Readers who are familiar with the earlier incarnation of this column - http://trapdoor.cosmic-muse.com/thetsshow.html - will remember that there was a great deal of discussion about arts and entertainment, the argument being that there is no difference between the two and that they are expressions of magic. Those of you not familiar with this aspect of The Teddybear Sawdust Show! will see a gradual trend as I cover more topics and head in that direction to keep from repeating myself.

Let's begin today with this idea: I do not believe in mindless entertainment.

Nope, life's too short. I can always tell you why I like something, because entertainment is important. If you don't believe that entertainment has an effect on the way we think about the world, show ten people a drawing of little people building shoes while the cobbler and his wife sleep. I promise you half of them will insist those little people cannot be elves, because everybody knows that elves are comparable in height to humans. A parable is an example of entertainment to directly change people's perceptions - entertainment is everywhere, it is pervasive, and it can be subtle. In light of all of this, something which is fun if you just shut your brain off for two hours is a waste of my time. It's a waste of everyone's time, actually.

Clue is probably my favourite movie ever; it's loads of fun and it makes me laugh even though I've memorised about half of it. But I still hate the dog poo gag, because it's not funny and the stupidity of it is a betrayal of the subtle intelligence which is at the heart of that movie. Is Clue mindless? No way. It's silly, it's loud, it's often broad and/or crude, but successfully accomplishing that sort of thing requires craft and intelligence.

Because I leave my brain on, I can tell you why a certain piece of something I love doesn't work for me. More importantly, though, I can tell you why I love the rest of it - I can tell you about the passion that it fuels within me, about the ideas and why they're special. I can enjoy it; I don't have to make excuses for it. Particularly excuses which force me to put aside who I am and what I aspire to be.

It's a tough world. People are broken, in both the general and daily sense. Entertainment, always a need, has now become an end. People now feel they must experience something. If that is so, then I can't just sit still and accept that this entertainment be hollow or cynical. Although it might make some of my friends happier with me, I cannot accept this idea of mindless entertainment. I am an active audience member; I participate.

Which lays the groundwork for future columns and leads us to today's topic: Serenity, the movie born of Joss Whedon's Firefly television series.

I watched every episode, most if not all of them twice. There were certain things I loved about it, and other aspects I found very disappointing - particularly in light of how wonderful I knew they could have been, based on the quality of the acting in particular. I listened as people raved about it, put forward less-favourable opinions, and usually experienced denial. There was a subtle disregarding of my criticism, as though it were somehow wrong to ask for more, as though having low standards were a virtue. Again, I'm not saying one can't enjoy something; I'm asking, for one's own sake, that if the investment of time and emotion and spirit are going to be made, that one not be afraid to ask for something more than humdrum in return. It's the difference between blind acceptance and loving something in spite of - or even because of - its faults. None of Clue's three endings make sense within the whodunnit evidence presented. I don't hide from that; I can tell you why I don't consider this to be all that important.

So I thought Firefly had some great things about it, but overall was only so-so. I was very interested to see what the movie had to offer. The fans of the show seemed to love it.

Alas, Serenity is not a good movie. It doesn't even live up to the tv show.

And I was going to say so in LJ - not because I enjoy being a jerk, in fact I don't enjoy it - and not because I don't like anything, which is a convenient and aggravating and dead false accusation because I would love to be moved by a movie again to something more than incredulity, but because until we as audience put our foot (collective noun) down and start demanding better, demanding what we deserve for our investment of spirit, the people responsible for storytelling are going to continue to get away with having lower standards.

That was before experiencing the director's commentary.

During that, one important thing stood out above all others: Serenity is a miracle. The movie should never have been made. It was a canceled television series. These things get released on DVD, sure, to try and recoup the lost revenue. They don't receive more money, to be turned into a motion picture. That's just too risky an investment. It's not realistic.

But as you know, I don't believe in realism. It's wrong, spiritually and empirically.

Serenity was made because the people who created it believed in what they were doing, and the fans were relentless in their support. All this love gave the characters a second chance.

That is almost incredible.

It's beautiful. I'm not going to poke holes in that. As I've pointed out, the fans love this movie. Blindly? Probably. But the power and belief that went into this film are not something I have any interest in opposing. The fans created this movie, and they love it. They deserve to be happy with it.

I've used the word standard several times in this column. I am reminded that a standard is also something you raise high above your head, to demonstrate devotion and strength.


The ice bridge calls me.

t!

Wow, that was an interesting little experiment.

One of the reasons this report wasn't published last week is that it took me longer than I was expecting to reach the target five instances (the other main reason being the triumphant return of Baker's 12 and let us not dwell on the delay because as the wise folk say and one rather recently the important thing to focus on is the huge number of things we actually have accomplished but I digress).

I wonder if I'm a less-nice person than I like to believe myself to be.

The most exciting thing about the experiment was the heightened awareness not only of my behaviour and reactions, but also the actions of other people. Looking for ways to touch another human being made me more aware of the simple opportunities other people were missing.

The first thing I did was say good morning to somebody on the street. She was an old-ish woman, looking a bit glum. I wished her a cheerful (but not overbearing) good morning, because I felt she would not have been expecting such a thing, and furthermore not from a long-haired member of the younger generation. We made eye contact, and I said Good Morning, and she smiled a little bit.

