Sappy Poem of the Day #011

My dear Dani Lou,
Fifteen days I've missed you, Love.
Just four more to go.

Inertia

At the beginning of the year, I decided to start a project. This year, I am going to record four stories for radio and submit them to This American Life.

It's April. That means a quarter of the year is over. And that's fine. I didn't expect to complete one story per quarter. I've never done this before; it's going to take me a while to get started. Here's the problem: I haven't started. At all. In January I was scribbling down ideas for possible subjects but none of them are any good, at least for the type of story used on TAL. Most of my ideas are more like news stories, not narratives.

I have some serious writer's block, or recorder's block, or documentarian's block; I don't know what you call it in radio. After reading advice from Ira Glass and many other brilliant radio personalities on Transom.org, it seems that there are many ways that radio stories can be born. Unfortunately, I'm having a hard time making any of these strategies work. I know it will get easier after my first time, but at the moment I feel like it's impossible. Here are my strategies for getting started, and why I haven't been able to move forward with any of them:

1.
Brainstorm for a topic.
I can't think of any good story ideas, at least not narrative ones. This American Life is all about narrative. The only ideas I can seem to come up with are more like news stories or essay topics. I don't know how this method even works for narrative. Do you invent a story and then somehow find someone who has had that experience? How the heck do you find them?

2.
Interview someone with a good story to tell.
I can't think of anyone who has a story that lots of people would want to hear. Now I know that this is a fault of my own. I know that I know lots of people with really compelling stories to tell, I just can't think of who they are, or what the stories are. If anyone can help me out with this, I'm open to suggestions.

3.
Just roll tape on anything that talks.
I think that this might be the easiest way for me to get started. I think if I'm just in the mindset of recording audio, I could get inspired pretty quickly and record at least enough material for a very short story. I love editing audio, so I'd have no problem cutting four good minutes from several hours of audio.

Unfortunately, this is still going to prove extremely difficult for me. I think a lot of people are freaked out by the sight of a microphone, and since I'm a shy and non-confrontational person, the last thing I want to do is force someone else to be uncomfortable by shoving a microphone in their face – especially if I don't really have a good reason for doing it. That feels really creepy. I'm not always the best at making conversation, so things could get awkward really fast if I don't have any prepared questions.

I have the same problem with photography. I generally hate posed pictures of people. Candid shots are way more fascinating to me, but I feel like a creep just taking pictures of people for no reason, even if I know them. I really want to, but I just get so uncomfortable doing it, so I never do. None of my good photos are of people, because I can't shoot them.

~ ~ ~
The problem with these road blocks is that I don't know whether I'm supposed to go over or around them. Are there other, better ways to find stories, or do I just need to conquer my fears and start rolling tape, and make thousands of mistakes? I don't know. I wish I had a radio mentor, someone who could guide me through my first steps. I know that once I get started, I can do it. I just have to figure out how to stand up before I can take those first steps, and I can't seem to muster the strength to do that.

Crappy Poem of the Day #010

The mailbox is somewhat outdated,
Yet also it's quite underrated.
Each day I check it,
Always expectant
For parcels, and often I'm sated.

Crappy Poem of the Day #009

Oh crap, it's the fourth.
Missed the poetry deadline.
Two poems today.

Dreams, Metaphysics, Cats, Tanzania

It's shocking how real dreams feel. I mean really shocking. I had a dream last night that felt like it took place over several hours, and the whole time I thought it was real life. It felt exactly like real life. Every sight, touch, and emotion felt completely authentic, even if the surrounding circumstances were completely dream-like and ridiculous. But suddenly, I woke up and was genuinely startled to realize I was only dreaming.

The fact that our brains can create realities that are so vivid but completely imagined is a little scary. Even before the movie existed, I've pondered more than once whether we really do live in The Matrix – not that we're all human batteries being cultivated by a race of robots, but whether I'm just a brain (maybe not even a brain) in a jar somewhere, with an artificial reality being pumped into me. Maybe the people I think are all around me don't even exist. Maybe it's just me and the mad scientist controlling my reality, and that's all there is in the universe. Maybe nothing in my world exists outside of my direct experience – like a messed up metaphysical Schrödinger's Cat experiment. When my officemate walks out the door, and the sounds of his footsteps fade away, how do I know he doesn't just disappear to save processing power in the computer that's feeding my brain? How do I know that the evening news is even real, and that Tanzania even exists? I've never seen Tanzania, have you? Oh, you have? How do I know that's not just a pre-programmed memory? How do I know you are a real person, and not a character written into my world to convince me that my world is real because you've been to Tanzania?

I know I'm opening up like seventeen different cans of worms here: conspiracy theories, metaphysics, physics, religion, philosophy, etc., but I don't really believe all that stuff. It's just bizarre to imagine. It squeezes the juice out of my mind grapes.

While I'm on the subject of mind-bending metaphysics, have you ever imagined what it would be like to completely cease to exist? I mean not just think about it in an abstract sense – really try to imagine it. It's not just poof, the world is gone, and you're floating in blackness. It's poof, you're gone. You don't remember your life, you don't have anymore thoughts. The End. Stop reading this for fifteen seconds, and try to imagine it. Scary, huh? I don't know how atheists can stomach the thought of death. If I didn't believe in eternal life, I'd have to believe in reincarnation. Living then dying and ceasing to exist is far too pointless for me to embrace.

Well, that was way deeper than what I originally intended. Oops. Here, this should help.

Crappy Poem of the Day #008

My room is a mess.
I think I'll have a cigar.
Clean it tomorrow.

Crappy Poem of the Day #007

Joss Whedon's hilariously witty.
His shows almost never are shitty.
With nerds they're replete,
But his nerds are so sweet,
And his actresses so often pretty.