Bookends

I was stymied in my writing yesterday. I’d written a bunch (technical writing slang for “many words and a long time”) yesterday, and made great progress. But —

As great comedians have noted, there’s always a “but.”

My but came because I didn’t write the scene I’d intended. I wrote the setup for the scene, and then went blank. I knew what happened after that scene, so I wrote the other end of it. Now I had bookends, with blank space to fill in the middle. I knew the subsequent scene to those scenes, and began writing them in my head after I’d stopped physically writing. But that scene I’d set out to write? Still blank.

I sporadically considered the scene’s elements, setup and outcome through the evening as I walked, ate, read books, and fed the cats. Nothing firmed. It was like Jello that wouldn’t set.

Come this morning, though, as I rose, fed cats, checked on the solar panels invertor, and made coffee, the scene swam into view. Confrontations and dialogue developed. Unexpected actions by the characters joined. As the scene expanded and crystallized, changes required to the setup, outcome, and the subsequent story being written in my head emerged. By the time I’d finished showering and shaving, and was dressing, words rushed into my head. That’s exciting and fun.

Got my coffee. Time to write like crazy, at least one more time.

Floonk

Floonk (catfintion) – cat fail, such as trying to jump from one surface to another, and missing. Catologists note that floonks are followed by intense grooming sessions, apparently as an effort for the cat to save face and pretend that they didn’t floonk.

String Theory

Once again, he found himself trimming the strings that attached him to others.

snip, snip 

he tried cutting off their strings of negativity energy

snip, snip

rigidity, judgement

snip, snip

anger, resentment, hostility

snip, snip

karma

But he’d learned by now that the strings were like hair,

always growing back, and eventually requiring a new trim.

Saturday’s Theme Song

Today’s theme song choice is a little…odd…for me. David Cassidy’s death triggered the choice.

When I was growing up and noticing girls, I began going to their houses. I wasn’t stalking them; they invited me.

This was around the same time that music was more interesting to me, say sixth grade. When going to their houses, though, I found their music preferences were different from mine. Whereas I leaned toward Uriah Heep, Humble Pie, Alice Cooper, Pink Floyd, the Stones, the Who, etc., they had the Monkees, Herman and the Hermits, David Cassidy, the Jackson 5, Osmonds, and other music that I disdained as bubble gum pap. Yeah, I was a snob.

One of those albums that I often encountered was David Gates and Bread, and their albums. The one I most remember was “Baby I’m-a Want You,” with the hit single by the same name. I was almost sixteen when this album came out. I’ve nothing against it (or the group), but that it seemed too mellow and sappy for me. Please forgive my judgement; I was a young rebel.

Those are all remembered generalities. Melissa was very into the Who. Of course, the irony that I didn’t realize until later was that my music preferences developed because I was listening to my older sister’s music.

 

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