On the next block, I passed a young couple hugging each other's shoulders as they watched movers lift a bed into a truck. I considered wishing them well in their new life together, but then it occurred to me that I might be misinterpreting their closeness, that this might not be a move, but the removal of effects no longer needed by the former owner, and so I moved on without comment.

And at a dep a few days later, there was a girl who really wanted juice, but the store couldn't cash her father's cheque, so I considered offering to get her something, but I reconsidered when I thought this might be insulting to her father's pride.

Not exactly following my own advice about circumventing rationalisation, was I?

On the other hand, I was going out of my way, to a certain extent, so I was considering opportunities I ordinarily would not have considered. Like waiting at the top of a staircase to hold a door open for someone, even though it clearly meant I was stopping for her. And yes, I did think about not doing this, precisely because the recipient of this assistance was a her and I didn't want to give her the wrong idea. But I asked myself would I do this for a him, and the answer was yes, so I decided it was up to her whether she chose to read too much into it or not. I hope she didn't. If she did, though, that's cool too, as long as she was happy about it.

Because a question I kept asking myself was "Does this count?" followed immediately by the answer, "Of course it does, silly - everything counts!" When I arrived at a metro seat at the same time as another person, I paused, and he sat first, thanking me. He thanked me, you see, for an act of selfishness. I paused because I wanted the outer seat, for the leg room. But he didn't know that, so I nodded my you're welcome.

I wished the cleaning staff at the office a good night a few times, and they acted surprised. This is strange, because the former cleaning staff was on a first-name basis with about half the company, even making the rounds to say good-bye to a few people on their last day. I hope this crew gets to know us better, and vice-versa.

There were a few things I did at the office, like asking someone I didn't know whether, since I was fetching milk for myself, while I was crouching in front of the fridge he would like milk or cream for his own beverage. Again, surprise. People at the office are generally friendly to each other, but I've also noticed the fridge seems to have an aura of Everyone For Himself around it.

Two people called the wrong extension at the office, and since the extension they did call was my own I took a moment to find out which extension they should have been calling and let them know.

The other things I did included lifting something heavy for someone in a shop so she could inspect the items underneath. I had heard her grunting, even saying ouch once; her fingers didn't like lifting all that glass.

Passing through a metro door I noticed the man behind me had both hands full of grocery bags, so I hopped back and held the door for him. The look of pleasant surprise on his face was both pleasing and disappointing.

Things like this are just a matter of paying attention. I know I don't pay attention often enough. I fear I pay attention more than most people.

But the most satisfying thing I did was follow Paze's advice. At a concert, while paying for my own ticket, I gave double the money and said that the extra was to pay the passage of the next person to enter. I heard an "Oh!" as I walked away, as in the ticket-seller was moved and also (again, alas) surprised. I watched as the next person entered: She was happy to hear the news, but also she wanted to support the orchestra, so offered to pay for her ticket anyway.

Now, since I'm sure the rest of you have similarly fun and encouraging stories to share, I'm going to leave you to it.

The ice bridge calls me.

t!

I'm back.

I have been gone a while, and the reasons for my absence are not very good, so I won't squander more time by re-living them. Suffice it to say that I neglected for a few moments there to live my life based on what I know from experience works for me, and all the time.

But now I'm back. This is worth focusing on.

As I was thinking about what my next column should be about, I decided I wanted it to stand out, to herald my triumphant return and all that, but I also wanted something simple, something basic.

Because the truth of life is simple. That's why it works.

So I thought I could do both in this column, to illustrate how easy it can be to make the world a better place.

You do want to make the world a better place, right? Chances are, if you read this column, then the answer is Yes.

So I have a proposal for you. I have a plan to accomplish this, and I am going to put it into motion. With this plan, in eight days, that is by end of day next Sunday, I will have made the world a better place, simply by following this plan.

I will tell you my plan, and pledge to see it through, and post the results here next Monday morning.

And I would like you to respond to this column and take the pledge with me, then describe your results in next week's column.

Now I warn you: What I am proposing is not going to be easy. It may even meet with resistance, from persons who might misunderstand your actions.

These people are precisely the reason this is necessary. They need your help.

So, are you with me? Are you going to do the same thing I am, and together we will make the world a better place?

I knew you would. So here's the plan:

It's Sunday morning. I pledge that, by Sunday evening next week, I will have done something nice for five strangers.

Five in eight days. When you think about it, five acts of kindness in more than one week is an appallingly low number.

But as I cautioned, this is not going to be easy. Those people I mentioned above, the ones who might - I'm not saying they will, mind, I'm saying they might - misunderstand your actions? They have learned that when people appear to be nice, it's usually because they've figured out how to turn it to their own advantage. Strangers cannot be trusted.

Many people have received this message. And it is the wrong lesson. It leaves out the good. Harmful behaviour, in this sense, is like the drop of chocolate ice cream in the vanilla, changing the colour of everything.

But the thing we must always keep in mind is the power of inertia. Just as things annoy you more easily when you're already cranky, so does a feeling of joy cause you to shrug off minor unpleasantries for the irrelevancies they are, and celebrate the simple things around you that you might otherwise take for granted.

So I'm going to do something nice this week for five people I don't even know. It can be anything: Compliment their hair, let them pass first in a checkout line, offer them my seat on the bus. Five people. Anything at all, no matter how small.

The only criterion is they have to notice. They have to perceive that a stranger did something he was under absolutely no obligation to do - for them. And even if they're not immediately appreciative, somewhere down the line they might do something nice for someone else, because you stemmed their negativity by the tiniest fraction, but it was enough.

