StevenVinson.com

Hey. Great to see you again. How’ve you been? Is so-n-so coming this year? Is there space left on top of the bus for my bike?
Here’s some cold beer from where I’m from. Thanks. Here’s a Busch light. Cool.
What’s going on with you? How’s it been?
Lots of rain in June.
I heard so-n-so isn’t coming. Well, shit. Won’t be the same without so-n-so.
Well, Ragbrai is never the same as last year, so…
Bags and bins are in the trailer. Bikes are on the bus.
New blood is mingling with old blood.
This is Ragbrai day -2.

Busy packing and prepping tonight for Ragbrai. It’s funny how I’ve been prepping myself mentally and spiritually for weeks. And I was more ready a week or a few days ago than I am tonight. Weird. Had a lot on my mind today that sort of twisted my mindset away from the zen of Ragbrai.
No worries. Nothing that a nice road trip won’t fix.
And a few hours on a stinky fun bus.
And a few hundred miles in the saddle.
Hey everybody. Look forward to dispatches from the road from here on out!

I once asked my writing professor if Facebook counts for my assignment to write daily. He said, flatly, no. I don’t think he understood the elegance and creativity with which my Facebook posts are filled. He couldn’t possibly have understood how much of my juice was in those posts.
And anyway he’s not here right now. I’ll bet I’ve spent an hour or two writing brilliant sentences on Facebook tonight.
Have I written? Hell yeah. I’ve written at least a thousand words tonight.
Plus there’s this post.
Night y’all…

A dog doesn’t want much as far as we know.  Dinner.  Pets.  Lounging on human furniture.  At first glance, it seems that for a mute with no opposable thumbs and no command of any human language, the dog is pretty good at getting what it wants from us.  If I couldn’t talk or understand english and if you cut off my thumbs, I’d have a pretty hard time getting food, affection, and a comfy seat.

But then what if dogs actually want way more than those things.  What if Poppy also wants to be understood?  Or to have a dog companion?  What if she wants to see Europe or go on a mission trip to Africa?  She has no way of communicating any of that.  So what I see as happiness an contentment may be simple resignation to a life of never experiencing live music or bowling.

When i started this post I was admiring how skilled the dog is at getting what she wants given her physical limitations.  By the time I got to this point I realized I might have it backwards.  Damn dog will never achieve her dreams.  Unless… Unless… maybe we should take her skydiving…

The difference this time around is that I will write every day. Not skipping 3 days then writing 4 times in a day.
Your and my compromise is that this means sometimes I will start 4 or fewer minutes before midnight.
Here is a challenge I’ve heard of before. What is the shortest story you can write? Was it Bradbury or was it Orwell who wrote the famously short story, “Baby shoes for sale. Never Used.”? Maybe it was Hemingway. Anyway, Google it and let me know.
Here’s my attempt at a freakishly short story:
Jimmy survived the war with his life but little else. He drove on the hot dusty dirt road toward his house, his woman, his boys, and his dog and everything that ever made sense before the war started. A guided sidewinder missile streaked over the next hill. Shit. He hit the gas. As he caught air over the dirt road hill, he caught sight of the 300 pound charge destroying his home. President James Harden skidded to a stop. Reached into the back seat and grabbed the suitcase. He opened the football and pushed the button. Assholes can decide if killing his family was worth atomic winter.

Let’s do this again.  You know the drill.  I agree to post 90 times in the next 90 days and you agree to get on my case if I slack off.  Benefits of this agreement include some or none of the following:

• I write
• I feel better because I am writing
• You get to chuckle, cry, be bored, yell at me, and/or learn something
• You get to teach me something (you know, by commenting on my posts)
• The world gets some unique arrangements of the alphabet and punctuation marks
• I learn to write sentence more gooder

Why?  I know people who say writing is like air.  I’ve read about authors who say if they did not write there is no end to the despair they would feel in their lives.  I wondered if I am a real writer since I’ve never said these things.  The thing that occurred to me the other day was that when I write I feel better.  I feel, I don’t know, like I’m DOing something.  I’m putting myself in the game.  I’m living my life.  I am awake.  It doesn’t hurt that I get to receive feedback.  Mostly positive feedback. And some constructive feedback.  And when I am not writing, I feel jumbled up inside.  Like everything is not sorted.  Like there is some serious housekeeping that is going undone.  Ironically, when I am writing, literal housekeeping sometimes goes undone and that’s okay.  Because I am writing.

Anyway.

That’s why.  Enjoy the next 90 days.