shipbuilding

I keep hearing about this new radio station, INDIE 103.1. It’s supposed to be giving KROQ a run for its money, but we can’t hear it in the 626. I haven’t tuned in to regular radio, other than NPR or KFWB, since I got XM last year, but I had to go from the 626 out to the 310 last Wednesday, and I thought I’d listen to KROQ and INDIE, and write up a comparison of the two.
Since I’m writing this for blogging.la, I figured it would be extra “LA” of me to bring my iBook over to Starbucks to write it up. There are a half dozen people here with me, three of them also on laptops, one of them this totally insane homeless guy who I see wandering around this area all the time. A few weeks ago, Anne and I were walking out of a restaurant, and he yelled something at her about how he was too evil for her food.
I’m a little pissed that the homeless guy is filling an entire corner of the place with the stink of greasy hair and dirt, and he’s also in the most comfortable chair, in the corner that gets the best sun, where I was hoping to sit today.
Then I sip my Sumatra, take a bite of my muffin, realize that my laptop cost more than this guy will see in a year, and sit in the familiarity of Liberal Guilt™.
Aimee Mann sings “Save Me,” (the only thing about Magnoila that I didn’t totally hate), two men (possibly lovers, or on their way to being ex-lovers) sit silently at a table between me and stinky homeless guy and stare into their lattes. One of them keeps looking at me, and it makes me self-conscious. Is he looking at me because he thinks he knows me? Because he’s seen me on TV? Because, in my Kung Fu Records T-shirt, worn over my Hanes thermal shirt, Chuck Taylors and carefully mussed hair I look sexy and alluring? I self-consciously twist my wedding ring around my finger.
A few moments pass and they leave. It’s weird. They both stand up at exactly the same moment, without a word, as if they’ve shared some silent communication that only lovers can understand. As they walk out the door, a woman storms in past them, yelling into her cell phone. ” . . . oblem, Jerry! You have an obligation to –”
Everyone except Stinky looks up at her, and she lowers her voice. “Well, I’m not going to discuss this with you here!” she says, and slams the phone shut.
She forces a smile and walks to the counter, where she places an order in a quiet, barely-controlled voice that I can’t hear.
Stinky coughs, which quickly turns into a violent hacking. A woman in line puts a protective arm around her young child, and tells him not to stare. Stinky gets up, and staggers outside. He doesn’t return, and I think about moving to his / my chair, but the stink still hangs over that corner. I stay where I am. A man in a tweedy jacket, cotton shirt and bright blue tie sits down next to me, and starts working on a crossword puzzle from the paper. I click click clack on my iBook:
A white van pulled out ahead of me right before the 110. I grew up watching CHiPs, so white vans terrify me: each one contains a potential kidnapper, and at any moment, the back doors could explode open and release a motorcycle rider who will create, and then escape unharmed from, a 50 car pile up.
I write for close to 30 minutes before I look up, and realize that Tweedy Jacket has fallen asleep. His chin sits heavily upon his chest, and his hands are folded in his lap. Why did this guy come to Starbucks to fall asleep over his partially-completed Crossword?
I study him, trying to put together an interesting character background. Is he a salesman? Maybe from a nearby furniture store? Over here on his lunch break. He didn’t make his sales quota last month, and February is his last chance to get some blue boxes filled in next to his name on the white board that surely hangs in some back room. Does he ever finish the crossword? Sometimes. It’s a small victory for him, but one he relishes. Suddenly, his head POPS UP! He looks straight at me with sleep-clouded eyes. They are bright blue, and resigned. My own eyes dart down to his puzzle, and back to my own table. When I steal another glance, one hand cups his chin, while the other taps his pen.