And if you've been paying attention to these columns you will have realised I expect that, through doing nice things for people, we will stay positive, and make ourselves happier as well. Yes, I'm shamelessly maniupulating you into being happier; I admit that.

So maybe those hypothetical misunderstanders above do have a point about all of us standing to benefit.

'course, when you make the world a better place like that, everybody benefits.


The ice bridge calls me.

t!

Is there anything, halfway between a concrete object or a thought construct, which brings you joy, and is important to you? Do you have anything like that; do you love it?

I do. It's important to love things. To have passion for them. I love serials, for example. Radio dramas. Simple music played with the same passion for it that I have. Whodunnits. Lots of these sorts of things.

Not everybody has the same love for these things that I have, though. That's normal. Some people don't appreciate the storytelling calisthenics of 24, the earnestness of melodrama, nor even (alas I must confess) the volume of punk rock. This is fine. Sometimes, people who don't appreciate the same things I do offer reasons I should not. This too, is acceptable.

Too often, however, it happens that when an author is praising something he loves, he will choose to do so through denigrating something else. This is not fine; this is not acceptable. Sadly, however, it does seem to be normal.

And when I say sadly, I mean it really does make me sad.

A reasoned discussion about the various positive and negative qualities of a work of art is fine. These discussions can give either or both sides new perspective. But discussion is not what I'm talking about. I will (often) put forth reasons for my dissatisfaction with something, and this is also not what I'm talking about. Even a no-holds-barred "I hate this" is an entirely different kettle of fish - a negative one, having its own associated problems, but nevertheless - outside the scope of this discussion.

I'm talking about something which is supposed to be positive - but the author has chosen to make it negative.

Yes, chosen. It's words on a page. You can reorganise, edit, cross out, start over. Words on a page are there by the author's choice.

Now, let's say you want to talk about something you love, that you're passionate about, that brings you joy - why on Earth would you decide to throw anger and bile and venom into the proceedings?

I think I understand where it comes from: Frustration. It can be tough when you love, for example, Science Fiction, but everywhere you go it seems people don't read SF: They don't think they like it, but when you talk to them you discover they don't really even know what it is. You feel hurt - something you love is being denigrated. So you rise to the defense. Then you get defensive. And the best defense is a good offense, right? So you become offensive. Perhaps you even write misguided essays (again, for example) about how great SF is and how much Fantasy sucks.

Thereby missing the point entirely.

It's not a race; it's not a competition. Love is infinite. Everybody can find something to appreciate in both Fantasy and SF. Many people also begin with one, and then shift to also appreciate the other. But some of these people, beginning in Fantasy, will have read your misguided essay, in which you have insulted their beloved genre, and they will see that their attacker is carrying - misappropriating! - the banner of SF, and so their defensiveness/offensiveness will strike not only your essay and you, but your beloved SF. That is to say, they will think SF is for people who hate Fantasy, that it's a battle, that they're betraying Fantasy by reading SF. So they won't read SF, they'll believe they hate it, and the cycle will begin again.

You see? You're closing yourself off. You're making the same mistakes. You're pushing other people to close themselves off. You lose, they lose, the artists who create those things you adore lose. Nobody wins, and that's what makes me sad. And here's the worst of it - none of this was ever necessary.

But here's the good news corollary: There is another way.

Love is infinite, remember? So if you love something, you have an infinite amount of space to be positive. And nicer thoughts lead to better thoughts. So, instead of imagining yourself clawing your way through drowning swimmers to break the water's surface, instead picture yourself soaring on the currents of your joy - feel that power, and tell me why. You love this thing. Tell me how; tell me what it does to you. Convince me you love it, and make me feel that. Then, maybe, I can learn to love it, too.

And that way everybody wins.


The ice bridge calls me.

t!

I guess it's somewhat appropriate that this column is late, because in some ways that illustrates my point. Today's subject is something I call Climbing Out Of The Pit.

There are other names for The Pit, chief among them Backlog. Chances are, if you expect anything of yourself, and you've been around for any number of years, that you will have fallen behind on something you wanted to do. Projects: Maybe you wanted to make something for each of your friends for Christmas. If you're a Canadian, you're probably in debt. I have a few unhealthy pounds I need to lose. Staying in touch with people means that if you call one person a week, by the time you've gone through the list it will have been so long you might want to restart at the top. Heck, this even applies to cleaning the house - it takes half an hour a day to keep the house spotless, but as soon as you don't have the time one day, it's going to take more than twice as long the following day. Getting Ahead means you are Behind. Maintenance is always the best policy, of course, but inevitably at some point it is not going to be possible, and the effort to recover is going to be that much greater.

This is why I call it Climbing Out Of The Pit. To remind me that it's hard.

Those of you who have ever tried to pay off debt have probably experienced the most easily-quantified example of this. There is a number of dollars, and the object is to reduce this number of dollars, but you can only do this once you have handled the daily expenses.

It seems like it should be easy - we tell ourselves, "That's not so much! I can do that!" And of course you can. But it takes time. And extra effort. You have to expect that. If you're trying to hit a goal which requires two hours of commitment every day (f'rinstance) and the day comes you can only give it one hour, the math doesn't lie - somewhere you need to find an extra hour, on top of the two you still need to maintain. And if two hours daily is just barely do-able, you're in for either a giant three-hour effort or an agonisingly slow recovery as you try to grab an extra ten minutes here and there.

