Today’s Theme Music

Today’s theme music streams in from the fall of the Berlin Wall and the massacre in Tienanmen Square.

The Berlin Wall wall was first a fence and then a guarded concrete wall. Built in 1961, it made East Berlin an island of Soviet Union totalitarianism and communism amidst western culture, democracy and freedom. I traveled through East Berlin by train while the wall was up. Still scarred by the tanks and guns of World War II, the streets were ghostly empty avenues behind crumbling concrete and rusting steel.

The massacre in Tienanmen Square is sometimes called the June Fourth Incident. The People’s Republic of China was experiencing a spring of democratic thought in 1989, with its people hoping for greater freedoms and independence. They dissented with their government’s position and were killed by their government for their ideals.

Now, in 2017, the Berlin Wall has fallen. The Union of Soviet Socialists States has fragmented into smaller nations, dominated by Russia. The PRC, often just called China, remains. While shifts have occurred there, it remains a nation of oppressed people with little freedoms.

Here in America, a billionaire has been elected POTUS with less than the popular vote. He wants to build a wall to protect us. As a child and adult who lived with a wall as a symbol of political differences and repression, I’m dubious of his motives and ideals, and leery of what might come to pass.

The events of Tienanmen Square and the fall of the Berlin Wall inspired Seal to write this song. Let’s hope this song inspires us and we avoid becoming the people behind the wall.

Here, from 1991, is Seal with ‘Crazy’. We’re never going to survive unless we get a little crazy.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1A-hqZf7xQs

Catnixing

Catnixing takes place when one cat who normally accepts another cat instead rejects the other cat.

“Quinn walked up to Meep to sniff his face but Meep catnixed Quinn with a pullback and a raised paw.”

When Writers Attack

Battling the usual monsters, I’m digging in for the fight. Fiction writing is supposed to be fun. Sometimes it gets ugly.

I respect the process of giving, taking, surrendering, losing ground and forging ahead. Every day seems like a fresh assault on my determination. Like others, I’ve learned that creativity is messy. Stay in it for the long haul, you need patience, endurance and stamina. Add a tincture of insanity, a cup of insecurity and a dollop of angst, and you pretty much have your standard writer. Bake at a secret temperature until undone or burnt to an unrecognizable crisp.

While girding my mind for the trip to this morning’s writing front, I procrastinated. I read others who I enjoy who’d just posted, like Dirty Sci-Fi Buddha, The Excited Writer and Seeds4Life, and caught up with Chris Rodell’s humorous post on the swim meet from Hell.

Nichole on The Excited Writer linked to another post, ‘Patience Over the Long, Long Haul’, by Tracy Hahn-Burkett. Like Nichole, the piece spoke to me about the writing stew and how writers stew and simmer while struggling.

I was fortunate. Each of these posts gave me something that I needed today in their words, observations and messages. A large part of blogging for me isn’t just posting the strange thoughts bubbling through me, flexing myself to begin serious writing, or writing to understand what the hell I’m thinking, but also, and as importantly, to read others in my tribe. These posts today united in a nice synergy of humor and reminders that we may write alone but we’re not alone. They inspired me to press on.

I’m fortunate because I found that encouragement in these posts. I read many others who aren’t nearly as lucky. They struggle to find their voice, to cope with their lives and their pasts, and despair about finding their futures. I’m in a little bit better shape than most of them. That’s why I shared those posts. Maybe others will find the same strength that I found.

Now I’m ready to attack the novel. “Once more into the breach, lads, once more into the breach.”

Hold up; belay that order. I’m writing science fiction. We’re in space.

Let’s avoid the breaches, okay?

Streaming Preparations

Spring is barely awake, clearing her throat.

Give Spring some coffee.

Winter is staggering in, trying to make a last stand. “I shall not pass.”

Cold in here. Gonna be a freezing cold therapy shower.

Look how big my head looks compared to my naked body.

None of the cats like that food with the cranberries in it. Five cats can’t be wrong.

Catvincing. Trying to convince a cat of something.

Jade would’ve eaten it. Jade ate everything.

OMG, THIS SHOWER IS FREAKING COLD. JESUS, JESUS, JESUS.

Woof. Glad that’s over.

What happened to my hair? It looked good a minute ago. What happened?

Good is a relative term.

