The Frozen Man

The Zen of Shaving One’s Balls

2007-10-01T12:14:00Z

by R.T. Laferriere

Trade Paperback
$19.99

Product Details

Printed: 109 pages, 6” x 9”, perfect binding, black and white interior ink
Copyright: © 2007
Language: English

“The Zen of Shaving One’s Balls” is an eclectic book of poetry by R.T. Laferriere. The collection ranges wildly in themes, from the familiar to the outright ridiculous (as the title suggests). Unlike R.T. Laferriere’s previous collections, “The Zen of Shaving One’s Balls” does not have a central raison d’etre. Rather it jumps all over the map with pieces like “saline”, “in the company of cookies”, “my new umbrella” as well as fan-favorite “The Zen of Shaving One’s Balls”.

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torn

2008-09-25T20:14:41Z

i am made of paper, and
  i’ve been torn… daily…
  by those trying to shape me
  into the being they would
  like me to be.
yet like an oragami pattern
  too difficult for the weak-willed,
  i have been folded too many
  times… and now my body
  possesses not the strength
  that it used to.
pen and pencil marks mar
  my skin like a multitude of
  mistakes… one for every
  breath of my being.
and though some may say
  i’ve much to live for… there
  are days i stray towards
  fire… that it may light
  me.

to step beyond

2008-09-24T23:46:29Z

i need not worry of unspeakable enemies
  from across an ocean whose water i’ve
  never tread… never seen… much less
  traveled upon.
i’ve feet that’ve always recognized the
  earth… never having been
  a foreigner.
and tis this monotony of life which has
  systematically stolen my life.
i do not worry about an explosive death…
  one which would rip through me
  unexpectedly.
that is not to imply that such violence would
  be a welcomed end to a wasted life…
  but rather that i’ve a mind imprisoned…
  and till i seek escape, i’ll care little
  for the problems of the world.
till i step beyond my means, it will always
  be too big to fully comprehend.

literal irony

2008-09-12T19:17:48Z

How cruel that I stammer over words
  when written by someone else… that
  my mind cannot accept a logical progression
  of ideas and emotions.

But that I write my own… then, ah then
  I can dance with the language… I can
  play with it like a father tossing a ball
  lovingly to his son… a mother teaching
  a daughter the beauties of a changing
  form… a moment of grace before my eyes.

Still, perhaps my words only mean something
  to me, for I understand my fractured sentences…
  my thought patterns… my lack of purpose…
  but to live and breathe in the now like a child
  writing his first word in crayon.

A lesson before passing

2008-09-09T00:33:44Z

I believe that it is life altering events which shape us as writers. They guide us, though not in the romanticized manner you would expect.

When faced with the end of one’s life, I do not believe that any rational human being thinks; “I wish I had written that novel” in lieu of “I wish I had spent more time with my family”. We do not long for the solitude of a closed room and a computer with which to create, when faced with an uncertain future. We crave human contact.

This is the catch-22 that is writing. It is human contact which instinctively we need to survive, as well as to lend credibility to our words, and yet the very act of writing is one which removes us from others.

The question becomes, if human contact makes us better writers, how then does writing reciprocate?

I’ve needed to think about this for some time. Nearly a year, in fact.

It is interesting how the mind functions at times when one doesn’t know if a heaven exists or if someone will be there waiting for us… or if our heart will hold out long enough to see another setting sun.

Events take on importance when you are not ready. Consequences take on gravity. And words become one’s only way of making amends, showing affection, explaining one’s actions and making change.

In this way, those of us who express ourselves better in writing thrive. Certainly, the days of written letters are long behind us, however we still live in a time driven by words. Between e-mails, text and instant messages, blogs and Twitter or Facebook pages, we live in a world very much in touch with emotions conveyed through letters… though now they are electronic.