Because when you're crawling out of the pit, the walls get a bit higher every day. Your first order of business is climbing that distance, minimum, and only then can you worry about whittling down the distance you started with.

But going back to the two-hours-daily example, one thing is clear - the slow method works. It does, demonstrably. It can be done; it will be done. Stick to it and you will succeed.

I repeat this to myself, over and over. So I won't - can't - forget. People give up on certain medications because they don't work instantly. In weight loss, after an initial burst of success, the rate of loss stabilises, and statistically that's the point when most people give up. They see only the obstacle, and they get discouraged: "Oh, crud, I only lost one pound this week; I am never going to be able to lose those 25 pounds I wanted to drop." But a closer look at that sentence, focusing not on the hardship and only on the math, indicates that yes, in fact, those pounds will be lost. In 25 weeks. It's practically inevitable, if you stick to it.

The key to climbing out of the pit is to stay honest with yourself. Most people don't know what they're going to have for supper tomorrow, let alone next week, so long-term thinking does not come naturally to us. And make no mistake, 25 weeks is a fucking long time. Especially if you're unhappy - who wants to be unhappy for half a year? Add to that the likelihood that there will be a few weeks of slower progress, perhaps maintenance only, maybe even a setback - are we looking at nine months of unhappiness?

Yes and no. Nine months is the Yes, because a higher time estimate is probably more realistic. But whether or not you're unhappy during that time is really up to you. Will there be frustrations along the way? Absolutely. But if you keep at it, there will be success as well, slow, but sure. So why be unhappy? The certainty of progress is the knowledge of forthcoming satisfaction. That's what Hope looks like.

Because staying honest with yourself does not only mean realistic predictions of difficulty. It also means creating a plan you can live with, living that plan, and ultimately climbing out of that pit, into the light.

So I've got a lot of work ahead of me. But I'm looking forward to it.


(First, however, since I've worked really hard so far this year, I'm going away for the weekend, taking a well-deserved vacation. The Teddybear Sawdust Show! will return on February 27.)


The ice bridge calls me.

t!

I was recently writing an email to an old friend of mine, and these words appeared on the page:

"The bad times are just the smoke of the past; they blow away."

This idea came about as the result of the two of us delving into our shared past, applying the final salve to mistakes we had both made in concert, and putting them to bed with the desire to move on. I think we've done a good job of it. We have, to continue the analogy, searched through the totality of our experiences, and held on to the things that were important. Now the wind comes, and blows the irrelevancies away, leaving behind only the things that matter. The end result is two people with more than they had when they started.

Sometimes, endeavours in which we invest a great deal of time, in addition to energy both physical and emotional, do not turn out the way we had intended, causing grief or strife. It is common, in these circumstances, to lament the time and energy, to consider them "wasted," and in one's disappointment, to forget this basic truism:

Happiness is a choice.

Consider the mistakes of the past. Where do they exist? Well, they have passed, so they exist in memory, your memory. There will be physical reminders, but even these items are not the same items they were then. Your past exists only in your memory. And your memory lies exclusively in your mind. Plus your mind is yours to control. Therefore it follows that your past is exclusively yours to control.

That being said, how do we know which memories to focus on? Well, let's remember that happiness is a choice, so there is really only one criterion: How does that memory make you feel? A good time is to be treasured. A bad time is to be analysed for the lessons it can impart, and then remembered as something which hurt at the time, but ultimately yielded a productive result. Focus on the net gain. A painful memory obviously had an effect on you, which means something about it is important, and that is the item to discover: Be it an understanding of how to avoid future hardship, or a recollection of the internal strength you demonstrated at the time, there is going to be something positive in there. But perhaps it is possible - perhaps it is possible - that a memory has no lesson, and only brings pain upon the remembering - what do you do then?

Well, chuck it. Don't remember it. Easier said than done of course, but nonetheless doable. Once you've worked around the thought and resolved that there is absolutely nothing to be gained from it, make the conscious decision to abandon it. Assuredly, it will rise subconsciously, unbidden, and you can't control that, but you can control whether you validate it. If you focus on it, your happiness will suffer. If you ignore it, it will go away. If you force it away, it will eventually get the message: You will have trained yourself to defeat something which does you no good at all.

It is said that time heals all wounds, but that's not exactly true. A bone improperly set will heal in a crooked fashion, becoming a recurring problem. But a bone set properly can have the muscles around it exercised to return the affected area to strength, and this exercise can become a habit, making for a net gain in strength over the long term.

So remember the good times, or failing that, remember what you've learned.

You're in control! How cool is that?


The ice bridge calls me.

t!

I have on my desk at the moment the script to a little play called The Deadly Orchid. It is a play which I had the honour and the pleasure of both watching and participating in on Saturday night.

I love this play. Not because the writing is solid and the mystery is consistent and there are a few unexpected chuckles to be drawn from the characterisations - although all of these things are also true.

I love this play because of what it is.

To begin with, the title page identifies it as "A play written in collaboration." What this means is that the writers sat down and discussed their ideas, shared their excitement with one another, and built on that. This was a project that required cooperation.

And after that partnership was created to forge the script, that script was performed, creating another partnership, between writers and actors. Then, through this union, something was created which reached yet another group of collaborators, the people who witnessed the play, although of course "witnessed" is not the correct word, because they watched and the listened and they appreciated and the people on stage could feel it and the authors could feel it and... Something was created, which could not have been born without the participation of every single last one of them.

