Travel Blog: Those Roads...
India, Day 9
India has some unique roads. They even did a series of IRT Deadliest Roads in India. Because the roads in India are crazy dangerous. It's not just due to an east-versus-west difference in driving styles, it's also because the roads themselves run the gamut from muddy sloughs snaking between village huts to crumbling shelfs niched into the sides of snowy mountains. In the low country, the roads are peppered with cattle. In the mountains, you have to look out for suicidal goats running headfirst down the mountainside.
There will be some more stories toward the end of my recap that show off the seriously dangerous mountain roads of northwest India--those roads in particular were memorable enough to warrant their own documentary at some point--but for now, enjoy a few selections from the "Monsoon Mud Collection."
Thinking about the creative process...
I've spent the bulk of this solar rotation working on my manuscript. I've never finished a novel-length piece before, and I am determined to have this one finished before the end of the year. It's placing demands on my creativity like I have never had before, and I'm enjoying the challenge. Like all would-be writers, my dream is to see the book published and on store shelves, but I'm trying to avoid thinking that far ahead right now. For the time being, I am contenting myself with letting the journey be journey is the destination. In the meantime, the subjects of creativity and the creative process are on my mind as I take a short break from Pages.
Creativity, whether with words or the visual arts, is an interesting and fickle entity. The best analogy I can think of from my own experience is that creativity is like an ember. It's always smoldering, but you have to give it a little kindling and stoke it into something hot and lively. My own stoking / creative process has become increasingly interesting as I have grow more disciplined and organized as a wrier. Sometimes I write well when I write in a library or crowded coffee house, wearing my earbuds but not playing any music through them; it makes me feel strangely comfortable and insulated when I do that. Other times I write better in an empty room with music up nice and loud. And, as always, there is always a tumbler of hot, strong coffee close at hand.
Today has been a music day, and as the story I'm working on right now is set in 1960's Mississippi, replete with dusty roads and vanishing point cotton fields, there is only one option:
What is your creative process? By what means do you stoke the ember of ideas into a roaring blaze of creativity?
Hatuey, Texans, Kites, and other Memories from Guantanamo Bay
I had the opportunity to be part of something very special this summer. Through the Department of Public History at the University of West Florida (holla, alma mater!) I was part of a team of volunteer historians who interviewed various naval veterans who did tours of duty at Naval Station Guantanamo Bay in Cuba. These interviews were recorded and archived in their entirety for purposes of further research, as well as for incorporation into an upcoming nationwide exhibit.
Growing up, I always enjoyed listening to older people tell stories from their lives. Ironically, I know more about many people outside of my family than I do about my own grandparents' histories. While many of my peers were bored by the storytelling of various "old ruins," I enjoyed hearing tales of days gone by. Most recently, I have made it one of my personal goals to spend more time listening and documenting what my elders have to say.
History is much more than the headlines and the chapter titles. When someone says "Guantanamo," a million images might spring to an audience's mind. Castro, Soviet missiles, post-9/11 detainees; these things are common knowledge. But what are the people like? What do they do between the headlines, between shifts? Those "core elements" are what this project seeks. We want to understand the communities and their relationships. In the brilliant conversations which I had recently, I heard stories of everyday life in GTMO that spanned from as far back as 1939 to as recently as 2003. I met interesting men and women whom I never would have connected with otherwise, and I am incredibly grateful to have had these opportunities.
Here are some excerpts:
Andrew McGee: You Can't Sell a Song in Nashville
Sometimes, I really don't know the reason that I blog at all. Originally, it was to promote my photography, but at this point it is simply a constructive outlet for me to flesh out ideas and communicate the things which keep me awake at night. I probably do myself a disservice by writing so much about health and culture instead of specializing in marketable photographic content. But, it's my blog and I'll do what I want.
Tonight, as I continue to work obsessively over my upcoming ebook (unofficially announced several times now, the "official" word is forthcoming), I want to take a break and highlight the work of my friend and colleague, Andrew McGee. Andrew has a pretty remarkable story. After a brush with death that should have sent him on to the great hereafter, Andrew decided to quite stalling and do what he really wanted to do with his life. He moved to Nashville and has created a new life for himself as a singer and songwriter.
Andrew and I met under interesting circumstances. My creative specialty is photography, but I also moonlight as a videographer from time to time. I was most heavily involved in this line of work a few of years ago, and I was introduced to Andrew on a “friend of a friend" basis. Our association was originally pretty simple; another fellow was engaged to write and direct the video for a wonderful song Andrew wrote about the impact of the Deepwater Horizon oil spill. My job was to operate the camera.
Long story short, the other guy flaked on the project and I took up the slack from start to finish. As a result, my video and my name were incorporated into the marketing for Andrew's debut album, These Beautiful Hideous Things. That was 2009, and since that fateful day we met on Pensacola Beach, with BP oil cleanup equipment rumbling about us on all sides, Andrew and I have continued to collaborate on videos for his songs. Our greatest accomplishment so far is the weekend last year when I (along with a group of other creative and reliable people who would go on to found The Dream Factory) traveled to Nashville and shot four music videos for Andrew in four days. I don't know about the rest of the team, but that weekend still ranks as my personal best.
Most performers have a blog or social feed of some sort, but Andrew's stands out. Prior to moving to Nashville, he wasn't a stereotypical neighborhood busker; He didn't and doesn’t pass off blurry iPhone photos of random drunks as his "awesome fans" to build up a web presence. Andrew is an FSU graduate with an MBA in marketing, and his blog has some serious substance. His latest entry, You Can't Sell a Song in Nashville, is stellar. Seriously, if more people recognized the realities of whichever industries they attempted to be part of, instead of delaying their own steps toward action in hopes of “getting discovered,” more dreams would see the light of day.
Read Andrew's blog. And listen to his music. Listening to his album is like listening to a good story, and he has another one coming soon.
You Can't Sell a Song in Nashville
http://youtu.be/8bSEZmoPxvo
