The Writing Moment
Waiting to fall asleep, he wrote throughout the night, scribbling in his mind, traversing back and forth over story lines. Now, daylight is here. Time to recall all that he mentally wrote and add it to the manuscript, carving and recurving the previous pieces to make this fit. Daylight has bleached out the night’s confidence that he knew what to do and how to do it.
Even the new book title that arrived as he fell asleep doesn’t seem as perfect as it did then.
But he begins working on it because that’s how it must be.
A New Beginning Dream
Winds hissed and howled, moaned and whistled last night. Rain splattered against the night world. Our young cat, Papi, wanted out, back in quickly, back out – hey, let’s try the front – and back in, etc. The cat’s demand fractured my sleep. Some time was then spent on writing the end of the novel but sleep finally hit. With it came dreams.
My wife and I were younger looking but in our current life situation, otherwise known as retired people. We were at a new place. Many of the buildings were white and brand new. She and I walked about it like astonished tourists taking in world wonders. News came by spoons, this was a new city. Not huge but neither was it small, its focus was about solving world issues. The mix of ethnicities and sexes impressed me, convincing me that this was a united effort across many races and nations. Engineers, architects, artists, and military members were among the people we met and saw, along with farmers and ranchers, all identified to us by what we saw them doing or what was overheard mentioned. Then came congratulations to me because I was part of this, brought on to help organize it. Well, super, I was flattered as hell but doubtful that I belonged. Insistence that I did was pushed on me by multiple folks. Well, okay, I guess I belong.
Next, we were elsewhere, traveling before going to the new place. Part of that meant I was meeting with others. We met on a stage. They were going to exercise before the formal handoff meeting. Did we want to join?
I did, but my wife didn’t. She wandered off as our impromptu class stretched and warmed up, awaiting our instructor. My stretching astonished me. Balanced on one leg, I raised the other above my head with ease. Wow, was I impressed. I jumped up and down and found I needed to be careful or I would crack my skull on the ceiling. Somewhere within those actions, I decided to change and poof, was changed into form fitting light gray workout clothes with a white headband. The instructor arrived but too much time was passed. My wife arrived, informing me that we had to go on because we were meeting other people in another city.
Zip, we were in the new city at a semi-formal event. Senior military people were there in large numbers. The spouse and I experienced minor confusion about what was going on and why we were in attendance. Servers circulated with trays of drinks. We accepted wine and champagne. Sipping drinks, we milled, meeting others, getting introduced. One young colonel who was a bald black man mentioned the new city in conversation. I responded that we knew about it.
His eyes widened. “You know of it?” When I said yes, he questioned me in an easy manner, confirming that we spoke about the same place and that I really knew about it. I finished by telling him, “We’re going to live there. I’ve been asked to join the staff.”
A smile split his face. “Wow,” he said. “Congratulations.” He thrust his hand at me. I shook it, grinning. As I did, I looked left. A small white model of the new city was on display. My wife stood beside it. I thought, that’s pretty cool. That’s where we’re going, to a new city and a new beginning.
Saturday’s Theme Music
Do your Saturday dance if you got one. Because, yes, it is Saturday.
It’s also December 10, 2022. If it’s your birthday or anniversary, happiest of them to you. Do your celebration dance. And if you’re having donuts or a special breakfast, do your celebration dance for that. I’m doing my celebration dance in honor of coffee. I got it, I’m drinking it, I’m dancing.
The windstorm ended shortly after dawn at 7:28 this morning. Rain stopped a little before, leaving large puddles across the back patio which greatly displeased Papi, the ginger floof prince. Clouds broke their clinch. Sunshine and blue sky are squinting out, asking, “Is it over?” Snow still dusts and crusts many ridges, tree lines, and peaks above our elevation. No snow down here toward the valley floor, though. We’re happy for the snow where it added to the pack or entertains others. Looking out, the windstorm didn’t take over any trees, fences, houses, roofs, etc. It was a lot of noise and a jolt of tension but it’s done. 37 F outside right now. 48 F is the anticipated high temperature. Sunset comes at 4:39 PM.
Without irony nor surprise, I can tell you that The Neurons picked up on the wind theme for the morning music. I heard them talking in my head, remembering wind songs. There is a chunk of them from the rock era. Some surprise was found when they pulled up Santana and “Song of the Wind”. Released on an album in 1972, I listened to the album pretty extensively. It has more of a jazz infusion that the harder rock or progressive rock that The Neurons usually cheer on, but back when I was sixteen and drawing and painting, I found this comfortable music as accompaniment. Later on, when I was living in the Philippines, I would listen to it and sip wine while I drew or read. So good memories come with this album. There is beautiful guitar work on it, of course, cuz it’s Carlos, but there are also impressive musicans who gravitated to him, and the interesting percussion work often featured in his songs.
Stay positive, test negative, and celebrate what you can. I’m celebrating more coffee. Here’s the song. Hope it helps move your day in the right ways. Cheers
Floofytum
Floofytum (floofinition) – The innermost sanctuary in an animal’s resting or meeting space, open only to priests.