Still, they are words… with which to prove ourselves in the eyes and conscious of others. To live more truly… if but for a moment before exiting that lonesome room and finding company… someone to sit on the porch with and tell lies, watching the sun set yet again.

it’s about no longer being a bastard

2007-11-08T00:09:00Z

by R.T. Laferriere

Trade Paperback
$19.99

Product Details

Printed: 109 pages, 6” x 9”, perfect binding, black and white interior ink
Copyright: © 2007
Language: English

“it’s about no longer being a bastard” is R.T. Laferriere’s second collection of poetry. The collection is arranged in such a fashion as to allow the reader a chance to see the narrator(s) through a healing process. The collection contains heart-wrenching pieces along with uplifting, spiritual pieces, including the 17 page fan favorite, “The King and I”, which brings a father and son back together through a game of chess.

Published by http://www.lulu.com, a reputable online book publisher/distributor. Lulu accepts all major credit cards, and is PayPal verified and secured by GeoTrust.

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that a new tongue may save me

2007-09-19T15:19:01Z

i feel that i need a new language
  as this one no longer serves me.
it confuses me and angers me to
  no end with its failure to mean
  anything beyond the mundane.
  there is no power but to say
  ’power’. no passion… for such
  a word remains limited by a twenty-
  six link chain attached to a
  weighted ball.

i’ve thought of studying various
  other languages, though i
  fear in the end, that i would
  ultimately feel the same about
  them as well.

what i need is to create my
  very own language, complete
  with characters so profound
  in their meaning that words
  would drip with emotion.
  context and tonality would be
  easily felt from the page, and to
  speak it would bring tears to
  one’s eyes.

such a thing would be beautiful
  indeed… though i fear i may
  jealously guard this language
  that it not be destroyed by
  simple-minded folks… the likes
  of which are currently destroying
  the English language.

and so it would be that only
i would revel in this new tongue.
it would be lonely, no doubt.
though perhaps within i would
still find serenity.

Exciting Order

2007-09-17T16:14:01Z

I’d initially planned on personally binding my third collection poetry, just as I had with my first two. The first collection; Doing Time..., was soft-cover bound using an interesting spine clip. The book was quite handsome, though I still felt there was room for improvement. The second collection; it’s about no longer being a bastard, was hard-cover bound. I practically ripped apart some hard-cover novels I owned, researched book making, and came up with my own design which I maintain looks phenomenal. The only downside is that each book takes nearly 3 hours to complete.

Some months ago, I began prepping myself for my third collection; The Zen of Shaving One’s Balls. I was prepared to do a very limited print-run of hard-covers… but then everything started getting extremely busy in my life. My wife and I moved our family to a new city and as anyone who has moved knows, that is a lot of work.

The Zen of Shaving One’s Balls had to take a backseat to more pressing matters, like selling our old house, finding a new one, procuring a job, etc.

Now that things have settled, I’ve decided to get to work on publishing the collection… however I’ve decided that I simply do not have the time to devote to three hours per book. And so I chose a reputable online publisher and have setup an account with them to publish the book. I’ve seen books published by them (from other authors) and they always look fantastic, so I’ve quite a bit of faith in them… though not enough to start selling The Zen of Shaving One’s Balls without first buying myself a copy and checking it out.

Which I’ve just done.

I finished the process this morning, and uploaded all of my content (manuscript and custom covers). I don’t know how long shipping will take to get here, as I chose the least expensive delivery (no sense paying a small fortune just to get it a couple days faster).

Once I receive the copy and give it the once over, I will open up the collection so that anyone can purchase a copy.

I have also begun preparing my second collection for reprinting at the same online service. I still have a digital copy of the book (unlike the first one, which I only own a paper copy of), and so printing it’s about no longer being a bastard will be quite easy and will allow others who’d not gotten a hard-cover copy to enjoy it. This should happen shortly, at which point I will post about that book as well.

The only downside to all of this is that Doing Time... will never see a reprint… as I do not think I will ever take the time to retype the entire manuscript.

Still, I am excited for the other two collections. I sincerely hope others are as well.

Cadence when writing

2007-09-14T15:38:00Z

I believe in allowing the mood of that which I am writing to influence the way in which I type. That is to say, if I am writing a scene which is full of angst, I will pound the keys much more furiously. If the scene calls for a gentle hand, I will be soft.

I believe that cadence plays a very large part in how I write, and in all honesty, I believe it makes me a better writer.

