I've spent the weekend chewing on last week's big story. No, not Miley closing her Twitter account (but damn, girl, how am I going to know when you buy new shoes and where?). No, no. I'm talking, of course, about the heybuhwha?!? out of Stockholm at the end of the week when they awarded Obama the Nobel Peace Prize.

I must admit to having been taken aback by the announcement. I mean, the guy's been in office for less than a year, most of which (quite possibly all of which) has been spent trying to put out the fires started by the Cheney administration (yeah, that's right, I went there). Now, I must admit to being in support of Obama. I even voted for the man, which was sort of huge for me. Taking great pride in the fierce independence of my political views, I haven't shown support for a candidate from either of the two brand name parties in my entire adult life. It was just that we had reached a point here in America in 2008 where I felt we needed intelligence, heart and (most of all) forward-thinking hope more than anything else if we were going to move forward as a nation. I flirted with throwing my support to Ron Paul, but I eventually fell in behind the Obama wagon. I knew his first couple of years were going to be rough.

When I was in college, I moved into a big rented house with a few of my friends. We arrived that first day to move in to find that the previous tenants had thrown a big party just before they moved out. The floors were trashed, there was garbage in the corners of nearly every room, one of the toilets was clogged with used condoms, I could go on but no one wants to hear the truly nasty stuff. I sort of imagine Obama's first few days in the White House felt very much like that first day in that house. The assholes who were there before had left an unholy mess, and now it's his job to clean things after them.

I honestly believe him to be committed to bringing about a better world for me and my children, but he certainly hasn't been able to accomplish enough to warrant the Nobel Peace Prize. Right? But the more I thought about it, the more I warmed to the idea. See, if we truly want peace; if we want to change this world we live in and show some sign of real evolution as a society, we all need to do everything we can to take an active stance. It's just not enough anymore to stand back and applaud the people who are working to fix things. We need to all get in and get to work if it's ever going to happen. Nor can we tolerate the dickheads who stand back and take potshots at those of us who are trying to do something good and right for a change (I'm looking at you, Entire Staff of Fox "News"). Certain elements of our media are pushing this nation to the brink of something not entirely unlike a civil war, and it's time to push back. But I digress. That's a topic for another time, methinks.

I think it's a brilliant move on the part of the gang in Stockholm to swoop in and present the Nobel Peace Prize to the one person on the planet in a position to truly make change, and who is potentially on the cusp of doing so. Let's not forget that the simple fact of his being elected President of the United States created a change in the paradigm. I am still unsure about the Nobel committee's timing. I mean, I think I would have waited to see how things play out in Afghanistan before passing out cigars. Maybe bestow this on him next year, you know? But then, that could just be me being cautious, and caution and fear has been driving our society's decision-making for far too long. No, this was a good call. I can't say if it's the best call or even a right call, but it is a good call. I would stand back and applaud the prize committee for their efforts, but I'm too busy trying to contribute something.

Yeah, well. That didn't really work out. See, I have this problem as a writer. I set out to do simple things. I really do. I don't set unreasonable expectations for myself. I decided last week (as evidenced by last week's blog entry) that I was going to write a short story. Seems simple enough, right? I had the idea, the theme was set, the plot was (mostly) worked out. At least enough to get started. I didn't have a definitive ending yet, but sometimes these things find their own voices and lead me through them on their own. So, I got to work and I worked and struggled and wrestled with it and tried to pummel this damn story into submission. As of the past couple of days, I have actually nearly convinced myself that I should just throw in the towel and resign myself to a life of non-publication. This thing just isn't working.

Then a couple of days ago, it occurred to me what the problem was. The story was straining in the constrictions I was trying to shoehorn it into. Like an NFL player in a PeeWee league uniform, this story wants to sprawl out and fill much more space than a short story format would allow. Something like six books' worth of space, if my calculations are correct. Now, this is what sucks. I am currently working on two long(ish)-term projects and was looking for a palate cleanser to get me on the rails and moving again after the mayhem of last summer and my descent into slothfulness that has occurred over the past few months. I needed the ego boost of a completed project. And now, I just have another thing to shove onto the already-crowded back burner. Don't get me wrong here, I'm not complaining about having ideas. I would never be so ungrateful as to go there. Ideas are all I have. It's the discipline required for the execution of these ideas which I lack. And, frankly, that's the thing that is keeping me on the bench. Sorry to bring you down, my dear readers. I'm just sort of frustrated at the moment and having a hard time scrabbling my way up out of this slump I've fallen into. Maybe I should try a little beat poetry to get my quill in the well again. I don't know.

Stay tuned...