Environmental Chemistry

       Keep this post quiet. I’m not supposed to be blogging. I’m supposed to be writing my book. I made a pilgrimage to Burlington, Vermont, to a self-imposed writing retreat. I’m here to immerse myself in the book writing process and to minimize distractions. My writing coach and I agreed that all of my writing energy was to go into the book. Not the blog. But I’m cheating and posting anyway. Naughty boy. Punish me. Please.
       Burlington is an jazzy little city of just under 50,000 in upstate Vermont, right on picturesque Lake Champlain, surrounded by mountains. It’s a very eclectic place. It’s part college town, as the University of Vermont is right here; part artist community, with lots of new age hippies, free spirits, and artsy folk living here (think of the band Phish); part commerce mecca, with oodles of small, one-of-a-kind retail shops mixed in with some old reliable chain outfits; part somewhat upscale hip and happein’ social scene, with many cool bars, restaurants, and an active music scene; and part small town, with a very down to earth, rural, distinctly New England feel. Burlington has many facets, many layers, and a truly unique feel, all it’s own. It reminds me of me. One reason I’m sure I like it so much.
       First and foremost, this trip to Burlington is a method to jump start the writing of my book, which is coming along slowly. The process and rhythm of book writing is vastly different than that of writing a blog, as I have come to find out. Even though I’ve been a fairly prolific blogger, writing hundreds of thousands of words and over 250 posts over the last seven years, the writing of my book has proven to be quite a challenge. It’s such a different animal than blogging. That’s part of it. The other other part is my propensity to become distracted by the rest of my pretty delicious life.
       I have nobody to blame but myself. I allow myself to become easily distracted in Boston, and it becomes hard for me to focus consistently. But it’s more than that. What I’ve also come to realize is that I’m not finding the physical space I need to write this book in Boston. And I’ve tried. I don’t know what it is, exactly. But after being here in Burlington only a few days, I have affirmed my gut feeling that, if I put myself in environments that atmospherically feel great to me, that excite and stimulate me, that offer a sense of adventure and are different from what I’m used to, the juices flow. And so does the writing. Even the book writing.
       What I’m doing is throwing myself into a whole different world from which to create from. I haven’t spent enough time in Burlington to really know it. It’s still fresh and new to me. It has a pulse and a vibe and a chemistry all it’s own. That freshness, newness, and unique vibration makes its way into me. My environment, the totality of the experience, works on me, stimulates me. It changes my body and mind chemistry. It moves me. I in turn vibrate differently. And if I’m doing it right, I bring all of that to my writing. The experience of being up here is like an adrenaline shot of stimulus and creativity.  
       In the context of your intimate relationship, changing your environment can give you and your partner a romantic and sexual shot in the arm. A “Staycation” can be a relatively inexpensive way to add some zest to your love life. Staying in a hotel, in a town or city close to home but far enough away that you feel like you’re out of your normal environment, can work wonders. Especially if it’s a town or city with a distinct, unique feel to it. There are countless cities and towns like that, some not far from you, no matter where you live. Seek them out. Go there for the weekend, or just the night. Make love in a hotel room, after you’ve been out to a new restaurant, dancing in a new club, walking streets you’ve rarely or never walked before. Do things in bed you’ve been wanting to try, but haven’t. This is the perfect time and place for that. Adventure breeds more adventure.
       I’m very much digging my time here. I’m staying at a hotel within walking distance of The Church Street Marketplace and Downtown Burlington, home to scores of interesting shops, restaurants, bars, and people. My challenge is to not spend too much time away from my writing, and instead, use the environment as a stimulating backdrop to the work. So far, I’m doing just fine.



©2013 Clint Piatelli, MuscleHeart LLC, and Red F Publishing. All rights reserved.

Light Up The Sky

       Before glancing out my window the other evening, I could feel it. It was happening inside my own four walls. My space felt different. And looked different. I looked around my living room, as if asking “What’s going on in here?”.
       It was in fact a simple matter of lighting. But I hadn’t turned any lights on or off. I had’t drawn any shades. I hadn’t done anything at all. And yet, everything was suddenly different.
       The inner space of my condo looked and felt unlike it ever had before. And I wanted to know what was going on. I wanted to know why.
       After quickly discerning that this change wasn’t coming from the inside, I turned my attention outside and looked out my window. Lo and behold, outside looked and felt different too. There was a strange, almost eerie, yet beautiful glow, coming from out there. That’s when I got really curious, grabbed my camera, and headed out the door.
       Now I was inside the difference. I got inside of it from going outside. I looked up at the sky and then towards the horizon. “Of course”, I thought. Nature’s Light Show was doing something special yet again. And when that happens, well, everything feels different.
       After snapping a bunch of pictures, I began philosophizing. Which I often do after being powerfully impacted by the force of my surroundings. I reflected on my own sensitivity to my environment, and how that sensitivity is both a blessing and a curse. How that sensitivity, as an artist, gives me so much to work with. And how I can better manage that sensitivity without hamstringing its potency.    

©2013 Clint Piatelli, MuscleHeart LLC, and Red F Publishing. All rights reserved.

Dear Autumn: A Love Letter

Dear Autumn,
       Where are you baby? I miss you.
       Don’t get me wrong. I love Summer. She’s hot, sexy, and lots of fun. She doesn’t wear much clothing, and looks incredible in a bikini. She's always barefoot, which drives me wild.  She’s totally cool with me going shirtless when I’m with her. She’s a bright ray of sunshine, and her sunshine greets me early and stays up with me late. We do an awful lot when she’s here. I really love her.
       But it’s time for you, now, sweet Autumn. Your chestnut hair and golden skin. Your tight leggings, sexy boots, and cozy, snug sweaters. Your delicious scent, as we walk together in the cool, crisp air, and marvel at the explosion of color all around us. Football! Glorious, mayhemic football! Making fires, and then making love in front of the flames. The changing light, and the special feel of a late Saturday afternoon. Our get-aways to little country towns to see the flamboyant, colorful magic.
       You, my lovely Autumn, are the most romantic of them all. And, no matter what anyone says, you are just as beautiful as Summer.
       But where are you?
       Oh. Wait.
       There you are.............