I love theatre, you see. Because it requires group effort to put on, and then the input of the audience to come truly alive. I love collaboration. I love communication. When people get together and share in this fashion, magic happens.


Then after the show, I was speaking to someone about the experience we had shared, and he said that he was impressed by the talent on display. I confess I was probably less impressed than he was.

Because I always knew that talent was there.

See, what I know, and what I'm trying to convince everyone is true, is that there is no great secret to being talented. As The Deadly Orchid proves, there is only one rule:

Do it.

This does not apply solely to plays, of course, but anything. Music, painting, writing - hell, even business models. Put your ideas out there. You thought it up for a reason. It has validity. Share it with the world; that's what it's for.

Again, it's no great secret. The talent is there.

Yes, it is. There is nobody on this planet who has no talent. Find it. Of course, to do that, you have to look. How do you look? Practice. Learn what you like. It becomes what you're good at. Do it. Yes, you can. And you should.

Did you hear the one about the four writers whose play has not shown on Broadway, nor in London, but who nevertheless wrote a play and had it performed, thus demonstrating that all it takes to be a playwright is to sit down and write the damn play? People had a great time, too.

Just that easy.

Apply to every aspect of your life.


And finally, regular readers will have noticed that the creation of this play is continuing proof of one of the central themes of The Teddybear Sawdust Show!:

Creative joy is contagious.

For the last two years, I've been writing radio dramas and then asking my friends to perform them for other friends. The writers of The Deadly Orchid are veterans of these extravaganzas, and they have been on stage performing plays that I have written, so they decided they would do the same: Write a play, and get friends to perform it for other friends. So I suppose it could be said that in some way my activities were inspiring to them.

But there's no way on Earth I'm taking more credit than that.

Because they decided to do this. They agreed to collaborate, they sat together and hammered out their ideas, they invited people to the event, they wrote the script. This is their triumph.

And as I sat there watching their friends perform it, as I listened to the words they had written, it gave me a few ideas for my next play.

Like I said, contagious.

And do you know what my favourite thing about the front page of this script is?

The words "Second Annual."


The ice bridge calls me.

t!

So have you made a promise to yourself yet that this year is going to be one of your best ever?

If not, you should: http://the-exclamation.livejournal.com/1031.html

It's a big step, not to be taken lightly. Take it anyway, and take it seriously.


And now that you have, let's talk about the tough part: Keeping your promise to yourself.

This is hard to do. There are countless ways human beings rationalise themselves into delaying doing the things that frighten them.

And I don't care who you are, taking a stab at realising a life's dream is frightening. Thrilling and uplifting as well, absolutely, but frightening all the same.

Because one of the reasons humans delay is the fear of failure. The bigger the goal, the greater the fear of failure.

And we'll be addressing those fears in later columns. For today, and possibly the rest of the month, the trick is to ignore those fears. They won't go away, but there's only one way to conquer them: Success.

See, when you made the promise to yourself you were inspired to put fear aside, damn the torpedoes and into the fray we go. Which is wonderful, and you deserve congratulations because even that is a big step, but now comes the harder part, which is to make good on the promise, and so the first question is:

Did you set your sights too high?

I know the answer. It's Yes and No. No, because you deserve to succeed, to follow your bliss and realise your dreams. But Yes, because you were excited, and chances are that in your excitement you tore off at a sprint.

But this is a marathon. A quick start is great, it gets you ahead of your fears, but there will come a time when that thing we mislabel Real Life is going to get in the way, and you won't always be able to sprint. This is not a bad thing; it is rather to be expected, and it is but an obstacle, one you can overcome.

Unless you expect too much of yourself.

Let's say you promise yourself (for instance) that you're going to write a weekly column, and you hit the new year running and get that first one off and away, but the next weekend is difficult in terms of time and other things that need doing so come Sunday night you're too tired so you decide to wake up early Monday morning and write it, but even then you are also too tired, so it doesn't happen. (Hypothetically.) Now what?

Making a commitment to yourself is difficult. Starting on that commitment is equally difficult.

But continuing, once the rush is past, is even more difficult. This is where it all becomes work. The energy is harder to come by. And now here's your first setback.

BLAMMO! Here come all your fears again, rushing in to take advantage of a breach in your defenses!

You'll want to quit, to console yourself that you took a stab at it.

Except you didn't. Not really. Because a setback is an obstacle. Not a disaster.

Going back to the breach metaphor, let's say you're a General, defending a fort, and the enemy manages to rush in. You haven't lost; the engagement has just changed. Now your objective is to push the enemy back out again. You have to change tactics.

The good news is, you know everything there is to know about your troops - in this case, you. You know what they are capable of, you know their available resources, you know their strengths and weaknesses.

I have to write this column when I am alert. I examined my schedule, and figured out when was the best time to do this. Scheduled my time accordingly. This coming week I will be more busy, so it will be more challenging, but there is time, and I will find it. And I will get the next column done early, before the other things wear me out. I know what I have to do, so I will find a way.

Being realistic doesn't only mean understanding which resources (time, energy, peace, etc) will not be available; it also means knowing what you can accomplish if you put your mind - and your effort - into it.

Make that effort. Be merciless with the enemy, because it isn't going to give you any quarter, so don't you let up either. Keep at it.

You know your troops. You know that they are strong, and willing to fight.

