Risking it all

November 24, 2013 by Created by RCW

A friend of mine recently posted the above sign on her Facebook page, and I had no choice but to share it with my Facebook community (and now you). Although I find the sentiment a little negatively toned as worded, I completely agree with it.

As many of you know, I jumped off a cliff about 18 months ago, completely turning my life upside down in pursuit of the dream of being a screenwriter. To do that, I have made a large number of sacrifices to the way my life was, but in the interim, I have discovered some wonderful things—about me and my friends—that I might never have learned if I hadn’t.

Last week, I had drinks with another friend, someone who had made a similar jump to mine. Like me, he has had some wonderful times during this phase of his life, but he is also struggling with doubt and the sense that the years of effort haven’t paid off as he would have liked. Doubt is a thing I understand.

At this moment, I have no doubt or at least not about my dream. It seems as real and viable as ever. Its realization is simply a matter of time in and work on my part. I revel in these moments and wish my friend could feel the same way right now.

When doubt does creep in, however, I do my best to give it context.

The doubt: Can I afford this conference? Is this screenplay any good? Have I made a mistake? Am I a fraud?

The context: What is the alternative?

I look back at my life before I made the jump and I realize that I can’t go back to that. This is not to say that it was all miserable…I had love and support; I enjoyed aspects of my jobs; I met wonderful people. But in many ways, all of those positives were for naught back then because I was miserable.

I was living my life for other people. I based my identity on my job and what I did for other people. I was only as good, as valuable, as loved as other people told me I was, and deep inside, I truly suspected they were lying. Through no fault of theirs, I couldn’t have faith in them because I didn’t have faith in me.

So, when I finally jumped off the cliff, I realized that what I was risking was a life of well masked misery and distrust. Hardly much of a risk from my perspective.

I understand that others cannot always jump as wholeheartedly as I did. They have responsibilities that I did not have.

I have no children. My wife and I were separating for other reasons (nice to say she remains my strongest and most loving advocate and supporter). My family responsibilities had all but disappeared. My jumping would leave no one in the lurch.

So, maybe you can’t jump like I did. I’m not suggesting that it is right for everyone. But to not jump at all in pursuit of a passion is folly.

Every day you maintain the lie, whatever your personal lie is, is another day you risk it all.

It will be scary. You will have doubts. But you’re not doing anyone any favours, least of all yourself, by continuing to pursue activities, attitudes or a life that is crushing you.

I hope my friend relocates the wonder in what he is doing and continues to explore his adventure. If he will let me, I am happy to help him in any way I can.

He is a very lucky man because he is surrounded by love and support from a community of people who adore him and want him to be happy. I hope he can take energy from that. I know I do.

500 Views of Little Joe’s Heart post

November 22, 2013 by Created by RCW

AMAZING! Thank you all, so much.

As of earlier today, my blog post updating the story of Little Joe’s Heart had received 500 views.

My gracious thanks to all the people on Twitter who have and continue to retweet my original posts and to friends on Facebook who shared the post on their Facebook pages.

Together, we are raising awareness of the need for organ donors.

Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!

Be A Donor (Canada)

OrganDonor.gov (US)

Donate Life (US)

NHS Blood and Transplant (UK)

It’s official as of yesterday at 1:44 pm

November 17, 2013 by Created by RCW

In the shadow of my approaching 50^th birthday, at 1:44 pm EST on Saturday, November 16, 2013, I officially became old.

Worse than the first time I was called “Sir” or visited my old graduate department to find it populated with children, I was verbally punched in the gonads when a young man (early 20s?) offered me his seat on the westbound subway near Coxwell Street station.

Adding insult to injury, the subway was not busy—there were other seats available—and I was only carrying a notebook while he was burdened with a large knapsack, a cardboard box and a binder.

I graciously thanked him for his offer while refusing it and then proceeded to die a little bit inside.

Now, if he’d offered me a senior’s discount at the liquor store, well…

Little Joe’s Heart – An infant awaits a donor

November 16, 2013 by Created by RCW

As some of you may recall from a previous post (A parent’s call in the darkness), I told you about a friend of mine whose infant son is in desperate need of a heart transplant to keep him with us.

Almost a month and a half later, I am happy to report that Joe is still fighting, refusing to give up, but am sad to say that he is still waiting for a donor.

