Am Pathetic?

May 11th, 2021

Is empathy an accurate tool towards understanding?

That’s not a rhetorical question. I’m actually asking.

Because I’m having trouble trying to reconcile two different points of view from a singular source.

Let’s pick a job. I’m not going to make this easy because that’s not what I do, so let’s say the job is “police officer.”

If you go anywhere on the internet where there is a mention of a police officer, you will see these sentiments in the comments:

“You don’t know what it’s like to be a police officer.”

“My brother is a police officer and you don’t understand what it’s like for them and their families.”

“Until you’ve actually worn the badge and have been out there doing that job, shut your mouth about stuff you don’t know.”

(I cleaned these up significantly for this post.)

Now, what I gather from these comments is that empathy is not enough. I cannot use my previous experiences, or any of my own thoughts and feelings to imagine what it would be like to be a police officer. The only way to know what a police officer knows is to be a police officer.

Okay.

I see these same people completely refute what a majority of doctors and scientists say about our health and the state of our planet.

Many of these doctors and scientists have been in these professions and studied in their fields longer than a lot of us have even been alive.

So, by that same logic: if someone who is not a police officer cannot understand police officer things, wouldn’t that mean that people who are not doctors and scientists cannot understand medical and scientific things?

Or is it possible that human empathy and reason allows us a bridge of understanding, with respect to who a person is and what their expertise and knowledge has to offer?

My last fiction book was about talking animals. I have never been a dog, ferret, cat or snake, but I wrote characters who are. I’m not sure how I accurate I was. But there was nothing about trying to think and feel like I was someone else that felt wrong.

Sometimes I imagine what it’s like to be you. I hope you don’t ever imagine what it’s like to be me (it’s dark and overrated), but if you did, it’d be a sign that you’re not a narcissistic sociopath and I think that’s pretty neat.

So I think I answered my own question. Thank you for your understanding.

Delightfully Tasteless

May 9th, 2021

For this Mother’s Day, my first without my own, I was digging through my memories, trying to think of the most touching, tasteful, darling story I could share about my mom.

But that wasn’t her, not mostly. She was fun and mischievous and sometimes, delightfully, downright tasteless.

This is one of those stories.

I don’t know who here remembers Shinders, but the location in Burnsville was an vital part of my childhood. It was my main source of comic books growing up, and magazines and collectibles, like cards.

When we got a little older, we also discovered there was a back room. I don’t know who here remembers back rooms, but Shinders had one.

I had a friend who was older than me, and had looked like an adult since he was 12 years old. (I won’t name him here for the sake of anonymity.) One day, he had ventured into the back room and emerged from within, alive, with a VHS tape.

I don’t know who here remembers VHS tapes.

On that particular tape was particularly tasteful adult content. He purchased it, put it into a brown paper bag within another plastic bag (again, for anonymity) and we made our way back to my house.

Back at my room, I sat down at my desk and turned on my computer. He sat down on the bed and immediately put the tape in the player to see what treasure he had plundered from the sexy cave of wonders.

A few minutes passed and, like a miracle of bad (or brilliant) timing, my mom walked into the room.

I look over at him who looks over at her who is looking right at the TV and I swear to god his face was going to melt off like that guy’s at the end of Raiders of the Last Ark.

And what does she do? This mischievous, delightfully tasteless woman?

She sits down right next to him on the bed and slaps her arm around him.

And I watched his skeleton rip out of his skin and jump out the window.

Honestly, we all just broke into the kind of laughter that she constantly inspired and shared and I miss that so much about her.

I miss her.

Happy Mother’s Day to all of you and all of yours. Hold ’em, hug ’em, give ’em all the kisses. They deserve it all, and always better.

mr. nobody

May 7th, 2021

Nobody changes.

I hear it all the time. It’s ingrained as a moral in our stories and popular culture. Folks say it about other folks regularly, like those other folks don’t say the same thing about them.

