see the surroundings of my sister's house, where I'm staying, and count the dwindling dollars in my bank account. "There" isn't as clear. Trying to imagine it is both unsettling and exhilarating. "There" hasn't really been seen or experienced by too many people, if any at all. "There" is where I'm trying to go -- to find a niche in this crazy period of time in which we live, when so many things are changing at such a rapid rate that history's stenographer is wishing for speech recognition.
Details to come, but it felt good to get something out there for right now...thanks, Penelope.
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