Carl Setzer

​I love to write. I love blogging. Yet there are challenges. Distributing my focus lowers my effectiveness. That troubles me. And yet, though each site has meaning to me. But each site has costs, economic and otherwise. Every time I focus on one, I can’t focus on another. I haven’t had an objective, much less a strategy on any of my sites. I love to write poetry, about Seattle, about sustainability, geek culture, about so very much. Each site has value to me. I hate the idea of neglecting one at the expense of another. Yet I also hate writing substandard stuff. I prefer to be proud of what I put on the internet. This time in history has so many choices; a blizzard of potentials and possibilities. And I hate letting go of those potentials. Any of them. Yet I know that must be done to achieve ANY of them. How does one choose which baby to let die? Perhaps overly dramatic, but it captured the sentiment I’ve been struggling with.

One of my goals: become a better writer. Of course, that really doesn't mean that much all by itself. So, another goal: define better. Some things are easy with that. Focus on solidifying the basics. It's do easy to wrap myself up in getting a post out fast, losing sight of quality. Thus, I'm slowing down, watching more closely for spelling errors, weird grammar, etc. Correcting the bad habits created from blogging. I'm working on refining my style. Trying to achieve a clarity through brevity. Find what's crisp and clear, ensuring every word earns its keep, so to say. Another idea: join a writing group. We have many around Edmonds and Lynnwood. Such an easy thing, meet with people. Of course, that means opening myself up, letting others know my dreams, and risking their ridicule. That's the fear, at least. Silly, I know. But very real, and uncomfortable. So, I know it's what I need to do.

Words are reflections, capturing the light reflecting off our lives.

Just posted this on Medium:  Upon The Horizon . Quite pleased with this one. Came to me during my walk this evening. It was good to be able to walk today. Last week, I wrenched my right arm and back at the gym. Rather intense pain drove me home from work early on Wednesday, Thursday and Friday. Saturday was spent planted firmly upon the couch. Sunday was punctuated by vertigo, leading me to a walk-in clinic, several appointments early in the week, a sinus infection diagnosis, and a battery of medications. Now I'm feeling more pain-free, and dizziness-free. Satisfying progress, though incomplete. Shortly, I'll be consuming my next blast of pain meds and drift off to sleep. Looking forward to the next day, this Friday approaching.

Just loaded this up on Medium: Conversations, Child Rearing, Hyperbole and Hope .

One of the first blogs I launched was this little Wordpress hosted thing: Questionsall.WordPress.Com . About a year ago, after an extended period of neglect, I brushed off the site and made it the center for my poetics. It's been growing nicely ever since. I'm rather proud of it, and want to take this project much more seriously. I hadn't done much with it besides the basic design from ages past, so I decided to brush up things a bit. Now, though, I want to update the domain, however, I'm not sure what to choose. I own CarlSetzer.net and could just port that over. Or I could try something like PoetsJourney or things along that line. I'm not sure what I like best yet. So, if you have any suggestions, leave me a comment or send me a tweet or fire up a smoke-signal or.... Your opinion matters and I'd love to hear from you. Hmmm...maybe I'll build a poll. Hmm....

My foci have moved lately. If you're a fan of my poetry, this page is focused on that . I'm quite pleased with the results. Less than a year ago, I had no followers. Now, over 1,400. 'Tis very validating. My more general writing has been over here at NotJustSeattle . Over 2,200 subscribers since launch. Again, quite pleasing. So, come over to these sites and say "hi".

This is the most powerful thing I've read all week, perhaps longer. Zoehler's very gifted as an invoker of emotion. I, a delighted invokee. Take a few minutes and give this a read. Please. When I’m Gone

Recently, my son started exploring vlogging and video creation. Inspired by the fame acquired by those YouTubers he admires, he focuses on emulating their styles. And on his stats. He finds it frustrating that his follower growth is slow. The expectation, I suppose, was to post a few videos and have followers blaze in. I constantly reinforce my belief: focus on quality, the followers will follow. Focusing only on stats and followers is much like the high-school kid who makes all their decisions based on maximizing social leverage, that which gains them the most popularity. It's a short term proposition, and the proverbial "moving target". Ultimately, you end up shallow and vacuous, with no depth or understanding. Many times in my career, through my whole life really, this notion comes up. Whether a business struggling to appeal to everyone, or just my own ponderings of why some piece of content hasn't taken off, I, too, look. Tis a struggle: focusing on quality over...

Laying upon my couch this lovely sick day, Twitter has been a dear friend (autocorrect changed "sick" to "suck"; might be something there). Yet, there's a tyranny present. I grab my tablet to look up self-publishing options (Kobo vs. Amazon). Then I came back to myself some time later, trying to remember what I was doing. Just one tweet popped up, and my mind was gone. So, exploring those options, I struggle. Amazon has a larger audience. However, do I want to align myself with them? What are my expectations of a company? I interviewed with Amazon a few years ago, plus I did several projects with them back in the mid-90s. So clearly I find then tolerable. Yet, they are getting gargantuan, which I suggested find concerning. Writing-wise, at this point I'm planning on assembling a collection of my poetry. It's been requested of me, and it sounds rewarding. Plus, I've been meaning to put side short-stories out, too. So I think this would be an interes...