Word is getting out, though, and even if Joe cannot be helped in time, his parents’ efforts to raise awareness of the need for organ donors (including this YouTube video) is having an impact.

Like this recent report on Global TV News: Parents Pin Hopes on Heart Transplant

Or this retweet and plea from actress Shannon Elizabeth:

Or this message of support from Grey’s Anatomy star Ellen Pompeo:

And of course, the continued love and support from hundreds of people worldwide.

Please do what you can to support organ donor registry in your area. None of us may be in a position to help Joe directly, but we can all do something to help other families going through the same turmoil and fear.

Please reblog this post to help spread the word. Joe and his family (and I) will be ever so grateful.

Joe and his twin sister

Top 50 Events – A personal perspective

November 14, 2013 by Created by RCW

On Monday, November 18, I celebrate my 50^th birthday. To commemorate the half-century, I have tried to look back and capture my fondest memories or most life-changing events.

The following list is not in order, although the subject of event #2 would likely have no problem believing she ranks after #1 and possibly as low as #5. She can be assured little of this would have nearly the meaning or significance to me without her presence for much of it.

Had my sketch comedy performed at Second City Toronto
Married an amazingly intelligent woman
Interacted with a Henson puppet
Saw Star Wars (you cannot overstate the impact of this on me)
Wrote my first screenplay
Met Nicholas Lemon, puppeteer, actor, friend
Coached adult hockey (beer league but it was hockey)
Performed stand-up comedy (never again)
Discovered the Beatles (not saying I was first to)
Was bylined in a magazine
Wrote sketch comedy for a television show
Attended Patrick Roy’s last game as a Montreal Canadien
Watched a Habs game at the Forum and the Leafs at the Gardens
Snorkeled in Barbados, Costa Rica and Hawaii
Became friends with my brothers
Was a scientist
Performed improv on the Second City stage (as part of SC Training Centre…don’t want SC mad at me)
Visited Chichin Itza
Taught college/university students
Owned a collie named Rebel
Photographed orcas in British Columbia
Went to Disneyland
Attended the Austin Film Festival
Met Chris Vogler, author of The Writer’s Journey
Published my own magazine Aliquotes
Experienced 9/11 from Washington, DC
Impacted by murder of John Lennon
Visited Iceland
Played with ferrets
Saw Shakespeare performed in Stratford, ON
Eloped to and married in Algonquin Park
Received spread in Globe & Mail from my PR efforts
Saw George Carlin, Bill Cosby and Billy Connelly on stage (Gods)
Skated on the Rideau Canal during Winterlude
Eulogized my grandparents
Traveled to both coasts with grandparents
Had my heart broken
Discovered bipedal locomotion (hey, it was the 60s)
Watched the movie My Favorite Year
Received an electric typewriter for Christmas
Saw the crystal structure of the active site of a GTPase (it’s a geek thing, but beautiful)
Watched the Toronto Marlies make the Calder Cup Finals (see also ‘heart broken’)
Saw an ad I created on the Toronto Transit system
Met Peter Noone of Herman’s Hermits
Discovered sex (again, not first; obviously, this list is not in order; strangely, Star Wars still ranks higher)
Witnessed Toronto Varsity Blues win Vanier Cup on blocked last-second field goal attempt
Rode in a submarine in Hawaii
Did astral photography on a mountain top in Hawaii
Birth (it meant a lot to me)
Celebrated 40^th birthday at pool hall with wonderful friends

Lest we forget: Thanking the fallen

November 8, 2013 by Created by RCW

On November 11^th in Canada, we take a moment out of our day at 11am to remember those who have fallen in war to define and defend our rights and freedoms as a nation and a people. We call it Remembrance Day and in the British tradition, we symbolize it with a poppy.

I am of the fortunate age that while I never had to experience the terror of war myself, I am old enough to have spoken with many of my family members who have served in the Canadian military both in times of war and in times of peace.

My great grandfather Francis Sowden served in the First World War, the war whose Armistice Day we commemorate. My grandfather Allan Eby served in the Second World War as part of the Canadian forces that invaded Italy and freed the region from Nazi occupation. Similarly, my great uncles served in the military, one making it his career.

Each man had his own experiences. Each man could relate his own stories.

I remember fondly, when I grew old enough to understand, listening to my grandfather relate his experiences; in some ways, his greatest days and in others, his worst. In his own gentle way, he taught a brash young know-it-all with all the answers on the failure of war a thing or two about life and the need to defend freedom when called upon.