Adjust your strategy. The goal doesn't change.

Now, test it. Do the work within your limitations, but do the work.

And there you are. One step closer on the road to keeping your promise to yourself.

Wasn't that easy?


The ice bridge calls me.

t!

I have wonderful friends.

I've spent some time in the last month getting together with them, letting them know how much they are appreciated, and this year I'm going to be doing much more of that. Because they are great people. And I'm not talking about great in the sense that they're caring, understanding, supportive, and all the things we expect a friend to be. They're great people the way historical legends are great; they're inspirational, and provide examples of what we can all aspire to be. Admittedly, history has not yet recorded their exploits, for the most part, but if the tide of human events ever sweeps toward them, they're the kind of people who will be helping direct the current. That's the kind of great people I'm talking about. I have wonderful friends, and I hope everybody does.

But I know this isn't really the case.

I know because I talk to people, but more importantly I listen, and I frequently also eavesdrop. I have friends tell me about people who are making their lives unnecessarily difficult; I overhear people on the metro bemoaning their significant others - and not exclusively in a way that makes the speaker the sympathetic side of the argument, either. And always I ask myself the same question: Why would somebody do that? Never mind being the emotional drain; that's a separate discussion. Why do people willingly subject themselves to the company of people who aren't any good for them? You really don't have to; there are better options.

Let's take a concrete example. You move into a new place, and one room has this horrible dark brown paint on the walls that sucks all the light away, while another room has a yellowy green colour which makes you feel queasy every time you go into it. What do you do? You repaint it, of course, according to what you want. If you want the brown room to be comforting, to remind you of the home in which you were raised, you paint it in colours that remind you of that. If that green room is where you want to be performing a specific kind of activity, you'll want to paint it in colours which inspire or assist that activity.

It's about creating your own space. We tailor our physical environments to suit our needs as often as we can, be it by rearranging the bookshelves or putting up inspirational posters. And if bright-coloured curtains are part of your physical environment, your friends form a large part of your spiritual environment.

Let me list off a couple of my favourite spaces I go to. You want to see where I go when I need to relax and just take it easy? I've got people for that. When I feel like laughing my ass off, there's always someone around for that. If I'm having an existential crisis, there are people available. Stimulating discussion? I've got tons of options; what kind of specific stimulation did you have in mind?

The strange thing is, I don't really have anybody to turn to when I want to be made to feel miserable. I guess it's good news for me that I never really want to feel like that, then, isn't it?

For the most part, I've surrounded myself with the kind of people who represent what I aspire to be, people who reach out and touch other people: Painters, teachers, storytellers, illustrators, mentors, artisans, musicians, poets, cartoonists, animators, actors, singers, parents, designers, clerics, publishers, builders, counselors, leaders.

There are some people I see less often than others. That's geography, or circumstance. But I know they're available whenever I need them, and I know that I can count on them for anything I need, and even for those things which I may not be aware are lacking. Temporarily lacking.

You will have noticed that momentum is a major theme of The Teddybear Sawdust Show!, as is gestalt. And friends are a big part of that. Having the right friends is so important, not just to catch you when you fall but to keep you going. In other words, to quantify the unquantifiable:

Me plus them is so much bigger than all of us.

Final example. That list of the great people in my life, the nouns which describe what they do, what they represent, was one of the first parts of this column to be written. Well, started, that is. I had to go back and add things to the list. Often. And I know I missed stuff.

And I know that this time next year, there will be more to add.


The ice bridge calls me.

t!

Have you been busy lately?

It's late December, so chances are that your schedule has been pretty full, shopping, decorating, cooking, and visiting. Most people I know have a love/hate relationship with the season: They resent the pressure put upon them to do all these things, and the amount of running around involved, but they enjoy spending the time with their loved ones. Taking the time to appreciate the most important people in your life is important, and spiritually uplifting, but again most people I know just do not feel they do so often enough. In late December there's a societal obligation to do so, and I concede that in spite of this imposition upon my schedule, I'm glad that I'm compelled in this way because otherwise, honestly, sadly, I might not do it.

Time as our expressions describe it seems to be a finite commodity. When we want to ensure that we will be able to do something, we check our schedules and "find the time" for it, and if this time is unavailable we move something around and "make the time" for it. If time is tight and there is no easy fit in the schedule, then we "take some time" and do it anyway.

But "take" is not a very strong verb for something finite, is it? We "take" so many times a day that we don't even think about it: We take a pen off the desk, we take a shower, we take the bus, we take milk in our tea. "Take" is commonplace, so when we "take" the time, it's not that big a deal; it's something normal.

Take a moment, here, pause, close your eyes if it helps, and think about your dreams. What do you want, more than anything? What is that one thing you want to do, which you haven't yet, that thing which, when you look back on your life, you will remember with pride. You will remember that Yes, this was that thing you always wanted to do, and by George you went and did it.

Have you taken the time to do it yet?

Why not?

Let me help you out. Can it be because you haven't found the time? Haven't made the time? Haven't taken the time?

There is only one you, and that dream of yours is unique to yourself. Absolutely nobody else on the planet can do that in the same way you can. When you are gone, that opportunity will be gone.

And for most people, that promise never gets fulfilled.