Not going to trim the beard. Looks okay as is. For now. So don’t look later. Right.

Oh, there’s emails to write and things to do and look at the time. Time to get moving.

Time to go write like crazy, at least one more time.

Where the hell are my shoes?

Today’s Theme Music

Testing, testing.

Can you hear me?

Excellent. Let’s get started.

Today’s theme music is by Fine Young Cannibals. This is ‘Good Thing’, from 1989. I think you’ll be pleased with the selection. It’s a fine song for streaming in your head as you conduct your business today.

Have a nice day.

That is all.

Dreams of Ineptness

What a night of dreams. Given scales of one to ten, where ten is the highest, these dreams were around eights on the vividness and intensity scales. They left me feeling emotionally, mentally and physically exhausted. Dreams of these types trigger speculation that I’m living in the dreams, and the dreams are the reality. So while I’ve been here, living with all of its entanglements and needs, I’ve actually been asleep there. Once I awaken there, I experience that life through my dreams.

Makes sense. In the dreams, I was bewildered about what was going on and expectations for me. Everyone liked me. Nobody was concerned about me. I was just there, part of the landscape. It was an incoherent landscape. Some others and I were in the back interior of a giant parked 1982 Camaro. It was so large, we were standing and moving around without being encumbered. Things were sometimes written on the car’s immense rear hatch window. But I knew I wasn’t doing what I was supposed to be doing. Fueled by guilt, anxiety burned through me. I was going to be found out at any moment. 

Leaving the Camaro, I raced around in a covert frenzy, attempting to cover my tracks and do what I was supposed to be doing all along. The office made no sense. Everything had been moved outside. Meanwhile, new instructions were being introduced. I struggled to stay abreast of the new ideas. I was supposed to be understanding this stuff, using it and explaining it to others. I had little idea of what was going on.

I sought out the people in charge and the files. The files were supposed to be locked up. I didn’t know the combination. One of those in charge confessed to me that the locks didn’t work. They were a facade. She laughed as she explained this. As I tried catching up on my tasks and correct everything, I began learning through intimate encounters with others, nobody else knew what was going on. It was chaos with a veneer of normalcy and knowledge. Nobody else was doing it correctly. Most barely understood what I talked about and laughed when I mentioned it. A series of giggling confessions were shared with me to that end.

Understanding that I wasn’t going to be discovered because I was an inept fraud, I began relaxing. My errors and shortcomings weren’t going to be discovered because everyone else had shortcomings and were making errors. None of them cared about it.

Writing about them, I chortle with insight. Ah, yes, the classic dreams of inadequacy and our latent, perpetual fears of being exposed as a fraud. Do writers ever experience anything like this? I suppose not. Most writers are powerhouses of security and self-confidence.

I should just move on. I would, but I feel too tired. I need to sleep to recover from my dreams.

Now there’s a metaphor if I’ve ever read one.

Inspirational Quote # 589

Another area of my worries while writing – to create characters that nobody cares about. I think they become too much like me, interior people who think without acting, and don’t emote. If it’s not one thing, it’s the same damn thing over and over again.

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Fitbit Writing

I’ve had my Fitbit for three and a half months. My daily average for steps is eleven thousand, seven hundred. My daily miles are five point five two. My personal best for daily steps was seventeen thousand, five hundred.

Until yesterday. Yesterday, I achieved almost twenty-two thousand steps and ten miles. I confess, if I’d known I was so close to doubling my average, I would have done it. That’s how I’m wired.

Now it’s the morning after.

I feel great but I question myself about what my Fitbit goal and expectations should be. I will work to reach and exceed my daily goals. I want to attempt another big walking and exercising day.

It’s the same way with writing. I typically write about eleven hundred words a day. I also edit, revise and polish. That’s part of my pantser organic writing process. My writing mind is like a loom weaving the story. I move back and forth through it.

Some days, I catch fire. The most I’ve ever written in one day was five thousand words, five thousand very intense words. Just like walking twenty-two thousand steps yesterday, it felt awesome. The next day, I wanted to do again. Why, if I could do five thousand words a day, every day, I’d become impressively prolific.

But the next day’s writing session was a struggle to achieve my standard output. I fought to achieve one thousand words and felt exhausted and disenchanted afterwards. It’s been like that with other writing days when I’ve doubled or tripled my average. Why, I tested myself to understand.