As I visited my grandparents’ gravesite the other day, I came upon the graves of several other soldiers, their tombstones clearly marked, their ranks smartly inscribed. And I stopped for a moment to thank them for their sacrifices.

It was only then that I noticed a monument atop a hill, something I had never seen before, that paid homage to the fallen. A soldier with bowed head. Very humbling.

To the men and women who sacrificed everything for my home, I thank you.

To the men and women who served bravely or waited nervously for family members to return home, I thank you.

To my friends who continue to serve for Canada or any other country, I thank you.

As long as I am alive, your story will not go unheard or unremembered.

Puppet Up! visits Toronto (UPDATED)

November 5, 2013 by Created by RCW

As some of you know who’ve watched this space, I am fixated on puppets and improv and so, several months back, I started a social media campaign to bring Puppet Up! uncensored to Toronto.

For the uninitiated, I recommend you click the link to see what this show is all about. Briefly, however, it is the Jim Henson Company taking their puppetry genius and applying it to a largely improvised comedy show designed for adults.

Well, shortly after starting my campaign, the Henson Company announced the show was coming to Toronto. While I realistically have to believe the wheels were in motion long before I started whining on Facebook and Twitter, I will happily claim responsibly for them coming.

In the weeks leading up to the show, like a 15-year-old girl at a Bieber concert, I followed everything PuppetUp! on TV and online. I tweeted with the show organizers on an almost daily basis, and then when one of the puppeteers (Grant Baciocco) made the mistake of letting the world know he was in rehearsals, the stalking began.

PuppetUp! shines into the night

My first show was opening night (October 22) and within seconds of the lights going down, my mind was completely blown! This was everything I imagined and then some. It was everything I had in me not to run down from the balcony, up the aisle and onto the stage, grabbing a puppet as I passed the wall of hollow bodies. As one, the audience laughed, cringed, oohed and ahhed at the antics that both sent up and paid noble tribute to the late Jim Henson.

But then, dear god, I found out that you could have your picture taken with some of the puppets after the show…I am proud to say I did not swoon (on the outside).

(L-to-R) Brian Clark, Grant Baciocco and Peggy Etra surround me with puppet love

Opening night was going to have to hold me for another week as 7 hours after the lights came up, I was in a cab, heading to the airport and a week-long date with the Austin Film Festival. The conference was great but I positively bounced at the idea that when I got home, I had two more shows to see…the final weekend matinees.

Sitting at the feet of the master

On Saturday (Nov 2), there I was, second row, stage left…effectively at the feet of show co-creator and host Patrick Bristow. Rather than have to squint at the puppeteers and watch the big screens, I now had close up access to the puppeteers, who became more fascinating than what was happening onscreen, to me. The show was great, although a few of the bits in the first act failed…which made them even funnier. It was in that show that I truly fell in love with the talent of puppeteer Colleen Smith. WOW!

And it was after that show that I finally got to meet Grant Baciocco, who was as charming and affable while wielding a camera as he was on Twitter.

Brian Clark and Peggy Etra welcome me back (Grant Baciocco on camera)

My love and enthusiasm for this show was so big that I decided there and then that I had to buy tickets for the final show and I had to bring two friends along for me even though it would mean going out of pocket. I was so tickled, I had to share this with people. Texting madly to check my friends’ availability and enthusiasm, I then popped open my laptop and purchased the best available tickets for the Sunday, 8 pm show for all three of us.

Matinee ticket and 3 tix for the final performance

Then came the show on Sunday (Nov 3). Again, sitting at Patrick Bristow’s feet. Shouting suggestions left, right and centre. Feeling like we were developing a bond, even though I knew he probably couldn’t see more than two feet into the audience.

Nary a flaw in this show. The musical numbers popped. The classics practically brought tears. Colleen and Grant were amazing. Brian Clark, Peggy Etra, Michael Oosterom and Ted Michaels were on fire. And I got to add Michael to my photographic portfolio of puppeteers.

(L-to-R) Was able to add Michael Oosterom to the list of puppeteers with Brian Clark and Peggy Etra (Grant Baciocco on camera)

To make the afternoon even more special, as I waited in line at a nearby restaurant to grab dinner between the 4pm and 8pm shows, who should walk in behind me other than Patrick Bristow. Still needing a picture with two of the puppeteers, I couldn’t die quite yet, but I was getting close. Patrick was wonderful and charming and was nice enough to pose for a photo.