In use: “People have found that their pets like kennels as a floofytum as only other animals are small enough to enter and humans are forced to remain outside, giving the floofs privacy and security. Pets without kennels will make up their own floofytums in drawers, closets, baskets, or under
A Winter Memory Prompted By Writing Prompt #210
The streetlights were on, unmoored, half-seen yellow orbs floating over either side of the street.
Snow smothered dusk’s dimming light. No one else was on the street. Dressed in blue jeans, a shirt, and tennis shoes – which had holes in the soles that he’d mended with pieces of cardboard – he ran, shivering and sniffling, up the street past the warm-looking suburban houses. Most seemed half-buried in snow. Windblown snow stuck to his clothing and hair and stressed his cheeks with icy daggers. Shoving his fingers deep into his tight jeans’ pockets, keeping at least those warm, he licked snot off his nose, lifted his shoulders, and ran, catching slides and racing on.
Exploding into home, he rushed to a heater duct and stood in front of it, dripping, drying, shivering, warming. enjoying the heat. Mom, orchestrating laundry not far away, turned and stared at him, her hands continuing their folding. “Where is your coat?” she asked. Then answered herself, “Don’t tell me you forgot it again.”
When he nodded, yes, her shoulders sagged and she snapped, “Oh my God.” A warm towel was pulled from the dryer, shook out, and handed to him. “Why in God’s name didn’t you go back for it?”
He shrugged. “I was hungry. I wanted to get home.”
She issued a familiar tongue click of disappointment. He felt too stupid to be her son.
He was probably right.
Writing Prompt # 210
Boy, have I got memories of this! LOL
Welcome to another week of writing. ‘Tis the season…as Christmas day approaches, the weather for some of us might have already started to change drastically. For some it can bring cheer and merriment while for others it can become a bad thing that separates them from their loved ones. Your task today, if you choose to accept it is to, “Write about a day in the cold, when you forgot your jacket.”
Have a great weekend and don’t stop writing!
W.P. # 210 Write about a day in the cold, when you forgot your jacket.
Friday’s Wandering Thought
Someone asked him, “How are you doing?” “Good,” he answered with enthusiasm.
He didn’t know if his answer was true. He didn’t know how he felt. He thought how he ‘felt’ was a complicated question, and the truth about the answer slid along its own spectrum, shifting by the second, the minute, the day.
‘Good’ was probably a safe if reductive average.
The Writing Moment
The best thing he could do is write with the conviction that he was telling the best possible story in the best possible way. Thoughts such as is it too long, too complicated or convoluted or boring to others had to be shoved aside. He needed to write it like it was ordained to be wondrous.
Otherwise, he would just stop. And then, what would he do?
Yes, he had to write with that conviction.
Friday’s Theme Music
My fellow Earthers. Today is the first day of the rest of your life. It’s also Friday, December 9, 2022.
I’ve been following a local online debate. A newly elected city councilor wants to change the time when the meeting begins, move it up an hour. He argues that will allow more people to attend. Well, let the debate begin.
- Moving the meeting an hour forward will allow more people to attend, those in favor say. Some moms have said, “Yes, I can attend at four, but I can’t attend at five.” The meeting goes for three hours.
- No, others say. “I’m still at work at four, or I’m driving home. I can attend at five but not at four.”
So each side uses the same argument. There were no complaints or calls for the meeting start time to change before the new councilor brought it up. Also, each side points out, the meetings are televised, streamed, and recorded. It feels like another variation of the daylight savings time argument, which can be reduced to, which is better for me? By extension, if it’s better for me, it’s better for all.
It’s foggy outside, Alexa tells me, and 34 F. She’s staked today’s high at 46 F. Says, expect rain. Except there’s no fog outside my windows. I can see distant mountains where snow is sprinkled across the green pine ridge. The winds are picking up. A drizzle has begun. The house floofs are not happy. They’re clambering for reparations because the sun isn’t giving them the shine they like. All reparations have been rejected — kibble, canned food, treats, and catnip. Attention is okay, they admit. They will take some scratching and stroking, but when I stop, they shout, more, more, more, like Billy Idol in fur, with less piercings.
As for the sun, it curved over the earth’s shape and into our valley at 7:28 this morning but remains sequestered behind sturdy clouds. Departure time for sunshine is 4:39 PM.
You can probably guess the song will be Billy Idol with “Rebel Yell” from 1983. Soon as that comparison went through my gray matter, The Neurons exclaimed, “Ooh, ‘Rebel Yell’, Billy Idol, yeah,” and began playing the song. Bourbon called Rebel Yell inspired the tune. I guess that’s a kind of scratching that satisfies some itches.
Speaking of scratches and itches, I’ll need some coffee. This is the first day of the rest of my life, you know. Stay positive and test negative. Here’s Billy with the music. I must admit that the video, with the musicians sneering, smirking, and posturing, gave me a laugh. Hope you enjoy it. Cheers
Michael Seidel, writer 