   

©2013 Clint Piatelli, MuscleHeart LLC, and Red F Publishing. All rights reserved.

All The World's A Stage

       One of the great things about living in a climate with true seasons, like here in New England, is the changing stage. The “stage”, in this context, is the totality of the external physical environment. Put more simply, the stage is what it’s like outside.
       Our physical external environment, just like a theatrical stage, contains distinct elements: lighting, scenery, weather (although usually unchanging and stable in a theatre), atmosphere and ambiance. All of those interact and create an overall “Feel”. That Feel has a visceral impact on our overall experience. Taken to the extreme, for example, our experience of a sunny, eighty degree day at the beach is distinctly different from our experience of a twenty degree day skiing during a snow storm. A lot of that has to do with the particular dynamics of our physical environment. A lot of that has to do with Feel.
       The stage around New England this time of year, late September and early October, takes on a whole different Feel. First of all, the lighting is different. Think of how much lighting effects mood, and experience, be it in your living room or your bedroom. While the lights on a theatrical stage are numerous, of different varieties, shapes, sizes, and colors, on the stage I’m talking about, there’s only one light. The sun. And that singular light’s differing positions in the sky has a vast impact on the overall Feel of autumn.
       The sun’s trajectory is completely different come fall than it is in summer. It’s not just a simple matter of the sun being higher or lower in the sky. It’s a matter of the sun being in completely different positions, every moment of the day, because of it’s trajectory. In other words, at any given minute in late September, the sun is in a position that it could not possibly be in, in say mid July.
       So our lighting is completely different. I can feel that. It somehow impacts me on a level that I don’t completely understand. It’s like I’ve stepped into a whole new world come late September. Just because of the lighting. I love that I pick up on that. Lots of people do. That’s part of what they mean, whether they know it or not, when they say “I love Fall. I love how it Feels.”
       Then there’s the scenery. Again, one of the perks of living in a climate with true seasons. The trees explode with color. In the summer, the amount and variety of the color green is staggering, and beautiful. In the fall, it’s a whole different color palette, and on a gigantic scale. We get color in the summer in the form of flowers. We get color in the fall in the form of trees. Yellow, orange, red. These new colors on this new scale interplay with the new lighting. They combine to create a very powerful overall effect. A whole new Feel.
       In the winter, the lighting and scenery change yet again. I actually don’t mind all the grey, come late November. I welcome it. Yet again, it’s a whole different look, a whole new Feel. It also means snow is coming. And we know how I feel about snow. Or maybe you don’t. I’m a Snow Junkie. Pure and simple.
       These changes on life’s grandest stage, namely The Great Outdoors, are as real and visceral for me as if I were an actor in a play, and I went from the stage of “Cleopatra” to the stage of “A Christmas Carol”. Indeed, “all the world’s a stage”. And it’s a beautifully shifting and constantly changing stage, to boot.
       Shakespeare missed that part. I didn’t.

©2013 Clint Piatelli, MuscleHeart, and Red F Publishing. All rights reserved.

Desert Magic

       From watching too many Clint Eastwood westerns on television throughout my formative years, I romanticized the desert. The mythical magic of The Mojave was real to me, even though I had never stepped foot there. I could feel it. Even through a TV screen.
       When I’m experiencing any form of art or entertainment, be it a book, a movie, a piece of music, or a painting, I have the ability to completely immerse myself within it. Some call it “getting lost”. I call it “becoming part of”. What I actually lose touch with is all other external reality. Whatever else is happening around me suddenly feels almost extemporaneous. My whole world becomes that song, or that movie, or that whatever.
       It’s an outgrowth of constant fantasizing as a kid: my coping mechanism of choice when things got too uncomfortable, or too heavy, or too fuckin‘ traumatic for me. Which was, apparently, fairly often. My creativity and imagination developed a Warp Drive, and I used it. I was able to instantly leave wherever I was and go someplace else. And if there was already a place to go, like a song or a television show, well sometimes that became my destination. At that point, I wasn’t in my body anymore; I was in the car with Fred Flintstone.
       In 2003, driving from Los Angeles to Phoenix, I had an opportunity to see Joshua Tree National Park, which is in The Mojave Desert. The night sky in the Mojave, far from the light pollution of populated areas, is pitch black and spectacularly full of stars. Being an astronomy fiend, I just had to do some star gazing in that environment. And catching the sunrise at Keyes View, also in Joshua Tree, was on my bucket list.
       I wanted to spend the night in the park, in the desert, under a blanket of thousands of stars. Not in a motel room. The problem was, it was November, and the desert can get bloody cold at night that time of year. According to park services, the lows that night were expected to dip into the high thirties. I had no tent, no sleeping bag, no blankets, no pillows. I didn’t even have a jacket. But I did have a car. And some clothes. That would have to do.
       So I threw on as many layers as I had with me, spent as much time as I could outside looking at the stars, and then found a place to park. Putting the driver’s seat all the way back, I did my best to fall asleep. Throughout the night, I would wake up every half hour or so, because I was freezing, start the car, crank the heat, and bring the temperature up enough so I could fall back asleep. This went on all night, until about two hours before sunrise, when I made my way to Keyes View. I was the only one there. That’s where this picture was taken.
       It was worth it. Like I said. Desert Magic.


©2013 Clint Piatelli, MuscleHeart, and Red F Publishing. All rights reserved.