After thinking about this over the years, I’ve concluded that I do have a finite daily energy level. Exceeding that can happen but it takes it toll on the next day. I don’t know if science and medicine back me up on this, or if others have had the same experience. I know through my military experience of working twelve plus hours a day through illness and terrible conditions that I can draw deeper from the well. But doing so requires me to shut out absolutely everything else.

That was easy to do in a military environment. We had an established mission with a high priority. Other missions and units were depending on us. If we failed, a domino effect began. The stakes were high. So was the visibility.

Our expectations also set us up for success. Everyone outside of ours – family, friends and other unit members – understood our focus. They knew we didn’t have time or energy for anything else, and they gave us space.

But the writing experience is different from the military experience and the Fitbit experience. With Fitbit goals, it’s a personal goal. If I don’t make it, well, that sucks, but c’est la vie. The military commitment was well-established and understood.

Writing, however, is a terribly personal beast that has a hold on me. While the Fitbit goals require physical commitment with some smaller levels of intellectual and emotional commitments, I have all that in me, no problem. The military commitments were drawn at higher levels from those same veins.

The veins of energy and activity required for writing are much, much different. Physically, sitting in a chair, thinking, reading and typing, it doesn’t seem like it should be taxing. Yet, it becomes physically exhausting. Writing takes more out of me than walking all those steps.

Likewise, from intellectual and creative points of view, writing is more of a debilitating challenge. I worked for a decade for IBM as a planner and analyst. I was often presented with unique business cases to analyze and consider for my recommendations, observations and inputs. Those were interesting and challenging logic problems, and required intensely creative problem solving approaches, but still, they fell way short of what’s called for when fiction writing. Yes, my stories, characters, situations and worlds tend toward being complicated and involved. I remain constantly astounded by the levels of commitment I give my writing.

Returning to my Fitbit goals, I understand that twenty-two grand was a terrific result for me. I’ll enjoy it and move on because my goal is not to beat myself every day, but to maintain and achieve an average that will help me toward greater goals of being healtheir. In other words, the daily steps are not an end of themselves but part of a larger process.

So it is, too, with the writing. The word counts, editing, revising and polishing are not the end results. They’re part of a larger process of conceiving, writing, finishing and publishing a novel.

Time to write like crazy now, at least one more time.

 

Today’s Theme Music

Ah, Sunday morning.

An overcast sky hides sunshine. Temperatures in the upper forties keeps the light rain from becoming something more, and daffodils and blossoms on trees are powering serious Spring imagery. The coffee is brewed…soon pancakes will be prepared. Something light is required for such a serene sense of home and harmony.

Naw. Fed by dreams of insistence and resistance, the soul is hungering for something with a meaty beat. Enter Metallica. ‘Enter Sandman’. Enter 1991.

This song was released a few months after my arrival back to the United States. Living in the super-expensive SF Bay area, we were signed up for base housing. Meanwhile, we lived in a large one bedroom apartment on Mathilda Avenue in Sunnyvale, less than two miles from Onizuka Air Station, where I worked.

That area of Mountain View, Sunnyvale and Los Altos enjoyed gorgeous weather nine months of the year. By May, the standard forecast called for sunshine, blue skies, and a temperature of seventy by ten AM. We enjoyed our Sunday mornings with the SF Chronicle and a light repast. Frozen unbaked croissants were purchased at the Milk Pail Market at the corner of California and San Antonio in Alta View. We defrosted them and let them rise overnight, baking them early in the morning. Add some fresh fruit from De Martini Orchard in Los Altos, a cup of Peet’s coffee, and three sweet cats to supervise the meal, and it’s the ingredients of wonderful Sunday mornings and pleasant memories.

Catxing

Attempting to coax a cat to do or accept something. Examples:

“Seriously, Flash, I’m not going to hurt you. Please come out from under the bed and take the pill. It’s good for you. It’ll get rid of those nasty worms.”

“Here, Princess. I bought some new food for you. It’s chicken and it’s supposed to be healthier for you. Here, let me put a little on my finger for you to taste. Come on, honey. I think you’ll like it.”

“Jade, don’t you want to come in? It’s boring down rain. Why are you being obstinate today?”

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