Today’s theme music entered my stream due to some nocturnal emissions.
Nocturnal emissions, if you don’t know, is also known as phantom writing. It’s the practice of writing in your bed when you’re supposed to be sleeping.
I’d been sleeping when both calf muscles seized, throwing me awake. After my wife and I rubbed the spasm with some toe-flexing help, I went through the dream I’d been in and then my thoughts drifted into the novel in progress. Turning to what’s happening in the novel, I thought, “What are these deeds? Who is doing them?”
That created an easy transition to “Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap” by AC/DC (1976). With that rocking my head, sleep easily pulled me in.
Sing along if it moves you. The words are easy to learn.
Haifloof (floofinition) – an unrhymed verse form about housepets, typically with three lines containing five, seven, and five lines.
I’m back in the writing space following some unpleasant medical issues. In the last three days, I’ve averaged two thousand words each. It’s delicious to feel like I’m moving forward, no matter how word counts fall upon the writing spectrum in regards to their importance. I didn’t plan any word counts but they’re proof of something happening, a minor validation that I’ve been doing more than daydreaming.
After some arguing with the muses, me interrogating them to explain every thread, decision, and insight, and them laughing at me, I followed their instructions to, “Just write.” Some of the writing could be permanent but some of it might be delicately sculpted away or blown away with heavy explosives. Doesn’t matter. What I’ve written before during other writing projects may not help me this time. Each time that I write another novel, it’s a new adventure in learning how to be a better writer. I must write to have the material to shape, an interesting cycle. Write, edit, write, re-write, write, revise…where am I?
Well, I’m on the novel-writing spectrum. I slide along, following paths, retracing, forging new paths, falling off cliffs, and climbing back up. So it goes until there’s finally enough coherency for a novel to take shape, and then, finally, enough satisfying story in a reasonable order arrives, and then, at last, I pick a place where it can be comfortably ended with reasonable reward for readers who ventured through my thicket of words.
Can you say run-on?
I’m permitted a cup of coffee a day. I apply my allowance to my writing.
Illness is depressing, not because I have it, but because of its limitations. Bending down to pick up a piece of paper, scratch a cat’s chin, or put on my shoes and socks is slow and tedious and brings a measure of stinging discomfort. Walking remains uncomfortable and difficult, but not impossible. Of course, I have a history of rushing the healing processes. Press on, regardless, right? When I had a broken neck on Okinawa and wore a halo device, I pushed to go back to work and ended up dislodging that metal mother twice, sending me back into hospital. Anyway, I wobble around at a slow and careful pace, watching the ground to find the threads and seeds that the muses leave, then trying to parse their guidance.
Yeah, just write, baby. Stop critiquing, doubting, wondering, fearing, worrying, and questioning. Just get ‘er done. Pitter-patter.
Done writing like crazy for at least one more day. Sloshy, my drain-collection bag resting against my calf, is filled. Time to wobble on and empty him.
Counterproflooftive (floofinition) – actions people take to prevent or inhibit housepet’s activities or behavior.
In use: “Doors were closed to the cats and dogs, counterproflooftive measures to keep the toilet paper intact, keep animals from drinking toilet water, and keep the house clean. It was marginally effective.”
The season change has prompted thoughts of dancing, you know, dancing to change, dancing to the joy of warming weather, rising greenery, leaves on trees, and blooming flowers and buds. A lot of good dance songs exist but I turned to “Dance, Dance” by Fall Out Boy. It came out in 2005, fourteen years ago, so does that make it an oldie? How long must a song be out before it’s an oldie, a golden oldie, and a classic? Any thoughts?
Cofloofinute (floofinition) – reduction of something to small particles by a housepet.
In use: “He was a sweet but young Dutch Shepherd, and quickly demonstrated that he could cofloofinute the mail into confetti as it came through the slot.”