Is it just me, or does anyone else want to strangle those people who proudly announce that they don’t vote, and have never voted?
Yeah, it’s probably just me.
Kafloof
Kafloof (catfinition) – to be utterly defeated by a cat.
In use: “Every time he sat down to type, his small black and white cat stretched out on his keyboard with a green-eyed look that asked, “What are you going to do now?” His answer was to sigh. He knew his goal to do some writing was kafloof.”
Word Count
He was mentioned as not being very talkative, but I found him loquacious. I mentioned the disparity to him.
“Well.” He shrugged. “I don’t talk much around my wife and family, or her friends.”
He turned his beer bottle by its neck. “I read a 2014 study about the number of words men and women use in a day. They always used to say that women talk more than men, but this study showed that men and women speak the same amount on average, about sixteen thousand words a day. Most of us filter it out. I talk more at work than at home because they filter more of my words out at home.”
“How do you do that? I mean, how do you figure something like that out?”
“Well, it’s all rough. There are a lot of factors. I set up a spreadsheet to figure out the average. I can show you on my phone.”
“Ummm….”
“Okay.” He laughed. “No problem. I understand. I’ll give you the executive summary for an average day, quote, unquote.
“I work nine hours a day. Monday through Friday, of course, with holidays off, all that. With commuting, I’m gone about eleven hours a day. I sleep about seven. That’s eighteen hours. So I’m awake and at home about six hours a day.
“Since I’m awake about seventeen hours a day, I decided that I average about nine hundred forty words an hour. I decided to call it a thousand. So I spoke about six thousand words a day at home. I figured that they hear about half of what I say. Three thousand words. They pay attention to about fifteen hundred. So, I’ve reduced what I speak at home to about a thousand words.”
“You speak a thousand words in six hours?”
“Yep.”
“But don’t the same rates hold? If you’re saying a thousand words, aren’t they hearing just half of those, and so on?”
“Oh, no.” He grinned. “Now, because I don’t talk much at home, they pay more attention to when I do.”
“That’s all pretty cynical, isn’t it?”
“Cynical? Or honest?” His grin turned rueful and his gaze turned inward. “Truthfully, I think they still pay attention to about half of what I say at home, if I’m honest. I think I’d rather be talking more and ignored, but I see them tune me out when I open my mouth.”
Shrugging, he lifted his beer bottle toward his mouth. “It is what it is.”
Wednesday’s Theme Music
I always think of this as a party song. It’s been covered by many, like the Blues Brothers, but I love this original.
Here is the Spencer Davis Group with Steve Winwood and their hit, “Gimme Some Lovin'”, from when I was ten, in 1966. You can imagine how this beat and the chorus appealed to a kid.
Still appeals to me.
Odd, intriguing video, though.
Tuesday’s Theme Music
“Shine” by Collective Soul was playing in the coffee shop when I stopped writing like crazy today.
Released in the early nineties, Collective Soul’s CD became one of my car collection recordings for dealing with traffic and the work day. Maybe strangely, but I always thought of the song as almost like a hard rock prayer, alternating between speculation about existence — “What will I find?” — and then a request to know more — “Heaven, let your light shine down.”
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.
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.”