I started writing young. Memories of writing comic-books as a fourth-grader my earliest. Always, though, insecurity drove me to destroy them. Fears of mockery, mostly. I knew, even then, how much better it should look. High standards choke productivity. Junior high brought a new set of fears. God forbid I be found writing stories! Or worse, poetry! I delighted writing poems, but knew the doom of letting that go public. This idea brought shivers of terror. I couldn’t dream of a better way to put the junior-high-social-destroy-me-bulls-eye on. It saddens the forty-four-year-old me how much power I granted “them”. As an adult, my fears still compell, though with a different face. Now I fear the inner critic, constantly rehashing every error, mistake, or lame word-use. But that’s only a piece. I, also, fear success. The demands of an audience! Wanting more of these characters. Wanting more of me. Success breeds an expectation of more success. What if I can’t? At least my journals do n...

Today, acknowledging summer’s demise, I finally turned on the heat. Air chill, perhaps related to the gray, darkening sky. Or, perhaps, the turning of the seasons announced boldly; the date on the calendar be damned! I wonder, how cold was it, nine years ago, when the world went a bit chill? Well, perhaps not cold, but rather hot. So often, since Nine-Eleven, Americans delved head-first into fear based reaction. Easily wrenched into “evil=muslim” paradigm. Fear. Our world shown uncontrolled, our dominance shown illusory, and the grand mirage of a world looking longingly at us (US?) for love and guidance blown apart. Fear shoved into our face, our people unused to this sensation. Irrational rage birthed. I hoped that we, as a people, would remain above petty vindictiveness and bigoted rage. That we would be stronger, less alarmist. Our reaction to such tragedy based on effectiveness and reason. My hope remains longing for fulfillment. At moments glimmers of hope exist. Yet, I see this ...

I came across this blog from an internal Microsoft news source. Before his death Joshua Isaac was an internal communications specialist here at Microsoft. His blog captures the journey he took as a cancer patient, through hospice care, to his untimely death. The first thought I have is one of sadness. Dying at 37, with young children, is a tragedy on multiple levels. With my own mother’s death, at cancer’s hands, his story resonates strongly with me. This resonance speaks loudly, reminding me to be present; present with my family, with my friends, with all that I love. One never knows when it returns to dust. I admire his courage, facing death with openness and honesty. In his blog he shared a great deal, opening my mind to so much. Amazing character! Not too many people would respond to cancer by crafting an independent film. My Left Hand documents this part of his of his life; cancer and it’s ravages. Though we both worked at Microsoft, the vastness of this...

So, I read Charles Bukowski’s “Women” this week. He’s a writer that I’ve felt I SHOULD read for some time, but (from what I’d heard) felt a need to avoid (or, at least, imbibe my ‘other-things-to-do’ notions). Now, having succumbed to my literary aspirations, I’ve taken the dive. I figured, “Heck, I might actually like his stuff. Besides, all kinds of folks are comparing him to Whitman, Williams, and the like.” Perhaps my literary aspirations are weak, but I found it coarsely written, with most detail centering around sex. Well, that and booze. Shouldn’t surprise me, I guess. However, after awhile, with nothing else, even sex gets boring (perhaps that’s why I find network TV dull and uninspiring?). This was (possibly) deliberate, to make the character one dimensional, unpleasant, and rather unsympathetic. As the point of view really never changed, things became more and more tedious; we looked through Chinaski’s eyes exclusively. And his view only mildly shifted. It was interesting to ...

A mind moves beneath the calm. time's unable to truly calm the winds. Stillness fleeting, not withering, yet stunted. Never towering, yet amazingly alive amist hostile winds. Dreaming of quiet pastures which I fear.

“The outcome of any serious research can only be to make two questions grow where only one grew before.” - Thorstein Veblen This drives home a point that I’ve often meditated on; why is it that that exploration only whets the appetite for further exploration? I was once told that we’re close to knowing all there is to know. What a load of rubbish, eh? That was some time back (junior high, methinks). Well, whatever. What’s really amazing here is how powerful this is. So many folks think that the purpose of research is (simply) answering a question, finding the truth. Yet, the more you learn, the further you seem to be from the truth. Perhaps it is within the quest for knowledge that we learn how far from the truth we really were. Eh, sounds good…

At a bookstore I wondered about the books I held. I'm not drawn as strongly to the big titles, best sellers or well known authors. Sure, I buy them from time to time, but they aren't the ones that it's painful to walk away from. I love the books from smaller voices, voices that don't have the million dollar marketing campaign. Those books are hard to leave, for they often don't come into my life again. They are gems, hard to see wrapped in earth, and shameful to leave behind.