Now, this is not something which I have discussed with other writers (surprisingly). Perhaps there are many who do the same. Perhaps not. Behind office doors, it’s hard to tell how others accomplish the same feat of putting words to paper.

It’s a “method acting” type of writing, and I’d have it no other way. It allows you to be more involved in that which you are writing. You are not only a cold, all knowing entity controlling the story. Rather, you are in the heat of it, running alongside your heroine down a dark alley, your fingers ablaze on the keyboard. Your hands sway ever so gently as music plays and the couple dances together. You pause as your narrator sighs.

It works quite effectively, as it puts you in the proper frame of mind, thereby allowing you to rightly feel what is necessary in order to choose the best words for the scene. If your heart is not beating faster as the plot hastens, how can you justify the passion in the words?

I’m certain there are Zen writers out there able to calmly separate themselves from the emotions which they transcribe onto the page. And I’ve no doubt they are exceptionally talented.

For me though, I need that sense of connectedness. That sense of belonging in the story.

Forgetting Oneself

2007-09-12T15:05:00Z

I forget who I am sometimes.

Forget what is important.

Forget that I am not quite as alone in this world, as I sometimes feel.

I forget to write, and spend my days wandering town talking to people and for lack of a better term, living.

I start hobbies, like building boats in bottles… building tolerance within my being.

I practice photography… snapping shots of people whose faces I will then stare at for hours on my computer. I will even go so far as to imagine what events in their lives caused various wrinkles or scars.

It is then that the seed is planted.

I do not see it being buried beneath the soil (beneath my skin, so to speak)… but it is there.

It will creep through my psyche, keeping my delusions company, and together they will concoct such wonderful tales.

For you see, my imagination normally receives its playtime via my writing. When I am not writing, it has no outlet. I can repress it for quite some time. In fact, I am noticing that I am able to keep it at bay much longer as I age, though I know not why this is.

However like a river that has been blocked, two things can happen. Either it can find the path of least resistance and continue peacefully along its way… or it can accumulate power and rage and burst through the blockade… sometimes causing much devastation.

Though I’ve enjoyed my time away from words, my imagination has progressively gathered much power and it would appear, much rage.

I believe it is time to release it. Let’s see what it has to say.

inherited demons

2007-08-17T15:48:00Z

would that she’d slain
    them… I’d not have to
  continue her work…
        I’d see colors as
they are meant to
   be seen…
                    rather than vibrant assaults.
I’d breathe lightly
        rather than engulfing
  enough air to last…
      should my soul be
  stripped from this world
                              and sent to a
      desolate hell.

although perhaps I’d
          find her there waiting
    for me… and we
       could have tea like
we used to…

                       ...        before the demons return.

jPod

2007-08-10T17:41:01Z

I’ve read a number of Douglas Coupland’s novels, and must say that to date, have never been disappointed. I don’t know if it’s his style, his delivery or just the subject matter that keeps me turning the pages. He is a very powerful writer, in that he can so completely encapsulate a time and place.

jPod is no different. This time around, he writes about a group of 20 somethings working at a game development company, having to deal with their lives, their pasts, their careers and the fact that their boss has decided he wants a turtle in their new skateboarding game (among other bizarre plot twists).

A large part of what makes a Coupland novel so unique is that he takes his characters quite seriously. Though they may be the most off-the wall types, you can’t help but believe these people actually exist… and you can’t wait to hear what will come out of their mouths next.

Bree was showing someone photos of her recent holiday visiting Korean animation sweathshops. She was bummed because she couldn’t get into North Korea: too much legal juju. [She said] ‘I just wanted to know what it’s like to be in a society with no technology except for three dial telephones and a TV camera they won from Fidel Castro in a game of rock paper scissors.’

I’ve just unpacked my copy of jPod, which I’d not yet finished prior to the move, and am looking forward to rediscovering it over the course of this weekend.

Hitting my stride early

2006-11-03T13:36:00Z

With Day 2 behind me and Day 3 just beginning, I feel as though I am getting into my stride early.

I am fortunate to have a slight advantage over some of the new writers in NaNoWriMo in that I have spent many years writing. During several of those years, I even worked at it full-time, writing between 14-16 hours a day even. This kind of manic writing where nothing else enters your mind does not frighten me.

