Sadly, my small voice often interrupts itself to get up and go get something, and then forgets to finish what it was telling me.
Exfloofagant
Exfloofagant (catfinition) – something involving cats that exceeds the bounds of reason and necessity.
In use: “Michael was exfloofagant, posting manufactured words about cats every day.”
Thursday’s Theme Music
I like this song for the call and response, and weird title, but this line always bugged me:
You like a four letter words when you’re ready to
But then you won’t ’cause you know that you can
Really? “You like a four letter words…?”
Yes, of all the things out in the world that’s wrong in music, this is the piece wedged in my grammar craw. I always believe the title part, “Armageddon It,” was a piece of misheard words, like “D’yer Mak’er.”
Are you getting it? Armageddon it.
Stabbing
You ever have an annoying epiphany that just keeps stabbing into your thoughts, like that shower scene from the movie, Psycho, complete with the music, despite all the effort you make to shut it out?
Yeah. More coffee?
Bernard Said
I’ve discovered this, too. Writing the early drafts is like chugging beer while revising is like sipping a glass of wine. Each provides a unique pleasure.
Wednesday’s Theme Music
U2 is hot and cold for me. I really enjoy The Joshua Tree and Rattle and Hum albums, but I was less enthused about others. This song, “Mysterious Ways” from Achtung, Baby, is my favorite track from that album. I like the mystic romantic aspects the lyrics present, and the sharp guitar hook juxtaposed against the beat and bass line. It’s a song that I crank up, and one that I sing to my cats. I sing it to myself, too, as I contemplate the world and my writing. Talk about mysterious ways.
Prologue
It’s probably just me, but I’m concerned when a seven hundred twenty-two page novel begins with a thirty-eight page prologue.
Door Scratch Fever
Door Scratch Fever (DSF) (catfinition) – a nocturnal feline affliction characterized by a cat’s need to incessantly scratch on doors. Some cats suffer chronic DSF while others may come down with twelve and twenty-four hour variations. There is no known treatment.
In use: “Spring struck, and Quinn came down with a case of door scratch fever, wiping out any deep sleep for us.”
The Intersection
I dreamed about my work in progress last night, specifically about the story-line now being addressed. My mind, being what it is, inserted me sometimes, so that I was part of the story. My mind, being what it is, would see that I was dreaming about my writing and including myself as a character, and then try to untangle me from the fiction being written. “I’m the writer. I’m not supposed to be in this story.” That would lead to dream-confusion among the dream participants (dreampants?) about what was going on. It was really…interesting.
Which, after awakening to think about it, demonstrates an intriguing intersection between who I am and how much I put of myself in my writing. Even when I deliberately decide to have a character do or speak in ways that I wouldn’t, that choice is based on what I’d be doing. My characters are composites of other people, but I’m essentially imagining how those folks would respond. I don’t know, though. I don’t have a secret window into their lives. I guess at what they’d do, twisting their responses into madness and lies, and courage and hypocrisy, betrayal and honor, all based on what I think I’ve heard them say and do, and the character’s arc. You all know how unreliable we are as witnesses. We color it all.
But in there, in the intersection between my dreams and imagination, and my choices and decisions, is where my writing takes place. Sometimes it’s a large intersection – or even a roundabout, with too many cars traveling too fast, all trying to change lanes and enter and exit at the same time – and other times, it’s two small animal paths meeting in a quiet field. Whichever intersection it is, I sort it and write.
Time to write like crazy, at least one more time.
Michael Seidel, writer 