Elvis Presley, John Adams and manatee's: This is not about holiday weight gain.

"Doncha know I'm caught in a trap, I can't walk out. Because I love you too much, baby."
The King



NOT Elvis. But, were he alive
today, who knows?

 Suspicious Minds was recorded by the King of banana and peanut butter sandwiches this month 42 years ago. It’s a beautiful little ditty about dysfunction, mistrust and the insane oscillation between love and hate. The refrain above, which is the lyrics that begin the chorus, popped into my head several times recently as I have been trying to force myself to the keyboard to write.

It’s not like I haven’t had a ton of stuff to write about. Since my last entry here, I have vacationed in Central Florida, kayaking and swimming with manatee on a two-week holiday. I have been contacted about and considered for three positions doing jobs that I would have loved. They didn’t work out, but hey, I’m thrilled to have been on the radar. It’s not like I was looking. Also, I have had some rewarding victories at the job I now hold.

At the top of the list of good happenings, my wife gave me not one, but two new cameras for Christmas. One was to replace the waterproof Pentax I use to shoot pictures and video from the Lucy’s Revenge kayak; the other was to replace the SLR that gave up the ghost after too many assignments in extreme conditions.


When I'm fiending for coffee camera
equipment be damned!

I’m rough on equipment. 

I’ve been snapping away furiously for three weeks and nothing drives my writing more than my pictures. So, what the hell is the deal here? I’ve managed to begin a couple of good ones in my head, and even sent myself a couple of email reminders of some good inspirations. But, when it gets time to write . . .

Nothing, I couldn’t even get started. 

Not funny.

Woody Allen, my least favorite actor/comedian—I don’t get it, he’s not funny and frankly, his whole nasally-rain man shtick annoys me. He once said, “Ninety percent of doing a good job is just showing up.”  If this is true, then my only problem is I couldn’t be bothered to even open up a damn word document to get started.

I write better when angry or melancholy or morose. I guess maybe I just had such a few good weeks that I couldn’t get angry enough to be inspired. There’s a quote I once read from John Adams in the epic biography written by the always thorough David McCullough. I’ve bastardized and turned it into my own so much I forget exactly how the original goes. My version is:

“Writing comes from the darkness, and painting from the light. But music comes from a place that cannot be felt or heard, it must be believed. Music is faith.”

His Rotundity

I think I added the part about music. The first part of the quote as I recall was from Adams. It would appear I lack the reservation some might use before taking the words of a historic figure like Adams and bending them to fit my worldview. Don’t judge. It works for me, and you’re in my world right now.  

At any rate, I’m beginning to believe His Rotundity was on target with the darkness reference. That I’ve managed to pound out a few hundred words based solely on my frustrations over not being able to pound out a few hundred words is more proof.

So, possibly the juices are flowing again. And I have a couple of ideas waiting in the wings. Let me be very clear, though. This is no resolution thing. I don’t do resolutions. They only lead to disappointment. But then again, I write well when disappointed.

Maybe this keyboard and I CAN “go on together with Suspicious Minds.” It seems to be the only thing that keeps me from being altogether absent minded.