There are basic things we do, every day, just to make it to the next day, the physical things that keep our bodies and minds functioning. And then we have the job thing, that thing we have convinced ourselves we have to spend 40 hours a week - one full quarter of our time - doing, or we won't have food, clothes, a roof, etc. I'll deal with that group delusion some other time; for now suffice it to say that after eating, sleeping, keeping clean, and sacrificing your time to your job, there's not a whole heck of a lot of time left in your week. So you see a few friends, you make sure you spend some time relaxing (if you don't, you'd better start), and you push the fulfillment of your dreams ahead another week, to "when you'll have time."

Did you catch that? Did you spot that little trick your self-aware and thus capable of lying to itself brain just did? It made you an empty promise! It caused you to take for granted that there will be time later, at some unspecified date, even though our discussion so far has demonstrated that the opposite is more likely the case. And this is not the first such instance, is it? Even though the linguistic expressions we take for granted portray time as finite, we as humans rationalise that time is infinite! "There's plenty of time." "I can do that later." What if there isn't? What if you can't?

What are you doing in the meantime?

This is why we have days dedicated to appreciating family, mothers, fathers, and specific other people, all of whom get one day a year each. These things are important. Society recognises their importance, even though it is society that often makes them so difficult the rest of the year.

Your dreams are important, too. Too important to save for some day which moves further away as you get closer to it. In the desert, that day would be called a mirage. You can't drink a mirage; a mirage will not fulfill your needs.

So I want you to make yourself a promise. Promise yourself that you will do that thing you've always wanted to do. And mean it.

Get out your calendar. Your 2006 calendar. (When did it get to be 2006 already?) You will probably notice that January is not as crowded as your current December. Find the time for what you want, or make the time, somewhere on that calendar. Then write down what you are going to do to fulfill your dreams. In ink, not pencil. Because when the time comes, you might feel tired, or stressed, but you are going to do this. You have to, because you made yourself a promise, and you are the person who best knows what you find spiritually fulfilling, and you are the only person who can make sure you do it. So get your rest, physical and mental, before the time comes. You'll need to be prepared.

Because you can't take the time to do this. It's too important.

The time must be grabbed.


The ice bridge calls me.

t!

One topic you'll be finding often in this column is joy.

For example, I write my best fiction when I'm in a good mood. That includes my most horrible Man's Inhumanity To Man kind of stuff (which is best exemplified by the word "Mank," I think). When I'm in a foul mood, what I most feel like writing is non-fiction, socio-political essays and the like. It's not fun to write, because it's rooted in a desire to make things better that is motivated by anger.

But you can make things better coming from a perspective of happiness as well. It's the Holiday Season. Make a point of thanking people for exemplary customer service. Better still, let that person know you're informing the manager. This will make it much easier for that person to get on with crowds of frustrated people - and easier for you as well. Catch a stranger's eye and smile. We don't do it much in the larger cities, but when you encounter somebody who appreciates it, that person is genuinely pleased, and is also encouraged that there are people spreading happiness out there. Plus you'll notice something in that person's eyes which will encourage you right back.

These are tough times for joy, aren't they? Everything is so cynical. Talk of love elicits uncomfortable giggles. But that sort of thing demonstrates a contempt which is not genuine at all; it's the hurt sound of the person who is afraid of risk, of having hopes defeated. The laughter and mockery are a defense mechanism, because this person has had hope defeated in the past, and is now hiding. But you can't live life like that, or you're not living at all. The pendulum swings both ways. The expression has it that happiness is fleeting, but so is misery. Joy is not a blip on the radar; it's equal time. Focus on what is positive, and it actually becomes easier to find.

I discovered the power of joy quite by accident. I was heading off to some place I truly did not feel like going. The prospect of it was making me miserable. But I didn't want to show up and drag everybody down, so I put on a brave face, smiled, tried to make the best of it. And I never noticed that the trying was successful until I was no longer trying - I was, in actual fact, having a good time. This was a revelation: You can tell yourself you're having a good time until it's true.

They say these things are all a matter of perspective. And they're absolutely right. So you can be happy because you tell yourself you are. The counterargument has it that you'll be "kidding yourself," but if you're smiling and you know it... aren't you happy? Can there be such a thing as false emotion? And even if you are kidding yourself, what's the alternative - accepting that you're miserable? Why would you do that? And what if you're kidding yourself again? Isn't it better to kid yourself about something good?

I recently re-watched The American President. What a great movie, fun and intelligent. It gets criticised, though, because the titular character is a good man, and strong, and idealistic. Criticised. Let me repeat: This movie is taken to task for presenting a situation that everybody wants. Isn't that the point? The movie name-drops Capra in the first reel. Because the movie, despite being set in a world of cynicism, artifice, greed, and anger, is about joy, emotion, giving a part of yourself and getting back in return. Does it reference Capra because the filmmakers were paying homage to something they admire? I'm convinced of that. But I think it was also done to erect a pre-emptive barrier of happiness, to say, "Yes, we are going for grand gestures here, and we know this may make certain people scowl, to which we can only... smile wider." Because these are tough times for joy.

But it's like that Frank Zappa live album says (from memory), "If there's anyone here who does not believe that it is fucking great to be alive, they should just go home right now, because this show will just bring them down so much." I would propose, rather, that such people stay. They might learn something.

See, folks, I love my big ol' melodrama. You can call it "cheesy," if emotion makes you feel uncomfortable, but I love it. Unapologetic celebration of pure feeling, of a simpler, purer time. Swashbucklers, too - is there anything more joyous than a swashbuckler? Love, honour, and all that other unfashionable stuff. If you insist on having your misery, it's only as far away as the nearest news outlet, but when you were a kid and you had dreams, you dreamt of heroes. You were smarter then, because you believed that anything was possible. And you were right.