A few minutes later, his digital watch chirps twice to mark the top of the hour. He looks down at it, sighs heavily, and carefully folds his puzzle. He puts it in a pocket inside his jacket, and slowly walks out the door.
I write for another twenty minutes before I get stuck. I can’t recall how to spell “Yahtzee.” Is it Yahtzee? Yachtzee? Yhatzee? I don’t have T*Mobile, so I can’t hit the Internet to find out. I’ll have to trust my instincts: “Yahtzee” looks the least wrong, so I’ll go with that:
"Where it's at! I've got two turntables and a microphone . . . "
Oh, I see that we're flashing back all the way to the halcyon days of 1996. This is my biggest complaint with KROQ's whole "Flashback" criteria: seven years old does not a flashback make, you guys. Does this mean that, when the summer rolls around, we'll be flashing back to the acoustic version of Staind's Outside?
I looked down at the radio, and saw that Fred on XM 44 was playing Joy Division's Twenty-four.
Yahtzee! ADVANTAGE: XM.
It’s good that I don’t have Internet here. Internet has been a HUGE distraction recently, and I haven’t had the self-discipline to just focus, write, and turn it off. Fark, Metafilter, and Cursor beckon like Sirens.
A couple in their mid-30s sits down in Stinky’s chair, which I realize now is a love seat. They exude sexual energy. They must be new to each other. There’s no way they’re having an affair — they’re far too brazen for that — but they clearly can’t wait to get their clothes off. I’m am violently jealous of their passion for one another, and it derails my ability to write.
I sit here and drink my coffee, which is getting cold and bitter(how appropriate). A Starbucks guy runs a sweeper across the floor around me, and beneath my feet.
“Are you a writer?” he asks.
“I hope so,” I tell him. He sort of recoils from me, and I feel bad. It’s not his fault that I haven’t written anything in over a week. It’s not his fault my sweet and kind 12 year-old stepson has been replaced with a surly, disrespectful podperson. It’s not his fault that this couple’s wonderful, supernova passion for each other is what I want and lack more than anything else on earth. Maybe it’s the grey sky, the cold February day, or Stinky stinking up my chair . . . but I can’t feel passion for anything these days. I am a man in his thirties, snapping at a boy in his twenties, because I used to be him.
“I mean . . . I’m trying. I’ve done some good stuff in the past, but right now I’m in a bit of a rut.” I say.
“Oh, well, I hope you find your way out,” he says, kindly. No harm, no foul.
We-Can’t-Wait-To-Fuck get up. She’s flushed, and he’s grinning. They hurriedly gather up their cups, and slam dunk them into the trash on their way out.
I crumple up my muffin bag, and free throw it into the trash can. It sails through the air, trailing crumbs, and hits the side. It skips into the corner, past the door. I pick it up, and see that We-Can’t-Wait-To-Fuck are standing by his car. I know it’s his because he’s leaning against the driver’s door, and she’s pressed up against him. They’re making out, right there in the parking lot, with the reckless abandon that blind passion brings to a couple.
Gods, I fucking hate them.
No I don’t. I hate myself. I hate this rut. I need to warm up my coffee.
I give the Barista a dollar. She fills up my cup and drops two quarters into my hand. I use the tips of my fingers to flip them over: Vermont and Maryland. I drop them into the plexiglass tip box with a flourish, and return to my table.
I write for about 10 minutes, but it’s forced. I’ve hit my Creative Wall for today, ten minutes short of my usual two hour cutoff. I save my work, close up my iBook, sit down in Stinky’s chair. My chair.
My coffee tastes weak, bitter, and familiar.