Patrick Bristow and I await dinner near the theatre (no earthquake, just shaky camera)

So here we are. Eight pm on Sunday night. I met Leela in the foyer of the theatre and left the ticket at Will Call for my friend, Michael. If I vibrated any faster, I might have been able to pass through walls. I was going to get to share this with two really important people in my life. This was my birthday gift to me…sharing PuppetUp!

There were a couple bumpy bits in the first part of the show, but it was still amazing. And the closing half was A-FIRKIN-MAZING! Every bit went perfectly. Even from the balcony, Patrick would take my suggestions (I was in the balcony, not Patrick). Leela, who is a tough comedic audience, laughed raucously throughout the show (high praise if any of the PuppetUp! people are reading this).

Leela and Michael were both great to hang back with me…I wanted to be one of the last people to get my photo done tonight so I could let everyone know how much I appreciated their performances and talents. And beauty of beauty, the entire cast was out for photos on the last night. I was going to complete the set of puppeteers for the photo.

Finale photo with (L to R) Brian D Clark, Michael Oosterom, Ted Michaels, Colleen Smith. Buried is Peggy Etra, and Grant Baciocco is on camera duty.

As I was waiting for my turn, Patrick passed through the lobby and asked me to hang back. Interesting.

After having my picture done and convincing my friend Michael to get his done, Patrick came out from a back room and handed me a puppet from the concession stand as thanks for all the support and enthusiasm I offered them while they were in Toronto. Nice! She (the puppet is a girl) is sitting on my desk as I type this.

The new lady in my life thanks to Patrick Bristow and the folks at PuppetUp!

I was able to shake everyone’s hand and let them know how much I enjoyed knowing them. I am currently hooking up with many of the puppeteers on Twitter and Facebook. And have promised them all that I will initiate the next social media campaign to get them to come back to Toronto.

Based on their experiences in Toronto, both in the theatre and on the town, I think they’d be open to the idea.

And now, sadly, PuppetUp! has left Toronto, but not without leaving an incredibly big mark on my heart. Thanks, folks. It was a special couple of weeks.

Blind – A nightmare

October 14, 2013 by Created by RCW

Just before 5 am on October 14—Thanksgiving morning—I had the sudden feeling that I’d gone blind…in my creative centre. I could think of things, objects, but I could not “see” them in my mind’s eye.

Just moments earlier, I had been asleep, dreaming of the typical nonsense one dreams of when suddenly lines of darkness spread across the dream, at first like large lightning bolts but then growing in width to eventually swallow the entire picture. It was as though the picture tube in my head was failing and then extinguished. .And stranger still, the static was accompanied by a slight clicking sound, and then the screen was blank, black, empty.

The sensation was strange enough to wake me up. I lay there in bed wondering what it was.

I wasn’t literally blind. Even in the near pitch darkness of the bedroom, I could make out shapes—the storage racks in the closet, the dresser, the bedside lamp. So, what was happening?

I tried to close my eyes to go to sleep, but all I saw was darkness, the flashes of light that one sees when closing the eyelids but continues to look. Have I had a stroke?

I tried to think of a duck—I don’t know why a duck, but it was a duck—and couldn’t see it. Still can’t, really, at 5:10 am.

This may sound ironic, but I immediately wondered if my imagination had died. I tried to tell myself a story, in my head, and the words came hesitantly at first, but soon began to flow.

I imagined a man being thrown from a car—again, I don’t know why that topic—and while I could narrate the event, I couldn’t really visualize it.

The door swinging open as the car veers. The man tumbling sideways through the opening, his body crumpling as it hits the pavement, limbs flailing as it rolls. He was already unconscious or dead when he fell out, it would seem.

Even now, as I write out the scene I created earlier in my head, the picture is tentative, furtive. I am somewhat relieved that I get any picture at all, but am still bothered about how fleeting it is.

I’m not struggling for words, which is some solace, but then this is my analytical mind that is speaking, telling the story of what I am experiencing, rather than my creative mind, telling a story of events completely synthetic.

If the thought of having lost my visual imaginative centre didn’t scare me so much, I’d be amused. For the last couple of weeks, as I complained to Leela yesterday, I have found it difficult to get to sleep because my mind has raced with ideas—ideas for scenes and rewrites in my latest screenplay, ideas for the DDNews article I have due shortly, ideas for social media, ideas for my blog.

