Month: June 2018

Cold Coffee, Hot Writing

It was an exhausting, satisfying, and intense writing session today. All those muses who reside in the apartments of my being were silenced, except one. They knew exactly what I was to write, and one was the designated director.

Barely able to keep up, I hit that flow. The story’s complexities and this path that I’m following demanded that I first edit the two chapters I’d finished yesterday. Then, the muse dictated, start this chapter, and then another, and so on, until five chapters were being written in parallel. Had to be, because of the nature of the unfolding events. I typed, editing and revising, jumping between pages, paragraphs, characters, and chapters as ordered and needed, trying hard to keep up.

Finally stopping, I look up and engage in the coming-out period. Looking out the window, a line from “Uncle Salty” by Aerosmith comes to me: “Ooo, it’s a sunny day outside my window.”

Coming out after writing is always odd. These are the long seconds endured after intense writing when I re-enter life, my existence, reality, whatever you want to call it. I hear music and see other people. An air-conditioner’s chilly breeze teases my bare legs and neck. I feel detached from being there. What feels most real is that my butt cheeks feel sore and numb, and muscle strain stretches across my shoulders.

Still, I feel detached. I continue thinking about what’s been written, and what’s meant to be written yet, and how much work remains. Once the beta version of all four novels in this series are completed, I then need to edit and revise them until I have a first draft of all, something that I feel complete enough to regard as books. That will be a huge chunk of work. I think I’m looking at the rest of the year and beyond.

With those thoughts still strong, I drink my coffee, cold as an iceberg. Three-fourths of that cup remains. It’s time to stop writing like crazy; I can feel that, like the muse has said, “Okay, that’s enough for today. We’ll pick up here tomorrow.”

Still, I feel detached. My fictional world was so much sharper. I was engaged so much more deeply. It took a lot of energy to go that deeply into the flow, I realize. I’ve noticed this before without comprehending it. Going into the flow takes strength, energy, and commitment to induce myself to release enough to accept it.

I’m hungry, too, and realize that I’ve been hungry for a while, and I need to hit the restroom. Yes, time to stop writing like crazy today.

0

Flooftrap

Flooftrap (catfinition) – means by which a feline captures humans, stops them from walking, or keeps them from moving.

In use: “Bo’s favorite flooftrap is to lay down on someone’s foot.”

0

The Shooting Dream

I dreamed last night that I was shooting people. Don’t worry, I hadn’t gone on a rampage; I was being told by others who to shoot and when.

They were real people, and not voices in my head, or ghosts. It was a beautiful day. I cringe to note this, but I was on a grassy knoll. Around me, though, was mostly country side. I had a rifle. A person beside me – not anyone that I know – would be given a piece of paper. They would read something and then look around, and point, and I would aim and shoot.

It didn’t bother me in the dream, but this is not me. I’ve gone hunting a few times, but didn’t like it and stopped. I was in command and control in the military, and controlled nukes, but I eventually grew to dislike that role. As I’ve lived, I’ve concluded that there are enough threats to life out there without us going about killing one another. Yes, I understand that life is finite, and we’ll all die, and killing another is simply advancing the outcome. But I also understand that killing brings waves of actions and reactions. Some of those waves never stop, but build and expand, creating more killing.

So, it was a startling dream for me to experience. But I was just following orders, right?

0

Be Careful Out There

If you like to walk, as I do, around your town, be careful. 

Caution and awareness are seared in my head. A friend in another town was walking his dog one morning several years ago. A vehicle killed him and his dog. The driver was never identified.

People get distracted, even drivers. Some don’t like stopping for people in crosswalks. I know it, because they’ve told me. They don’t care about the law, safety, or anything else. Some are too busy with other things. I’ve seen people eating as they drive, talking on their phones, or putting on make-up. Some looked at me as they passed and gave me a nod or a wave. So they see me, but kept going.

Crossing in front of the Jackson County Library in Ashland where Main Street becomes Siskiyou Avenue is the most hazardous in my experience. There’s a traffic light – the final one downtown as you’re going south – about fifty feet in front of it. Leaving downtown frees drivers from the multiple crosswalks, traffic lights, and twenty miles-per-hour speed limit. Now freed, they gun their engines and race up into the twenty-five MPH zone. They don’t to stop again, not when they’ve already had to stop so many times, especially for someone crossing the street in a crosswalk. Better to just miss the person and keep going, right?