130 thoughts on “shipbuilding”

  2. Yahtzee! Ultimately the XM has the advantage. KROQ and INDIE have no chance, or do they? Jealous you say, Wil? Did you forget what comforts you have at home. Well, at least until school is out and Anne out of work.

  3. I can appreciate your frustration but even though you may have been struggling with your assignment, your entry reads very well. Even the self recrimination (sucks to be our age, sometimes). I admire that you have mastered a practice that I have not, yet–you write every day, or at least make the attempt.
    I promise myself I’m going to write something, anything, every day. But I never do. Most days, I don’t even get around to making the attempt. I just end up making excuses. Wow, I re-write five thousands lines of monolithic code into a normal taxonomy of about ten, two hundred line classes–that’s enough effort for one day. Even though writing code and writing prose are just not the same thing, they just don’t stretch the same mental muscles.
    Keep at it, Wil, and don’t let that young couple get to you. To me, it sounds like you have a very loving wife and you sound great together. As for your step-son, my oldest is approaching five, but i think I can empathize given some of my friends have pre-teen boys and I can easily see myself there in some years. All boys go through that pod stage–some younger, some older. I think the trick is not to push or pry. Be a good parent, but don’t try so hard you alienate them, they’ll come around.

  6. BTW, WHFS in DC does the same thing as KROQ, as far as the sick amnesiac flashbacks. Truly sad given that as late as maybe seven or ten years ago, they really were the alternative rock station they still claim to be, instead of another cookie cutter Clear Channel or WestWood 1 franchise.

  7. I am so there with you on the can’t-wait-to-fuck couple. I am about to be divorced and I want that supernova passion too. I’m not really ready for it right now, but I hope it finds me someday.
    I know this will sound lame, but I’m behind you and I know you will hit your groove and write something you like. Meanwhile I love what you wrote today. You really put us in the immediacy of the moments you are writing about and I feel like I am sitting right there with you feeling and seeing what you feel and see.
    By the way, what were you favorite commercials of the superbowl? I was betting the Linux commercial with Muhammed Ali and the Visa commercial with Homer Simpson. Just a guess.

  8. You write beautifully, Wil. Its ashame you can’t write what you want. I think I have the opposite problem of you – my head is brimming with ideas, but I’m a terrible writer. Hehe. Oh well…I’m sure you’ll overcome your writers block eventually. ‘Til then, keep your chin up. Your fans certainly don’t like to see you distressed.

  9. One reason I read your site, and most likely the reason so many people are inspired by your words, is that you’re not afraid to show the world your weaknesses — and yet you are famous and, in our eyes, successful.
    If someone famous and successful can get writer’s block, and be scared, then it’s ok that we have ruts and get scared, too.

  10. Wonderful slice-of-life entry, Wil! Who says you’re in a rut anyways. Oh … that was you. Well, your FOS mate cos that was fab.
    Your descriptive ability is amazing. Perhaps your next book should just be “Slices of Life in LA” or some such.

  12. Dude, this was thoroughly enjoyed. 🙂 Now can I have a slice of that inspiration and talent? I got a radio play to write and no idea whatsoever… 🙂

  14. And you’re blocked? Seems to me that hitting the wall has become a story generator for you. Every time you get stuck, you come back to the blog and churn out an interesting read about being stuck, and 9 times out of 10 it turns out great.
    When you write, you want the reader to actually see what you’re seeing, feel what you’re feeling. This entry did just that, Wil. Only We-Can’t-Wait-To-Fuck is where I saw myself, along with my new girlfriend. But I digress…
    Keep going, you’re on a roll and don’t even know it…

  15. Wow, thats a block… Brillant Wil, I read that and the descriptions put me there.
    Freaking fantastic piece of writing.
    Thanks Wil,
    Sadly your blog is my distraction (like fark is to you), but this time it inspired!

  16. Wow.
    That post took me away from my otherwise boring day for a few minutes. I love your writing style.
    I just wanted to say thank you for sharing.

  17. Thanks, you guys.
    I’m not blocked, though. Just in a rut. I can’t explain the difference, but I can feel it. It’s not that bad. 🙂

  18. Bravo! It is a real pleasure to witness the evolution of your writing, Wil. As to the bitterness, like your writing, all relationships evolve. A good and lasting marriage is built on far more than physical passion. From what you’ve shared before, your emotional passion is alive and kicking. Cling to that–the rest will take care of itself. Being a stepparent is probably the hardest job in the world–it’s like parenting cubed. 12 is a confusing age, and it will probably get worse before it gets better. Hang tough… In the end, your reward will far outweigh the pain and frustration. Keep digging, pal.

  21. *smiles* I think what makes your little vignettes of frustration at writer’s block so appealing is that whether you are aware of it or not, you are at your best when most frustrated (no, I’m not going to quote John de Lancie here). The sights, the sounds and the smells you describe are all so sharp, and so familiar, but the real bite in your writing is the trace of espresso in your Blue Mountain blend – for in articulating your failure, you have given us all a taste of your soul. And no writing is more worthy than that which invites a reader to empathise.