These are tough times for joy. But joy wins, every time.


The ice bridge calls me.

t!

Welcome back to The Teddybear Sawdust Show!

There are two books in front of me as I write this.

The Teddybear Sawdust Show! is a weekly column, probably not appearing Tuesdays when it does, but I figure that teevee airs premiers on the wrong day before returning the show to its correct time slot, so if I can use that excuse, let's run with it.

It was created back in 2003, as a daily discourse on creativity, art, entertainment, and magic, demonstrating that they are all aspects of the same exact thing.

Back then, everything was different because I was.

The column was intended as a way to force me to write every week. I had spent about three years at the bottom of the writer's pit, trying to force the words out, mainly failing, and when I did succeed I hated everything the following day. (These are both common phenomena, and we'll talk a bit more about them in weeks to come.) Then I discovered National Novel Writing Month, jumped on it, and it changed my life. In that project's spirit of the excitement and discovery of self-imposed creation, I started a weekly serial called Baker's 12. The idea was I would write 640 words every weekday. I've always loved serials, always, from my introduction to comics through to soap operas and then certain television shows, the energy and the build were uplifting and rewarding like nothing else, surface thrill with deep resonance. So a serial seemed kinda the way to go. It was my fourth, and not my last.

But within less than two months Baker's 12 was not publishing 5 times a week; it was publishing once a week with five 640-word sections. Not a defeat, but the very healthy acceptance that I write in bursts. But maybe the lesson still hadn't sunk in, because I still wanted to write daily!

The Teddybear Sawdust Show! was created for three principal reasons:

1. To get me to write daily.
2. To publicise Baker's 12 and my other writing.
3. To cheer me up.

Well, (1) didn't work very well, as I cut from daily to five to thrice to once weekly. But once weekly was one solid entry, and on a single topic, basically turning it genuinely into the column I had always said it was.

Before long I discovered that if I couldn't get people to read Baker's 12, I wasn't going to get them read the Show, either, because (A) they had mainly the same readership, (B) failing to attract casual surfers to the Show was every bit as easy as failing to attract them to B12. So much for (2).

And even though B12 was going swimmingly, I was still unemployed and unpublished and not sure what I was going to do about them, so I needed (3). Writing the Show cheered me up by reaffirming my beliefs, concretising them, and giving me a shameless opportunity to show off. I had some great times writing those columns, and if I didn't thank sandman7 here for letting me use his house as my office, I would be doing a terrible disservice to a truly warm and generous human being, a man it has been my privilege to call friend.

Three things are new about these columns, these revamped slices of my thoughts and wishes for a better world. The first is that I'm going to present a little bit of nastiness on occasion. Originally I had decided there was enough crap in the world and even when trying to combat it in a column I was giving it as little air time as possible, but I think we succeed better when we acknowledge the obstacles in front of us - but always honestly. Also, I'm more confident now than I was then, and I enjoy looking the naysayers and emotional vampires square in the eye, because then I can see how scared they are of people like me, people living their dreams. The second item is that you are going to see my real name: Taras. It's a good name, I'm proud of it, and I don't think these columns will work as well if I use an Internet alias on them any longer. Third item is that now that The Teddybear Sawdust Show! has a comments feature, readers can respond immediately, and have discussions.

So the old columns were a blast, and these are the new columns; other things have fallen into place and are working very nicely. Both the column and the serial(s) have been on hold for a year, much longer than I expected at the time, but since I began those two precious projects they helped me I learn something very important:

Life is easy when you follow your bliss.

You have to take a close look at your life, ask yourself not only when you've been happiest, but when you are happiest. Then you need to ask yourself what you can do without, and then cut some more, and then some more. At that point the next question is, "What do you want?" - and nobody ever answers that one honestly the first time - "No, what do you really want?" - and again - "Really?" Okay. Then that's what's important. Do it. The rest follows. And how do I know that? I've done it, for myself, and I've helped others do it.

And that's what this column is all about. It's here to inspire, it's here to uplift. It's here to encourage you to follow your bliss, and celebrate the magic of creation.

Just like the person to whom this inaugural return column is dedicated, toughlovemuse, who turned me on to NaNoWriMo, and in other ways helped changed my life. Thanks, Cupcake. I love you.

And those two books in front of me? One is a self-published collection of short stories, the first one written fifteen years ago. When the author was inspired to finally collect it all together, he also felt inspired to give me a copy, for the encouragement I had provided. The second is a book, published by an "official" publisher. The first and by no means the last published work of one of my oldest and dearest friends. In its Acknowledgements: "To t! and the Tough-Love Muse of Montreal, who have kept me creatively honest and writing for a combined total of eighteen years." These two books, one of them the result of passion and the ideals of DIY, the other a concrete example of the positive results of following your bliss in the "real world," are reminders, not that my conviction ever falters on this point, that what I will be talking about in these columns works. Because I've learned what these authors have also learned: The excitement of creation is contagious. And that's what this column is all about, creating that energy and directing it into our lives, together.

This is what it looks like.

(signoff:)
I am known by many names:

- Taras
- The Phenomenon
- Baron Scartop
- El Tarascador
and, of course,
- The Exclamation

And the ice bridge calls me.

t!