- Writing was so intense today. Been seeing this rainstorm for this shithole where my characters arrived. It’s a bleak, rocky place, no green, no insects or birds. There are dogs and people (and rats). I wrote the scene today, shivering behind my laptop as I imagined the cold, hard rain slamming my people. Had to pause and pace, and get more coffee to warm myself several times.
- Love that intensity when it happens, but it’s also a distraction. Too much writing energy builds up. Fingers and mind can’t keep up with the story-telling stream gushing out. My abs get knotted and my arms tremble. Nobody ever mentioned this at the writing conferences.
- Wife made this wonderful pumpkin doughnut muffins yesterday. Rolled in sugar and cinnamon, they’re like doughnut holes. Man, those things are mega excellent. Each time I go for coffee, I want to eat another.
- When I pause in my writing, I spy on my neighbors. They’re up to something next door. Don’t know what. He’s like that, though, quiet, rarely seen for several months, then, boom, the sudden center of crazy, with cars and peeps arriving, and things being carried back and forth, and slamming and thumping noises. He’s a nice guy but when I hear this things, my mind paints him as someone nefarious doing some devious misdeeds. Being a nice guy is always a good cover for being an evil genius.
- The cats and I took well to the hour fall back. I much prefer it to the spring-ahead hour change. Really rather do without either, though.
- Watching The Queen’s Gambit on Netflix. Really well done. The young lead actor, Anya Taylor Joy does an excellent job, but all are well-cast, and the production values are super. I’d not been aware of the novel. It came out in 1983, I read. After seeing the television show, I want to find the book and read it. It’s at my library, so I put it on my shelf. Didn’t want a hold. I’m already way behind my reading.
- Being behind on my reading is a constant thing. Reading stirs my writing. I enter this cycle of reading two paragraphs, write two sentences. Writing progress is made because this is in addition to my devoted writing period. Reading gets serious hampered. I’m eventually forced to focus on the reading and push to finish the book, which is a damn strange way to entertain myself, innit?
- I cut my hair yesterday. It’s the second pandemic cut that I’ve given myself. I think it looks good. Of course, I can’t see the back. I did what I could through feel. My wife is reluctant to cut it. I don’t know why. I have guesses but I’ll keep those shelved.
- Okay, got more coffee. (The pumpkin doughnut muffins were avoided.) Time to resume writing like crazy, at least one more time.
Floofscription (floofinition) – Words inscribed to describe an animal, particularly a pet or floof friend.
In use: “After his first pet passed away, he wrote a floofscription to explain how much the animal meant to him, and then decided from then on he’d write floofscriptions for his pets while they were alive, when he could celebrate them with them. That was the beginning of his private New Year’s Day routine.”
General background for this dream didn’t particularly coalesce. I was somewhere with others, inside a building, busy on a project. It seemed to be about indexing things, but I’m not sure.
This man (vague and indescript in the dream, except he was white), came along and demand to know what I was doing. Without allowing time for me to answer, he told me to get busy, then told me he wanted me to write an ad for him. Annoyed, I attempted protesting and explaining that I was working on something, but he was pushy as hell. He was also the boss and very successful, so I allowed latitude for that.
Settling down, I started to work on the ad for him. For this purpose, I picked up a pad and started writing in red ink.
Red ink wouldn’t do. He shouted at me, “Who told you to use red ink?”
Pissed, I replied, “No one specified any ink, and you didn’t say not to use red. What color will work, then? Blue? Black? Purple?”
He shoved a narrow notepad at me and a black pen. “Use this.”
I moved away from him to find a new place to write, settling on my knees at a low table, but he followed, trying to peer over my shoulder and see what I wrote. The pad he’d given me was full of writing. The pages were lined and everything was handwritten. I flipped through pages, looking for white space, while complaining to him that he’d given me a full tablet.
I finally found clean pages and started writing, but he hectored me. “What are you doing? What are you writing?”
I began explaining, “I’m writing an ad for you,” but he interrupted. “I want you to write me an ad for a person who needs help for a four-year-old.”
“What kind of help?”
“Doesn’t matter. Just get their attention.”
I kept starting to write, then he’d interrupt me. I’d move, find another page to write on, and begin again, and he’d interrupt me. I don’t know how many times it happened but I reached the point where I was ready to tell him, “Fuck off,” and leave it all behind.
But the dream ended. He was such an annoying asshole.
Elvis Floofstello (floofinition) – Flooftish-born floof rocker (flocker), songwriter, and musician. His first three albums are all listed in Rolling Floof magazine’s “Greatest Albums of All Time” list.
In use: “Although hugely successful in the United Floofdom and well known in Floofmerica, Elvis Floofstello had two number one hits in Floofmerica (“Floofronica” and “The Other Floof of Summer”) while not achieving any number one songs anywhere else.”
Despite the feeling that I’m walking on broken glass that I’m having (thanks to the presidential elections in the U.S.), I woke up feeling terrific and eager for the day (with a caveat that I told myself, just ignore the news for a while).
But, hey, man, I had a sweet sleep after a pleasant day. The wife had made pumpkin dougnut muffins (mmmm). I tested them with my coffee. And yes! They went great! (Might need to have another…or two. Hey, they’re minis.)
And coffee! Got coffee! I feel it coursing through me, kickstarting my heart, firing up the old neurons and synapses…
And then there is the sun and sky, with the autumn foliage, a gorgeous and uplifting sight.
Now, given how 2020 has gone thus far, I expect (and am bracing myself) for calamity. (I know, such a pessimist, yeah?). Oh, yeah, did I mention writing? Going fabulous (knock wood). I have that weird feeling I get when I begin realizing, hey the tale is coming to an end. It’s pleasing, because, accomplishment! But then, it’s sad because it’s an entertaining ride, a diversion from everything else that stirs rants, frustrations, and irritation. Hey, I would claim it’s because I’m a crotchety ol’ man (I am in my sixties), but really, I’ve been this way for the better part of three decades. Guess I turned old and crotchety early.
Today’s song streamed into my head without problem. Here’s Love and Rockets and their 1989 song, “So Alive”.