Tag: modernity

• March 21, 2013

  Shortcut to Sagebrush

  

  Navajo Route 20 is one of those roads you can only find if you’re looking for it. The epitome of rural, is stretches almost 40 miles from Gap, a town you won’t find on Google Maps, to Lechee, near Page. Only a few miles of either end are paved. The rest is a rough, washboard road that winds through the western desert of the Navajo Nation in northeastern Arizona. The only real marker of its existence is a flashing sign warning drivers that the road is closed — an attempt to keep curious tourists out.

  The road cuts through the heart of the arid ancestral lands of the Diné. The desert between Tuba City and Page is perhaps one of the last true wildernesses in the southwest. The only signs of human habitation are the horses that munch on patches of sagebrush and grama grass, the cows standing under a windmill to escape the scorching sun and the road itself.

  In places, the road is deep, loose sand. Gaping pits wait to devour unsuspecting vehicles. In others, the road is smooth sandstone that has been worn down by winter rains and truck tires. In some places, the road almost disappears entirely; swallowed up by the hungry desert.

  Even in my SUV, the road was treacherous. The washboard texture rattles the frame and sharp rocks leap out to slash at tires. Smaller cars than mine would not be able to make the trip. The only reason to be here at all is to avoid the 3-hour detour around a section of US-89 that collapsed last month. Long forgotten Navajo Route 20, which runs parallel to the 89, is now the fastest way to Page. And the adventurous or foolhardy are trickling in.

  Near Lechee, at the northern terminus of N20, construction crews are trying to level the dirt road in preparation for paving. Power lines loom on the horizon as they converge on the Navajo Generating Station to the north. The modern world is forcing its way in. There is pressure to make this road safe for travelers. The 89 is going to be out of commission for at least nine months to shore up the ground beneath the highway and Scottsdale elite want access to their houseboats on Lake Powell.

  The desert, like everything else in Indian Country, is being tamed. But the desert has its own way of existing that puts it at odds with developers and governments that want to control it. Wind may bury the road in sand; a flash flood may wash it away.

  Maybe they’ll succeed in transforming Navajo Route 20 into a corridor for commerce and tourism. Or maybe it will fight back.

  — 30 —

  Jonny Eberle is a writer, photographer and driver of dangerous roads. He lives in Flagstaff, AZ and in the Series of Tubes, where you can follow him on Twitter: @jonnyeberle. Thanks for reading!

  Related Posts:
  The Struggles of the Navajo Economy
  Confessions of an Amateur Wedding Photographer
  The End of an Era
• September 21, 2012

  A Writer’s Identity

  

  What makes me a writer? Is it the physical act of my fingertips hitting the keys in new combinations? Is it my pathological desire to collect and disseminate stories? Is it my tendency to stretch the truth in order to make it funnier or more dramatic? Is it the fact that I agonize over every word in every sentence? Am I writer because I write? Am I a writer because I can never bring myself to write? Or am I a writer just because I say I am?

  Maybe being a writer is more than an occupation or a topic of conversation. Maybe it’s an alternate reality; a hidden dimension where the unpredictable, the unfinished and the random occurrences of life are woven into coherent narrative.

  Maybe it’s a part of the brain that lies dormant in normal humans; an evolutionary leftover; a tiny, subversive piece of the cerebellum that blends fantasy with actuality and produces the chemical responsible for social awkwardness.

  Maybe it’s a symptom of modernity; a side effect of a world that moves too fast to be understood. Maybe the writer arises organically in groups that reach critical mass and suddenly require a special processor to filter the blur.

  Am I a writer because I have an extra sense? Am I a writer because my brain is miswired? Am I a writer because one in every x people need to be for civilization to survive?

  Or am I a writer just because I say I am?

  — 30 —

  The best feeling in the world is knowing that someone read your work and liked it. So, please, if you liked this post, let me know. Like, comment or follow me on Twitter: @jonnyeberle. Thanks!
• July 3, 2012

  Breathing Room for the Brain

  

  As writers, we love to wrap the creative process in a shroud of mystery. We ritualize it, we personify it. We pretend there’s a magical spigot of creativity in the sky that only the writing elite can turn on. But the reality is, creativity is a discipline. Channeling it may be more art than science, but there’s nothing supernatural about it.

  Creative thinking is a result of evolution. To survive in a hostile environment, human ancestors developed larger brains with the power to process observations, solve problems in innovative ways and share those ideas with others. Creativity led our species to dominate the planet, so it goes without saying that we should be able to summon a little of that power to write a simple story.

  

  The brain is an invention machine, but the modern world has dulled its abilities. Most of us (myself absolutely included), spend our days in a state of constant distraction. Our attention is divided and then subdivided to the point where we don’t give most problems much more than passing consideration. Our thoughts are scattered and superficial.

  So rarely are we forced to focus on one thing for any length of time that I sometimes forget how to concentrate.

  In my personal experience, the mind works best when it’s free to roam. So, when I want to be creative, I make some breathing room for my neurons to fire. I get away from everything that distracts me — phones, computers and people — and go for a drive. As I’m driving, I think a little about the parameters of the project I’m working on, whether it’s a plot problem or a stalled script, and then I let it go. I allow my mind to go where it wants for a while. I let it daydream, remember and theorize.

  It usually takes an hour for the chatter to die down. At this point, I’m usually sufficiently far away from humanity to get down to business (or I’ve pulled over and started a hike). Once my brain has sorted through the intellectual rubbish of the day, I’m ready to devote myself to the task at hand. All I take with me is a notebook. When the ideas begin to flow, I sit down and transcribe.

  Letting go of the distractions is not easy and sometimes my mind insists on returning to the day-to-day concerns of life. There’s nothing wrong with that. But most of the time, my brain seems to take the cue that we’re going to create something for a while. It’s simple, but it usually works. Merely giving my mind room to stretch does wonders for my creativity, giving birth to ideas I never could’ve fathomed if I tried to force it.

  Creative discovery doesn’t play by 21st century rules. It’s elusive, but worth seeking out. How do you make space for your imagination to express itself?

  

  — 30 —

  Remember those distractions I mentioned earlier? One of my favorites is Twitter. If you’re hip to the tweet, you can follow me at @jonnyeberle.