Because I've been successfully unemployed (i.e. making my living as an artist and writer) my entire adult life, that also means I teach quite a bit because, you know, making "a living" can sometimes mean buying those shoes I've been drooling over or eating baked potatoes for a week. So that why I've been busy teaching writing classes this summer to various groups of kind, patient children who would probably much rather be outside climbing trees, running through the sprinkler or throwing dirt clods at each other. But instead, we'll all inside together which I don't really mind, because at least there's air conditioning. And that's good because it's been HOT.

Record breaking hot - the kind of hot that'll send you to the movie theaters to watch some pile of garbage you wouldn't pay to see in a million years - unless, that is - it's hot.

The kids have been working on story maps the beginning of this week so I thought I'd give one a try myself.

Title: It's Really Hot

Setting: Portland, Oregon.

Characters: Me, husband, son, Dutch, wiener dog extraordinaire, and Twig, the terrible min pin puppy.

Problem/Conflict: It's really hot. The sun is an evil, burning eye in the sky that doesn't blink. Everyone is grouchy. Husband is as grouchy as an ogre - and not like a cute ogre as in Shrek. He's as grouchy as one of those ugly, horrible ogres covered in face-warts sprouting black hairs.

Events: Everyone tries to figure out how to stay cool. I try being grouchy, that doesn't work. Son tries being grouchy, that doesn't work. Ugly wart ogre tries being grouchy but only gets wartier.

Resolution, Solution, Conclusion: Dutch and Twig suggest a movie - perhaps the new Johnny Depp film, Public Enemies. The grouchy people agree and smuggle the clever canines into the cool theater in reusable grocery bags. Even though the dogs insist on ordering the mortgage payment sized popcorn, fun was had by all. The best part was when Jonny Depp came and sat in the seat next to me and told me my haircut looked cute.

Theme: It's really hot, but writing fiction is fun!

Here's to cooler days ahead.

Johnny Depp - rowrrr....

Kraken.

Now that's a word you don't run into every day. It is a great word though, conjuring up the best sort of memories of huddling around a flickering black and white television watching the Creature Feature midnight movie. It's amazing how you can be terrified and half asleep all at the same time.

Those old monster movies all start out the same sort of way. You have your main characters all, "La, la, la. Look at us. We're all oblivious and everything."

Then the attention shifts to some dank swamp, or a bubbling vat in a laBORatory, or an odd light streaking across a totally fake looking sky. That's when you grip your blankie closer because something's about to go DOWN, man. Monster's going to be kickin' some oblivious butt and soon.

I wonder if that's how the good people of San Diego are feeling about now. Just like my artwork at the top of this post, they're used to going to the beach and spending their day all, "La, la, la. We're all oblivious as we frolick in the waves."

But, from the darkest black of the deepest waters, monsters are coming.

Kraken.

The Guardian reports, "The carnivorous cephalopods, which weigh up to 45kg (100lb), came up from the depths last week, with swarms of them roughing up unsuspecting divers. Some reported tentacles enveloping their masks and yanking at their cameras and gear."

Yep, those Humboldt Squid, otherwise known as "Jumbo Flying Squid" or "Red Devils" are here and ready to rumble. The Guardian article continues: "Roger Uzun, a veteran scuba diver and amateur underwater videographer, swam with a swarm of the creatures for about 20 minutes and said they appeared more curious than aggressive. The animals taste with their tentacles, he said, and seemed to be touching him and his wet suit to determine if he was edible."

I don't know about you, Roger, but when something's tasting me with its tentacles, I pretty much classify that as as more aggressive THAN curious. I've done pretty well structuring my life so I remain at the top of the food chain.

I've also tried very hard to keep this blog pretty much about art and writing, so what you may ask, do carnivorous cephalopods or old monster movies have to do with either? More than you'd think.

No, seriously.

Here you are at your drawing table or at your keyboard all, "La, la, la. I'm happily creating, all oblivious and everthing."

Cue the Jaws theme.

Here's the good thing. That creative energy keeps you from hearing that thumping warning of doom for awhile. Insulating you with its own version of "blankie", hopefully long enough for you to accomplish at least some of your task. But that blankie can only hold out for so long before the monster appears all slime dripping ferocious, tentacles waving and tasting.

And who is this monster? It goes by many names. Criticism. Ridicule. Rejection. Despair. And no matter what it's calling itself on that particular day, it's an ugly sucker and it's there to drag you back down to that darkest black or that deepest water.

Uh oh.

But here's another good thing. In all those old monster movies there's always a hero. He (it was always a "he" in those films which made me sort of mad) rushes in, slays the monster, saves the victim and the day. The trick is - you have to find yourself some monster-butt kicking heroes.

I'm lucky to have a few heroes that have wrenched me back from clutching tentacles. One is my painter/writer friend, Jerry. If I'm having a one of those days where I'm positive that I've been a fraud my whole entire life - that everything I've ever produced is worse than garbage - then she swoops in to save the day, reminding me to value my work and my creativity.

Judy excells at picking me back up off the floor. She waves her magic pom poms in the air, screaming cheers like "brilliant" and "marvelous" until the monster shrinks small enough to be disposed of in a proper receptacle.

My agent, Edward Necarsulmer also makes for an excellent hero. He looks the part, all movie handsome - and plays the part perfectly as well -all suave, calm, cool, and collected - and brave as anything. There was a time when I was surrounded by rejection monsters that were quickly morphing into the despair variety. I was sure I was a goner. But Edward, with his super agent super powers, schooled those babies - but good.