  22. Well, Wil, I know the feeling, but – you are writing, and writing well. This very text I’m commenting is brilliantly written, even if it’s bitter. I could say “don’t be bitter”, but that’s a stupid comment.
    What can I say? Hang on, man. Sometimes life seems bitter, dull, and -mostly- stupid. It isn’t really, but it sure does feel that way.
    I don’t have a good answer. Well, maybe… but it’s just my way of looking at things: Love and Imagination. You have both of those in your life. Don’t lose sight of either. The dullness and bitterness is just surface, even if it feels ever so deep. There is more to you and to your life and to the world than that.
    If this sounds silly, you need to read more poetry. Some Blake might be good.
    (And I need to go to bed.)
    Good luck. Don’t give up.

  23. Brilliant writing Will. Since I just started reading your site recently its my first “fresh” story I have had the opportunity to read. Keep them coming.

  24. And then my fingers went and betrayed me and I typed “Will” instead of what I knew was correct. Looking forward to your book, Wil. 😉

  26. Have you considered writing some non-autobiographical fiction? Sometimes a change of subject helps me when I’m stuck with my writing.
    That’s not the entire problem, of course.
    🙁

  27. A while ago I was saying to a friend how much I missed that feeling in a relationship when you can’t bare to be apart for one second. I’m happily married and have been with my Husband for 10 years, but that Oh-My-Goodness of the first month of a relationship…I really do miss that.
    And it’s not like I don’t love my husband or would ever cheat on him. I do love him and I wouldn’t. But you just can’t recapture that magic of the first month. Of making out for hours, or discovering the other persons desires. And I miss it.
    I really do.
    My friend (who has been married for a year) just didn’t get it. But you do Wil. I know you love your wife and would never do anything to hurt her, but you know you’ll never have that I’m-so-aroused-by-you-I-can’t-take-my-hands-off-of-you feeling and it makes you a little sad. You wouldn’t change things for the world, but you know what you gave up when you chose to be with your spouce. Thanks for identifying that feeling.

  28. I thought maybe it was just me and so I didn’t speak to it at first but now after reading multiple blog entries and thinking of those from “pre-author Wil” days… Most every blog entry since your book, Mr. Wheaton, sounds like something you’re trying to write for another book.
    I hope you’re not offended by such remarks. It’s just how it reads to me, as though you aren’t just blogging some @ random event but carefully crafting a (to be published) story. I think before all this book business your writings were of the off the cuff, raw is Wil sort. Now they seem measured and planned :/

  29. My hubby and I celebrated our 10th anniversary last summer – well, I guess “celebrated” is a bit of an overstatement. It came and went, anyway.
    Last month – December/Jan – was the hottest month we’ve had in YEARS!! I can honestly say that in a long-term relationship, you venture in and out of phases. Lust is my favorite, and it’s the rarest. I’m just savoring the moments as they come and hoping they’ll last as long as possible!
    Be encouraged! Absolutely LOVE your writing!

  30. What a brilliant piece you wrote today….this kind of free association usually clears up my writer’s block (which sadly, has been going on for about 3+ years)…this is a definite “save” for a future book…hmmm, musings from a 30-something married guy who’s not sure where to go or what to do??? Kudos Wil!!

  31. HI Wil, Someone above mentioned that you do your best writing when you are blocked… Very True. This was great. You have a very good knack for ambiance and vivid characterization. I was in the Starbucks and knew what everyone looked like… good job.
    kp

  32. Writer’s block? shit dood that entry was great! I live in SC but while reading that I was THERE! I see a sequel to Dancing Barefoot abrewin’

  33. Puberty hit the boy hard, didn’t it? Poor kid. Life’s gonna be a confusing mess for the next few years. Let him know you’re always there when he needs you, and remind him that if he royally fucks up you will come down on his ass like a ton of bricks.
    Yep, it’s time to be a hardass. Just ‘cuz he’s growing up don’t mean he can get away with anything. You now get to be ‘dad as a rotten bastard’ until he’s old enough to show some sense.
    It’ll pass. Just remember to be consistent, fair, and firm. Good luck.
    And a message for Ryan
    Ryan, I’m not as nice as your dad. In fact I can out royal bastard professional royal bastards. I get word you’re being a little prick to anybody, and we happen to meet, I will lecture you like you’ve never been lectured before. When I’m done when I say “jump” you will jump and ask how high on the way up. You will be a gentleman even if it kills you.
    I’ve been through puberty, I know all about puberty. So don’t expect to get away with anything with me. You will become a competent, responsible adult in due time, or I will know the reason why.
    Consider yourself on notice.

