Tony Fitzpatrick and Spring

Last night I attended part of a Words+Music event at the Empty Bottle. Unexpectedly, the event seemed to had started on time, so I missed readings by JR Nelson and Jim DeRogatis. But I did see Jessica Hopper read her review of Miley Cyrus's Bangerz, and manage to hear the illuminant Tony Fitzpatrick read some recent articles of his that will appear in the forthcoming book Dime Stories that collects his column from New City over the past few years.

I've seen Fitzpatrick read at one of these events before, and have seen him perform elsewhere. He is a Chicago writer through and through: Nelson Algren and Mike Royko have undeniably left their mark on Fitzpatrick. If, as Ernest Hemingway states, "you should not read [Algren] if you cannot take a punch," then know that Algren's protege is an even more formidable wielder of the written word. His vulgar wit and sardonic humor are instantly recognizable, and have little match in the ring of literature.

And yet, Fitzpatrick seemed a little off his game this evening, as if the gloves weren't on as tight as usual. True to form, he was conscious of this unlikely wavering in his reading. He reminded the audience of his heart surgery a few months ago before reading a post-surgery reflection on life (appropriately titled, It's Spring).

The piece he read aloud has been on my mind since I first read it a few weeks back. The main point of it is to not let the little bullshit of life stack up and distract you from what you want to accomplish. This doesn't mean over-worry yourself with work however. For Tony, it means going to more baseball games, spending more time with his family, going for more walks, enjoying every breeze, the flowers, the birds; "put your cell phone in a drawer." It's a transition for Tony, even so late in life, from hanging up the gloves to finding more poetic ways to reassert how necessary it is to stop and smell the cliche roses; a lover yet still a fighter.

For my part, I've been creating a list of new places - restaurants, art galleries, bars, cultural institutions, old buildings - that I want to explore in and around the city, in neighborhoods I'm already familiar with and ones I've never stepped foot in. It's easy to get comfortable going to the same bars, seeing the same bands, biking down the same boulevards and streets, seeing the same people, eating the same things. This easiness leads to routine, and routine will make your life pass by quicker than you intend to. I'm 27 and I already know that. You can't have new thoughts and new feelings if you don't go to new places.

Of course, here's the dilemma. Routine, repetition, schedules - these don't necessarily lead to stagnation of the mind. These can lead to strong community building, whether that community is in a neighborhood, in artistic, or business. But the best way to help strengthen that community is inevitably to get outside of it, to introduce an outside perspective, and perhaps even bond your own community to another one. This is called growth.

So this year, I'm going to new places and new spaces, to get to know this city even more outside of the bubble I've grown familiar in. Yesterday, this included: a visit to Open Books in River North before they move to the West Loop next week; a small tour of the Midwest Buddhist Temple in Old Town, hosted by Jesse; hanging out at Oz Park in Old Town listening to a trombonist practice his scales and dog-watching; buying even more books at Bookworks in Wrigleyville; hanging out on the patio at Sheffield's than catching the first half of Reading Under the Influence; and then not something new but something always enjoyable, the aforementioned Words+Music at the Empty Bottle.

Onward to spring, and to life.



(note: this wasn't my exact route, but changing things on Google can be such a pain in the ass)

Clothes Make the Man

We hear these phrases:

"Clothes make the man."

"Dress for the job you want, not the job you have."

I think of routines writers have. I forget who, but one writer would wake up every morning, shower, shave, dress, take the elevator down from his apartment building with all the other businessmen, but instead of getting off at the first floor, continue to the basement where he had a desk and a typewriter. For him, writing was like any other job, and required the same routine.

This is where I'm torn. I can appreciate a writing routine, even though I've found it difficult to get into one. I'm just one of those hacks who writes "when I feel like it." When I have a deadline, or when inspiration strikes. Or when I've had too much coffee. Or alcohol.

It's work, but it's not "work" for me. Maybe because I have other committments and a varied schedule that comes with waiting tables and a penchant for exploring nightlife (i.e., I like to get drunk at the Empty Bottle). But it's hard for me to say "I can wake up at 8 am, shower, eat breakfast and write and write and write til 5," if for no other fact than that I go to "work" before 5 PM.

Maybe it's because I'm unfocused in my writing. I do critical pieces or profiles for Frontier Psychiatrist, while also exploring my mind on this blog, while also working on fiction. While at the same time, some days I just want to read a book. Should I focus more on reading on give up on writing for a bit then come back to it? Do I need to go to such extremes?

Can how I dress really affect my mindset? I'm in my pajamas right now, with a t-shirt and hoodie on. It's comfortable, it's forgettable. I will admit that sometimes I feel more professional when I have a button-up and jeans on, that I'm in "the right mode" to write. But inspiration will strike regardless of what I'm wearing. Especially when no one besides the cat is going to see me until I go to "work" tonight.

Here's a fact: I've never been paid to write a single thing I've written. Here's another fact: I have shelves of free books, wristbands from free music festivals, gigs of free (legally) downloaded music, and countless handstamps from free shows. I've gotten out of this habit a bit. I like to support artists with what little money I do have and feel better when I pay for where I'm at (except Lollapalooza, fuck that place). I like to think I can keep myself to a strict deadline, even when there's no real consequences; I like to think I have my atheism to thank for that.

The point is, If something needs to be written, it will be written. I view blogging as practice. Do musicians get paid every time they practice? Do painters get their money back for acrylic wasted on a canvas with a piece that turned out really shitty? No. So why should I get paid for something I choose to do on my own volition? I will say if I'm asked to write something (that'll be the day), I would expect some compensation. But until then, I don't mind spending my waking, caffeine-addled hours chipping away at the keys of this laptop and converting it all into a magical world of 1s and 0s for your reading pleasure.

Now if you'll excuse me, it's time to go put on some pants. 

Here's more routines from famous writers. Surprise, I identify with Miller the most out of these.