With heroes like these around, I don't live in fear of the monsters. Oh, I'm full aware they're there, but I'm not shaking in my boots about it.

Kraken.

As far as I'm concerned it can kiss my, uh - blankie.

No, this is not me either before I've had my pot of tea in the morning or before I've had a glass of wine in the evening. But you know, the resemblance is pretty remarkable...

I've been teaching back to back classes this week which means my brain, now that it's Wednesday, has probably liquefied. I'm thinking my brain most likely is about the consistency of a Slurpee. Yummm... Slurpees. Do they still sell Slurpees? Now I want one. Do you think they make them wine flavored?

Anyway, my first class is called illustrated storybook and is populated by a passel of 3rd through 5th graders, all them geniuses. One is writing a fictional memoir based on the life of J.K. Rowling but mostly told through the experiences of a coffeehouse waiter. Another one's beagle character has just been catapulted through the air by a snide fox, and yet another student's characters are being deviled by flying piranhas at the train station.

Don't you hate it when that happens?

My second class is Wildlife Illustration. And by wildlife I don't mean my Great Aunt Marjorie tying one on and dancing down the boulevard with a lampshade on her head. No, this wildlife is of the tamer persuasion - actual animals.

Actually, I wish we were drawing from actual animals but I believe the liability involved in bringing a snarling fox or a disgruntled cougar into the classroom is fairly impressive. Sigh. So we draw from photographs thanks to Portland's main library's extensive image files. But that's not all. We've also been drawing from life - kind of.

I guess I should really say we've been drawing from death as we've spent a fair amount of time trying to get the shapes of cat, dog, coyote, raccoon, nutria, bear, and badger skulls just right. The kids have been very excited about the skulls - just ever so slightly grossed out but more enthusiastic than anything else. It's been the reactions of adults to these skulls that have been the most surprising.

Most adults it seems, think skulls are - icky.

Wow. Either I'm very immature or MORE mature than the squeamish grownups I've encountered the last few days. And if I was shocked at the skulls' reception I was even more taken aback by the reactions I've gotten from my dead bodies.

And by that I mean taxidermy. I was lucky to be able to rent a couple of beautiful vintage specimens. One, a fox, immediately dubbed, "Foxy-Loxy" by the class was decked out spendidly in his russet coat. The other formerly living beast, a couger was, alas, only a 3-D head attached to
a 2-D body with a felt backing but still sported an impressive set of choppers. The kids loved them, but I ran into adult reactions that ranged from "disgusting" to "super-disgusting".

I don't understand that sort of thinking at all. Yes, I agree it would be bad, bad, bad for me to take my Elmer Fudd wabbit gun and go out and massacre some animals and stuff'em real good for my class. But the fox, the cougar, and the skulls are all dead - long dead. And the manner of their death aside, they enjoyed quite a bit of respect from my students - respect that can carry over to regarding living animals as the wonders that they are.

Maybe I should teach another class - this time for adults. Maybe I'll call it, "Drawing Dead Wildlife - Hey, Your Kids Can Handle It, Why Can't You?"

Way back when I first started writing as work it was hard to convince people when they’d call me that I was really working.

“Whatcha doing?” they’d ask when I’d pick up the phone.

“Working,” I’d answer, hoping they’d realize that was code for, “go away”.

“Oh, good,” they’d say. “You’re not busy.” And then launch into whatever it was they just had to tell me.

But over the years and especially since the invention of caller ID and the miracle that is email, I don’t deal with all of that so much anymore. But here’s my dirty little secret – when I say that I’m working, there are times when that doesn’t involve an incredible amount of actual writing.

In the last few days during my working time I’ve played approximately 87 games of Solitaire. In memory of Farrah Fawcett I watched 6 episodes of Charlie’s Angels on Hulu. And then remembering that Jack Lord was pretty cool, too, I watched a couple of episodes of Hawaii 5-0 as well.

Book ‘em, Dano.

I perused blogs absolutely necessary to my work – agent blogs, editor blogs, writer blogs, blogs featuring cake wrecks - blogs featuring dogs and cats speaking in lol.

I discovered that Chips Ahoy cookies taste awesome dunked in Dr. Pepper, the old man wiener dog will tolerate sitting on my lap while I pretend he’s a ventriloquist dummy, and again realized (for the millionth time) that writing is hard. But here’s why I don’t feel guilty about my little secret at all. All that stuff I described is still working.

Yes, I have a novel to finish before the end of summer, and yes I have lots of writing to do around my teaching gigs. But if I do nothing but write then I might, I don’t know, hurt myself.

Stick with me here, I do have a point and I finally intend to make it. I play tennis which in my opinion is a lot like writing. There’s no way I can go into a match or even a friendly pick-up game cold. First I need to warm up. Usually that means short shots, not a lot of running or stretching. That’s what the Solitaire games are all about. The second part of warming up involves moving back to the baseline and does require a little more effort. That there’s your blog reading.

Okay, now it’s time to write.

In writing, just like in tennis, you have to stop once in a while to check in with your creative self. Should you change up your shots? Should you try to salvage or completely scrap chapter seven? And if you don’t think experimenting with cookies and soft drinks or putting on a Charlie McCarthy show with an aged dachshund is creative then I don’t know what to say to you.

Once you’ve re-oiled those creative gears, it’s time to write again.

And then it’s time to rest. In tennis, that usually means it’s Miller time. In writing, at least in my writing, rest means it’s Hulu time.

I do still use my caller ID when the phone rings. But a lot of the time I don’t screen calls because I’m writing, I’m screening them because I’m working.

Cue Hawaii 5-0 music.