Hell, I’ve even taken to seeing events in my life as a screenplay.

I am just getting over a cold, and while waiting for sleep the other night, I realized that I was thinking about my symptoms and my experiences with them as though they were written as a screenplay. I would consider them and then try to rewrite them for more dramatic effect. It was odd.

I wasn’t dissociating per se, pretending that it was happening to someone else, stepping out of my body. Rather it was more like I had morphed my reality into a printed page. It’s hard to explain, especially at 5:26 am.

And now, my mind races for exactly the opposite reason. My inner video screen has gone out. The bulb is shot. I don’t see what I think. And that terrifies me.

I have often told people that my writing feels like it is less about my creation and more like I am simply transcribing a movie that only I can see. The movie, story, idea already exists in the cosmos and is merely using me as a conduit through which to express itself.

This is not to denigrate my talents as a writer—or at least, I don’t think it is—but I think the talent is in not preventing that flow, not ignoring the sights, sounds, tastes, feelings as they move through me and eventually out of the nib of the pen or fingertip on the keyboard.

What if that flow just got turned off? What if that nexus of creative spirit just moved on to someone or somewhere else? This doesn’t feel like the standard “I’m a talentless hack” anxiety. I am a very talented hack.

This feels more like a switch has been turned. Like I have gone blind.

Maybe it’s the cold medication taking its toll. Maybe it’s my brain’s way of coping with the recent hyperactivity. Maybe it’s nothing and the switch will turn back on, the system will reboot in my sleep.

I hope so.

Because this is one nightmare I couldn’t live with.

(Image is property of owner and is used here without permission)

Picture this

October 7, 2013 by Created by RCW

A new way to write?

So, it would appear that somewhen in the recent past, I made a transition in my writing. As I was working with a friend and colleague the other day on a novel we’re writing, I realized that something significant had changed.

I no longer write in words. I now write in pictures.

This is not to say that I have become an animator or that my writing implement of choice is a paint brush or crayon (nothing wrong with those choices) but rather that when I imagine a scene in my head, I no longer think to describe it in words but literally as visuals.

This may not sound like much to you, but for me—who has long held myself to be a wordsmith, first and foremost—it is huge.

For quite some time, I have been taking screenwriting classes, and the one comment that has been made consistently throughout that time is that I write like a novelist. I have mentioned before my affinity for narrative and my need to describe a scene to within a literal inch of its setting. Well, it would appear that in trying to break myself of the verbosity, I have swung all the way into pictures, leaving words in my dust.

For the case in point, I was trying to describe to my colleague how we might open the novel at the end of our story and then transition from one event at the end to a metaphorically similar point at the beginning of the story, which all sounded great until I tried to put that down on paper.

I managed to cobble together some verbiage that roughly describes what I saw, but I know it will take some time to effectively capture the visual in words…time I am more than happy to put in. But it rocked me to realize that I no longer saw things the same way.

Oh, my God. You don’t think… Nah, couldn’t be. I’m still working on being a writer.

Dear God, please don’t tell me, I’m thinking about become a… ugh, I can’t say it… a… a… director!

Anyone have a beret and megaphone I could borrow?

(Images are property of owners and used here without permission because that is Legal’s problem.)

A parent’s call in the darkness

October 4, 2013 by Created by RCW

A friend and his family are going through a rough time…the worst time a parent could ever go through.

His infant son has a failing heart and after several surgeries, continues to struggle. They face the reality that little Joe may pass away.

Knowing that it is up to the fates to help his boy, my friend has channeled some of his energy into the creation of a video, asking people to consider signing up with an organ donor registry.

Please watch this video and then do what you think is best to help spread the word.

Hug a loved one. Reblog my post. Write your own. Tweet the video. Post it to Facebook. Sign up to be an organ donor. Be grateful for what you have. Anything helps.

Even if you can’t help baby Joe, perhaps you can help the next person.

createdbyrcw

Seer of the invisible, scribe of the unwritten

Category Archives: My life

Risking it all

500 Views of Little Joe’s Heart post

It’s official as of yesterday at 1:44 pm

Top 50 Events – A personal perspective

Lest we forget: Thanking the fallen

Blind – A nightmare

Picture this

A parent’s call in the darkness

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