I guess coming into NaNoWriMo, I was floored by that magic number: 50,000. I have always measured my pace by counting pages, not words, and so I was surprised at how quickly I was able to pound out 3,000 words in just two days (and only several hours each day). I know now that taking into consideration my days off from work (such as today, where I’ll be spending time taking care of a flu-ridden youngster), I can easily write 50,000 words this month. In fact, I am now aiming for higher.

I have not set a specific number, but I want to see how quickly I can reach that minimum and then push myself to see how many more words I can write in the month. If all goes according to plan, I will spend a portion of December finishing up the novel (if it is not yet complete), and then that first draft will be cleaned up during January onward.

Time permitting, I would love to hit 6,000 words by the end of today… preferably 7,500 or higher. Mah baby’s coming home tonight though and I haven’t seen her all week, so I know that once I drive to the airport to pick her up, I’ll not be writing another word till tomorrow.

So I have to get as many words in now as I can… I think I’d do well to get another pot of coffee brewing.

NaNoWriMo: Day 2

2006-11-03T04:36:00Z

Day two is coming to a close. My word count is at nearly 3000 words. By the time you read this, it may very well be up and over that because I plan on writing until Midnight, and then slamming the rest of my Coors Light tall can, and heading off to bed. Chris is going to take the first feeding of the night so I should be able to rest well.

This is the most mind-draining/mind-exhilarating journey ever for me. So many stories are flooding my mind. So many doors are being opened. I finally have my system down for both finding time to write and for how my memoirs unfold. My system & what I’ve learned today:

1. Keep my laptop plugged in when I’m not using it; this guarantees I will have at least 2 hours of “juice” if I need to unplug and sneak away.

2. It’s okay to type with a baby on my lap; I may not be able to type 43 wpm, but I can still think it and at least type 10 or 15 wpm, which is better than not typing at all. That, and Logan makes for a good muse.

3. It’s okay to ramble; there are little gems in ramblings, and little truths ooze out, too.

4. It’s okay to NOT edit. Yes, really. And if I need to, that’s OK, too.

5. Words are just words. No need for them to be perfect, or beautiful, or spelled correctly; it’s not the words that make something powerful, it’s our lives that make them so.

6. My theme is the Three Little Pigs. I am all three pigs--the lazy one, the not-so-lazy one, an the hard-working one, and I’m both looking to escape the Big Bad Wolf, and looking to create a home. At the end of the novel, I will have accomplished both.

7. My writing method is to write first in my voice as a child, and then in my voice as an adult; it caters to my needs well including my ADD.

8. I was born to write; I knew that all along, I just fought it because I was scared, and I’m not scared anymore.

NaNoWriMo: Day 1

2006-11-02T16:27:01Z

Today is the first day of NaNoWriMo, and I am at a lost for words when it comes to how much I have missed writing. Call me a sap, but I have nearly been to tears the last hour while writing. There are so many suppressed and pent-up feelings inside of me--so many things I want to say, and I am finally at the point in my life where I feel healed and oh-so-ready to say what I want to say. For those of you who read this, and who have not had the chance to talk to me in person (or on AIM), I am writing a memoir. Albeit a highly fictionalized memoir because everyone knows the memory of a 5-year-old is faulty, it is nonetheless my life. I am a former trailer park kid, and the stigmata of it has been etched deep into me. I have worked so damn hard to get where I am, and all honestly, living in poverty and always wanting more and the best has driven me to where I am. And I don’t meant the best in the material sense, but the best in the life quality sense.

Often times I tell my husband that although we function at the poverty level, we are not poor. Our souls are too rich and our goals are too high to let circumstance keep us down. We love deeply, and because of that we are rich. Not that I didn’t have love growing up, but it was a kind of love that sprung from hate in a sense (it is late and I am having a hard time forming my thoughts), but it was love out of frustration that I grew up with… a suppressing love, but nonetheless, it is what made me grow and become who I am today.

But, all I really wanted to say is that although this is quite a rambling post, my voice is coming back.... all 1480 words of of it.