Nobody changes.

I think it makes people comfortable to think this.

Everyone is something, and once you know what that something is, you never have to learn anything about them again. They are what they are.

Nobody changes.

Except.

Except, maybe, if they have a conscience. A person who can feel the difference between right and wrong might begin making choices that feel good as opposed to bad.

Or except, possibly, if they’re an adaptive or rational thinker. Doing a thing wrong and realizing it’s wrong is a good way to find out how to do that thing right.

Or except, probably, if a person has survived a hard time. Because most people can imagine what it would be like to have to get up, but it’s different when you actually fall down.

Or except, I don’t know, if they start to put away parts of their personality they developed initially as a socially-acceptable construct and start revealing aspects of themselves that reflect who they truly are.

Or except, on the off-chance, that humans are more than their wiring. That we’re more than individuals. That we’re more than just one action or reaction or catchphrase.

They keep telling me nobody changes.

And I just keep being a nobody.

How 2 B a Gud Writer

May 5th, 2021

I think about “How To” books on writing often. Not favorably, mind you. I always wonder why people who spend their time reading them don’t just spend that time writing.

Then I wondered: if I had to condense my thoughts on how to write to a tiny blog, what would that look like?

Well, it looks like this.

Now, I’m not talking about books in which great writers talk about writing. No, those books are delightful and among my favorite kind. I mean something like “How To Write a Murder Mystery” by I. G. Otyourmoney.

The first thing I always tell people who ask me how they can write a book is that they have to write. And they usually laugh or groan or roll their eyes and that’s when I get the sense that maybe this person is not a writer or doesn’t want to (or possibly even should) write a book.

You have to write to be a writer.

Now, let’s say you’ve written something. (Congratulations, massive hug from me, I like you already!) Your next job is this: read what you wrote.

Don’t like it?

Write again.

Your audience, first and foremost, always and forever, should be you. If you don’t like what you write, then why would you expect anyone else to? One of the best things that can happen as a writer is when you go back, read something you’ve written, and not intensely loathe or passionately hate it.

When you start to write things you like, you start being a good writer. It’s simple. And when you start to write things you like, you develop the voice that only you have. When you write things that you love and believe in with all your being, the feeling you get when someone else likes it as much as you do is beyond any comprehensible description.

And that’s it.

So to recap:

1. Write.

2. Read it.

3. Keep writing until you write something you like.

Everything I have released officially (my six books, my comic book issues, my three albums, my blog) I could talk about all day. Seriously. I chose topics and developed characters and themes and wrote stories that I loved so I would never dread it if the day came when I had to discuss what I’ve done.

As always, no advice, but it’s what works for me.

Do or Donut

May 3rd, 2021

My friend asked me for advice on being a dad the other day.

In general, I don’t “give advice”; I choose to share my experiences and what I learned (or didn’t learn) from those times, in the hopes that maybe someone else can learn (or not learn) something from them, too. I don’t tell people what to do. I’m not comfortable with it.

Regardless, instantly, I found myself saying:

“Listen to your kid.”

And if that sounds like a general or vague statement, then you’re not paying attention to what I’m saying.

What I meant is this: before you bring a child into the world, subconsciously or, more likely, very consciously, you are going to have expectations for them.

The things you’re going to do together, the people they’re going to become, what your life is going to look like forever. You’re going to speculate with your idea of a normal, simple childhood for the kid you’re about to raise.

Basically, you’re going to imagine their life as a plain donut.

And (again, consciously or sub-) you’re going to think about this donut and how normal and simple it’s going to be. How you’re going to live this simple and normal life.

And when that child arrives, it’s going to be covered in pink frosting and you’re going to have no idea what to do with that.

When I say listen to your kid, what I mean is, don’t let your expectations get in the way of what it is your kid really wants.

