Wednesday, August 01, 2007

You Spoke - We Listened!

The votes have been tallied and the verdict is in!

Concerning whether a Plaza of the Mind enthusiast should be referred to as a Plaznik or a Plaznoid:

You unilaterally chose Plaznik.

Plaznik it is!

The Green Notebook

I am proud [and maybe a little embarrassed] to announce that the Plaza of the Mind has put forth some energy into the production of an electronic version of The Green Notebook. The Green Notebook was my first foray into the realm of experimental journaling, poetry and short fiction. The only coherence running through the project was my youthful exuberance [though I suppose you could say the same about PoTM.

The Green Notebook
will be published in full electronically and it reads much the same as any other electronic journal. I will post updates here at the Plaza when 'new' content is added.


The Green Notebook

Here is an introduction that I penned during my first major revision of the Green Notebook material:

I’ve always been plagued by a lack of focus, wanting to do too many things while not spending enough time on any single one of them to make any sort of great progress towards the ethereal goals that remain imbedded somewhere in my rapidly firing mind.

University was no exception, if anything, it was probably at University that this severe handicap of mine came to its full fruition, establishing itself tightly as a major portion of my overall character.

I had no real idea of what I wanted to do when I first entered school other than to be a famous artist. I’d like to think that I had some natural talent for the arts, yet since I was unable to make a commitment as to an avenue of study that I might pursue in order to master fluency at any one facet of this vocation, I found myself slowly assuming the role of a jack of all trades, master of none. A title that I still find myself struggling in vain against.

I still find myself plagued by the same patterns of behaviour that ruined my chances at any sort of career in the arts. Before I am able to complete a short story, for example, I decide that I must become a maker of action figures, or an essayist, or a filmmaker or musician. This fills me with such anxiety and yet there seems to be no remedy for the racing ambitions that go through my mind.

I attempt all of this, of course, much the same as I did at University, while attempting to do something completely different. I miraculously hold down a career birthed in my official university studies in psychology, and yet I find myself plagued by an unquenchable desire to do something, anything, artistic. I moonlight in my basement office as the jack-of-all-trades artist that I have come to despise over the past fifteen years.

I have my parents to equally blame and thank for this turn of events. I am glad that I listened to them when they told me that I would quite definitely starve if I attempted to make a living as an artist. Thankfully my college money did not go to waste.

As I write this morning, however, it is not the failings of my personality that I care to discuss; it is the actual time that I spent in college. As I read and re-read the writings I produced during that period, I am troubled by the fact that there is no solid narrative to give them context.

I write this then, in the hopes of inserting it into the ’green notebook’ writings that I have been editing over the last five years. Hopefully a concurrent autobiography might help to clarify what I had written during that most wonderful time. Yes, it was wonderful; even though from the above paragraphs one might get the idea that I felt nothing but shame for the whole period. I suppose that there is nothing I would really change during that time, rather than romantic engagements, now that I find myself in the place that I am today.

When I separate myself from my present life in an attempt to look at it objectively, I am conscious of the fact that I really cannot complain at all.