  34. Wow! Wil, that’s the best bit of writing you’ve done for this blog in a while! It was really brilliant. I truly enjoyed that and was actually sorry when I came to the end of it. Really great, Wil.

  35. You write better about not being able to write than anyone else I have ever read. It’s a little weird, but there it is.
    Keep up the good work… even if it is about not being able to work.
    jt

  36. “A white van pulled out ahead of me right before the 110. I grew up watching CHiPs, so white vans terrify me: each one contains a potential kidnapper”
    have to admit i laughed out loud at this. thanks!

  37. You didn’t like Magnolia? *Gasp* Seriously, I expected better from you. I feel so conflicted, my loyalties are divided. I may never return to your site again because of this. (for at least/most 24 hours)
    But seriously, Magnolia was an orgasmic cinematic experience, how could you hate that movie and then drool all over that way overhyped, pretentious dreck known as Lord of The Rings?

  38. Thanks for this – surfed over to distract myself, and found that you seem to be in the same mood I’m in. Somehow, reading this makes me feel a little less bitter – in the whole ‘misery loves company’ category, I guess. 🙂 Anyway, normally a lurker, inspired to comment for once in my life. Good luck, man!

  39. Wil,
    You are not blocked.
    You can write, know what to write. You just don’t WANT to write.
    Sometimes, as much as we may enjoy our professions, sometimes it starts feeling too much like real work.
    Take a break. Don’t obligate yourself to writing so much per day.
    You’ll have days you won’t write at all, but then you’ll have days where you’ll write all day long.
    By the way,…. I laughed at the “Chips” comment too. Being 34, I grew up watching that too.

  40. INDIE is like KROQ USED to be. Not like it is now. Way lses mainstream, as you could guess from the name. I like it a lot, but KROQ’s got my brand name loyalty.

  42. …. I should say, At least, that’s what it seems to me, you are suffering from. I tend to go through similar phases, and it’s not all that uncommon with people who have a highly creative nature.

  43. i’ve never felt the need to post on one of your blog entries before. but i just wanted to let you know that even your description of writers block is better than my actual writing. you’ve made me feel like i was in that coffee shop with you, wishing i was somewhere else doing something else. thank you.

  44. i know this is totally random, but i’m too young to remember chips (almost 24), but i am seriously terrified of white vans, too.
    i’ve always thought they contained kidnappers. i am way too old to still think it, but i won’t get out of my car if there’s a creepy one with a person in it nearby.
    i suppose i could think of it as a charming affectation.
    i’m just glad to know i’m not crazy and alone : )

  45. Hey Wil,
    I’ve been reading your blog for about 6 months now, and though I haven’t commented before I felt obliged to today because I thought this was a really well written entries. For some reason I am fascinated by the whole Starbucks coffee and iBook craze, and it was great to read a first person narrative of that. You did a real good job with all those mini character studies as well. Looking foward to future entires like this!

  46. Indie 103 is great. A nice breath of fresh air from what KROQ has become. Although they really need to add to their playlist.
    That was a great blog entry. I also feel the same way about “white vans” aka “rapist vans”. Maybe it’s an L.A. thing.

  47. I’m just going to say this one more time, because I’m getting concerned, and angry, and confused e-mails: This is a work of fiction. It’s from the creative writing department, not the blog department.
    I hope it’s not too much like a magician showing off his tricks, but I don’t want there to be any ambiguity or misunderstandings about my family life. That stuff goes in the “blog” department.
    If it sounds or feels like it should be in the blog department, it’s because I’m not a good enough writer to affect different “voices” or “styles” when I write.

  48. hey wil,
    that is such a great piece of writing! wow…it totally blew me away.
    “It’s not his fault that I haven’t written anything in over a week. It’s not his fault my sweet and kind 12 year-old stepson has been replaced with a surly, disrespectful podperson. It’s not his fault that this couple’s wonderful, supernova passion for each other is what I want and lack more than anything else on earth.”
    that bit is incredible. it totally sums up how i feel right now. wow…you are great wil.
    take care
    rach

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