I wasn’t really a sports dude. I was fairly vocal about that. But on more than one occasion, I was “encouraged” (more than gently pushed) into sports by well-intentions and, probably, expectations. Not only did I suffer a pretty nasty mouth injury during baseball practice (yes, practice), I never felt close to sports or got better, nor was sports a thing that made me happy or something I was any good at to begin with. I don’t harbor resentment for it, but I did know it wasn’t something I love.

Don’t be disappointed or despaired by the pink frosting. The pink frosting is who your kid is. Embrace it, highlight it — hell, let your kid put sprinkles on it or change that frosting’s color.

But just remember: listen to them. Because they know what kind of donut they are better than the people who made them.

Happy Time is a Solid State Release Day!!

May 1st, 2021

Happy May Day, and Happy Time is a Solid State Release Day!! (The only person who can steal my thunder on a day like today is me!)

If you watch only one video with my face in it this year, make it this one. (Pretty please?) I talk about what Time is a Solid State actually is, why it exists and what it means to me. (Which is a lot.) It’s a solid (get it?) three minutes of personal conversation, from me to you.

If you don’t have the time or will, no worries! The only thing you really need to know is this: whoever leaves me the best birthday comment today is getting a free copy of Time is a Solid State! Because that’s how I roll on my birthday. I give you presents. Be creative.

I want to sincerely thank every single person who has followed me over the last few years and not only encouraged my writing, but made it better through your interactions and wisdom. I couldn’t have made this without you, truly, and I appreciate you so much.

Now go buy it! It’s available on my website, dennisvogen.com, as well as Amazon and other places fine literature is sold.

All my love.

The City

May 1st, 2021

Every year on my birthday, my favorite song to turn on and up (by one of my favorite bands, The 1975) is called The City. By the time I get to the pre-chorus, I find myself in the right mood. The lyrics there go:

“Yeah, well, she said, ‘It’s your birthday. Are you feeling alright?'”

I think so.

I don’t know.

Not really.

No.

Kind of.

Sure.

All of the above, if I’m being honest. When I’m asked how I’m doing, every answer cycles through my head until I deliberately decide on the one that is expected of the moment, but not the one I really want to say. I don’t think that’s abnormal. I think it’s alright. Like the song.

“And don’t call it a spade if it isn’t a spade

Go lie on the floor if you want

The first bit of advice that you gave me that I liked was ‘They’re too strong, too strong’

Get in the shower if it all goes wrong”

I’ve read a lot about how other people grieve, and wanting to lie on the floor or stay in the shower tops many of those lists. I’ve heard of people who couldn’t get out of bed for months, or who just weren’t the same person they used to be.

That is what I want to do, and there is no space in most people’s lives to do what they want to do.

Last year on this day, my immediate family (spearheaded by my mom, who never missed an event or occasion of my life if she could help it) was still determined to come over to my place and say happy birthday, despite the new world of the pandemic, despite the fact that I made them stay outside.

My mom brought over these party decorations and made me pose in front of them, the last time she would ever do that.

“If you want to find love, then you know where the city is.”

That lyric seems apparent upon first listen, but it’s meant something different to me every year.

This year, the city has been the people who have been willing to share their love and kindness with me. I don’t always deserve it. And this year, the city has had to get up and find me, not the other way around, and I couldn’t be more grateful for that. I made it one more round, up another level, I added a chapter.

“You hope that, that the boy will be alright.”

I think I am. I mean, it’s my birthday. I have to be, right?

The Village Idiot

April 28th, 2021

I learned more than I readily admit about life and art from high school theater.

This morning during my drive, I was thinking about something that happened during my favorite play that I was a part of, Cinderella Waltz, that ended up being a lifelong lesson in how to make art.

In this production, I played the village idiot. (A role that would clearly leave me typecast for the rest of my life.) One performace in particular stood out: during a heated scene with my stage partner, she forgot her line. (I swear I’m not calling you out, Elise, because you know what happened next!) Every emotion flooded me, particularly fear and frustration, and I used it all, as we tried to get ourselves back on track, and we did.