Yes, it happens. It’s not fiction or exaggeration.

Perhaps the most disturbing incident this week was the Ashland Police Department‘s car that didn’t stop for me. It was about one in the afternoon. Traffic was light, and it was a beautiful summer day. I was in the southern crosswalk, crossing Main Street at First street. An APD vehicle was approaching. The blue and white SUV was several car lengths away from the northern crosswalk in the center of three lanes. He didn’t stop; he didn’t look my way. I could clearly see him, a white guy with a goatee, with a heavy, burly build, and a receding hairline and sunglasses – but he couldn’t see me (I guess).

When he didn’t yield to a pedestrian in the crosswalk, neither did two other vehicles, both following him, but in two different lanes. Why should they? The APD car didn’t stop, so it must not be the law, or enforced, they probably assumed. Both of the drivers saw me, giving me a look as they passed, with one driver, a young woman in her twenties waving at me.

The APD car didn’t have his emergency lights on. He, and the others, stopped at the traffic light up the street at Second and Main.

So be careful. Lot of people are distracted. It happens. Many just don’t care or don’t want to stop for pedestrians. And many just don’t see you.

Or so they pretend.

0

A Blushing Dream

I’m generally self-effacing and prefer to hang around the edges, watching and observing. Being the center of attention, praised, or honored, is something that provokes all manner of winces from me. So last night’s dream is one of those that made me wince, not just for those reasons, but because it bumped up against my impostor syndrome.

Not surprising. Many writers feel like they’re on the verge of exposure, that they don’t have talent or much to say that others would find interesting. The dream pushed me against all of that.

I was at a huge writing conference.  I guess over two thousand people were present. We were in chairs in a ballroom. I was in the front row in a seat of honor. As the conference began, the organizer took a moment to note my presence and thank me for attending, and said all sorts of wonderful things about my writing. I was the only one she did this with. The rest enthusiastically cheered and applauded. I stood, gave them a quick wave, and returned to my seat as fast as I could.

We’d brought writing projects to read to the rest. Before reading them, we were being given time to make final edits. The woman beside me was nervous and asked me if I would mind editing and revising her work. I agreed and set upon it.

Well, anyone who writes knows how often writers feel the urge to change whatever someone else has written. It’s rare that I don’t feel that, even with many published books.

So it was at the conference. I made multiple changes to her manuscript because mine was finished and didn’t need changed (ha, ha). When the woman returned to me, I explained what I did. She was surprised but delighted. We agreed that the two of us would read it together, that she would read the female parts while I read the male parts. This made sense in the dream. She was one of the first up, and that’s what we did, to great acclaim.

Time skipped past. I knew others had read. It was my turn. Again, I was given an elaborate introduction. The praise made me uncomfortable. I got up to read.

People weren’t paying attention, though. A hubbub swelled through the room as others stood, stretched, and generally milled about.

I was perplexed, because I thought I was about to read. What’s going on, I thought, waiting for the others to settle.

Wearing shorts, I suddenly felt something amiss. Looking down, I saw my pecker sticking out of my shorts’ leg. Glancing about to see if anyone was observing me, I hastily turned away and made my adjustments so the devious creature was back in the house and concealed, as God intended.

Then I turned back around. A moment later, everyone quieted and returned to their seats. I was introduced again and asked to read. Great applause followed. I began by giving a brief summary of the history of what I’d written, and the dream ended.

0

Monday’s Theme Music

I frequently think that there is a thin veil of existence that keeps me from successfully achieving goals. Sometimes, the stillest moments, I think I can see it, just barely shading my thoughts and being. It often comes when I’ve built energy toward a direction and I’m closing on the finish, but see the quantity of work that still remains.

Then I urge myself, break on through. So the Doors’ song, “Break On Through (To the Other Side)” became one of my rallying songs. Almost there – break on through. Press on. Go, go, go.

0

Floof de suite

Floof de suite (catfinition) – a feline demand for something right now, right away, or immediately.

In use: “Rising up on her back legs, she patted the woman’s leg and urgently meowed, demonstrating that she smelled the cat food and wanted it floof de suite.”

0

Blog at WordPress.com.

Up ↑