But the two of us were asked to stay after to talk to our director, Mr. Johnson. And when you forget your lines, you are certainly expecting to get a little (or quite a bit) chewed out.

What happened next, though, was absolutely unexpected.

He instead told us that it was one of the best performances he had seen out of us high school students, period. We had elevated what we were doing together, and it moved him, and he commended us; since I was expecting the worse, this conversation moved me in a way that I never forgot.

It taught me this lesson (besides “never forget your lines”): if you put actual emotion into what you create, it will resonate with other humans.

So from then on, I knew: if I was writing something, and it made me laugh, or punched me in the stomach, or made me cry, then there was a good chance it would do that for someone else.

A good recent example is in Theia. Throughout the book, I weave in the backstories of the animals in the shelter. When I was finished writing Apple’s, in particular, I was an absolute mess. His story is so subtle but it says so much about that simple, good boy. I knew it was special.

Theater, and the people in it, taught me a great deal. I’m so grateful to be able to use what I learned in that time in ways that still enrich my life daily.

You do you.

April 26th, 2021

I finished reading Neil Gaiman’s View From The Cheap Seats last night, which is a collection of his essays, reviews, introductions and conclusions. I love Neil Gaiman, because I have eyes and a brain and a heart.

There are a lot of things in there that will, consciously or sub-, inspire my thinking and future conversations (I sincerely recommend the entire book), but there was something that stuck out yesterday that just made me glad to be human.

Neil recounts a sci-fi story he read when he was young. In it, there was a machine with two pods. In the first pod, you place anything you want. You push a button, and in the second pod appears an exact duplicate of the thing in the first pod. Soon, stores start using the machine to sell as many as you want of anything that can be replicated (using only check or credit to buy, as now cash can be duplicated), until nothing really has any value.

In this world, what would still be valuable?

(I’m putting this extra sentence here so you actually stop and think about it, because I want you to get to this conclusion before I tell you.)

The only thing of value in this world is anything that is one-of-a-kind.

People are smart. They would adapt. They would create shops that carried things that would have at least one small part or tiny difference from all the other things, even the things that appeared at first glance to be the same.

That world isn’t fictional. It’s our world.

The thing you do isn’t what makes you valuable. It’s the way you do that thing.

Whether you fix cars, wait tables, nurse people or animals back to health, drive a truck, write words, tell people what to do, help people with their mental or physical well-being, work in an office — nobody has ever done the thing you do like you do it, and nobody will ever do it like you after.

Even if it’s a thing that billions of people have already done. Nobody has your exact experiences, knowledge or personality, and nobody has applied the fabric of who you are to the thing you’re doing.

So you have to remember this: that is your value.

Nothing else.

Your value is what you bring to this world, not what the world has you do. Write it down, repeat it to yourself when you wake up in the morning.

Don’t be the best thing. Be the best you who does that thing, because it will never happen again in the eternity of time.

It’s Gonna Be May

April 24th, 2021

It’s my birthday in EXACTLY ONE WEEK FROM TODAY, which means that Time is a Solid State comes out EXACTLY ONE WEEK FROM TODAY!

If you’re looking to get me an absolutely free gift for my upcoming 21st b-day (shut up, it’s close enough), I have an idea: please post a review of my work!

You can do it in a number of ways:

1. Leave one on Amazon (preferred), Goodreads or another favorite book-related site!

2. Post a review on your social media!

3. Add a pic of you reading to your story!

4. Tell your friends and family in real life!

Whether or not you think you’ve read Time is a Solid State, the book, if you’ve ever read anything I’ve posted on the internet, you’ve at least read a page of it. Probably more. Write about that! (Or another book of mine you have read!)

Two amazing new Amazon reviews were added this week (thanks, Nick and Kristi!) and it’d make me happy to keep that momentum going. Before you know it, like Justin says: it’s gonna be May (1st).

All my love, squirrels.