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Draft Ten

Here’s a casual writing update, since I was thinking about it.

I thought I was on draft number seven of my latest WIP, April Showers 1921. After yesterday’s writing session, though, I was going through old docs while closing down – browsing the past, if you will – when I realized, wow, this is actually the tenth draft, if you include three false starts.

As I walked yesterday, I looked back on the process of writing this novel. I’d say that the first five or six drafts were about exploring and gasping the concept, characters, and story. A sprawling story, grasping all of its elements and ramifications was difficult. It reminded me of attempting to tell about World War II. So much happened and impacted on other areas, but things needed to be sorted and put into some order that could be followed.

I’d been free-flowing, writing like crazy, with those early drafts, leaping into different aspects of the story, exploring and expanding scenes and anecdotes, hunting for the handle on the characters and relationships. From that came the sense of the story arc, the concept’s fullness, the characters’ complexities, and the beginning and ending.

Each draft was being organized around what had been previously written. The chapters would be cut and slashed, re-written and re-arranged as needed to fit my evolving understanding. Then more was written to expand scenes. Everything was shifted as required to address pacing and coherency.

With the next draft, number seven (or ten, as I see it now) which is the current draft, it finally felt that I was fully in tune with what’s going on. I’ve been rocketing through it. Most of the writing sessions are not long, but intense and explosive. Progress has been strong. As with most of my writing process, regardless of their purpose, my mind continues working on it no matter what I’m doing. It’s not unusual to have an epiphany in a grocery store or while driving the car. Most often, though, as I walk away from the writing day, the muses carry inertia forward, delivering more material for the next day.

It’s fun writing like this, learning the story, telling the story, and feeling it opening up, expanding to include more while contracting to deliver more impact.

Okay, got my coffee, and ass in chair. Time to write like crazy again, at least one more time.

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Dark and Stormy Dreams

Last night was a serene, cool night but wild storms were on the dream menu.

One dream began with me outside, on a worn but mostly green hillock. I think I was in a park, as copses of trees grew around open spaces and statues.

Although bright afternoon blue associated with summer was overhead, dark clouds gathered, moving in like they were answering a whistle. People, including me, were anxious. Talking persisted all around me. All were strangers, though, and I couldn’t understand exactly what they were saying.

I was thinking that I needed to get inside and safe before the storm broke but I was worried about my friends and family. I was also puzzled; I didn’t see any of them but I was certain that they’d been with me. Looking for them, I became frantic as the temperature dropped and the clouds darkened into a fresh charcoal briquette darkness.

I started walking fast. Others were running. Growing drumming like a drum and bugle corp was approaching announced the storm’s beginning. Lightning licked from north to south in long and spectacular prolonged, brilliant slashes, captivating and frightening me. With a sharp suddenness, a wind howled through, knocking me over. After rolling and tumbling, I struggled against the wind to stand.

I heard rain hammering the ground. A deluge like a fire hose was being sprayed began. As lightning struck trees and thunder shook the air and explosions boomed, the wind tossed and slammed me, eventually shoving me against a tree trunk. Arching with pain, soaked and cold, I managed to hang onto the tree as the wind tore my clothes and hair. I was shivering with cold and fear.

With lightning striking everywhere around me, I thought, I can’t stay here. I need to get out of here. Nothing was visible for the heavy rain and dim light. I didn’t know where to go. Desperate for movement, I struck out blindly.

The wind drove me forward and then lifted me. I tried grabbing the ground but the wind took me on a ride toward the trees. As I spun and spotted the looming branches, I was sure that I was going to be impaled and killed, but the wind carried me above the trees.

In seconds, I was out of the storm. The wind calmed but still carried me. Feeling its energy dissipating, I was sure I was going to plummet to the Earth and die. As I looked down to see where I’d land and  what I could do about it, I realized that I was over the storm, and flying above it. 

A cat hissing awoke me then. Scrambling out of bed to confront the situation, I saw that Boo was telling Papi that he couldn’t come in through the pet door. Boo ran out of the room and down the hall and Papi sallied in. Since I was up, I went to pee and think about the vivid dream, as my mind stayed wrapped in it.

It’d been a shockingly vivid dream.

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Dilfloofpidated

Dilfloofpidated (floofinition) – furniture, rugs, carpets, and other household items rendered into partial ruin through a pet’s or pets’ activities.

In use: “Often, an outward sign that a pet resides within a house are dilfloofpidated screens.”

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Eating Guide

Time for me to eat lunch. It’s a tougher choice with recent health issues (nothing major), being on meds (nothing major), and de-conflicting healthy choices, hunger, social justice, environmental issues, price, and convenience. To help make decisions, I created this handy matrix to help me decide. It’s so useful, I thought I’d share it, in case others are in a similar situation. You’re welcome!

(Okay, it is a lil’ bit o’ Friday snark. Forgive me.)

 

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Low Priority

Snark time.

We receive our credit card statement by old-fashioned (in this era – it was modern in another time, I swear) snail mail. A personal check is written to cover our charges, and then it’s mailed back, with a stamp. Each month, the credit card company then sends me an email, verifying that the payment has been received and the bill is paid. They also tell me, “Next time, quickly and easily pay your bill using any checking, money market, or savings account – at home or on the go – ”

Yes, because one BIG priority in my life is to PAY MY CREDIT CARD BILL MORE QUICKLY. Because that benefits me…how?

I think we know who benefits from paying my bill by an e-process or app more quickly, and it ain’t me and my wife.

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The Same

Everything felt the same. Hell, it all looked and sounded the same. Likewise, he was going through the same friggin’ routines that defined his life. All of it was very sappy, calling out songs, movies, and novels that spoke about this kind of moment, the moment of pain and realization when someone else, someone who matters, is no longer there.

So he went on, doing his usual shit, but also taking calls, sending and answering emails, making arrangements, listening to sympathy, often secretly crying in his car, bed, bathroom, and kitchen, mourning his loss. Then he went to the services, of course. They were sweet and beautiful, with friends remembering her with tears and laughter. Then, that was done.

After that, life was supposed to resume. Nothing had really changed, except that she wasn’t there. And yet, for all its resemblance for being the same as before, nothing was, or would ever be, the same as before again.

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A Little Surprise

September arrives with a little surprise,

it seems like it came along so fast.

No time to think of August, June, and July,

those months are part of the past.

Autumn is coming, summer will be gone,

and so will so many things.

No time to waste, hello, good-bye,

October is on the way.

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Monday’s Theme Music

A beautiful sun warms a clear blue sky here in Ashland, southern Oregon, this morning. All is calm and serene. Into this streams a song by America, “Lonely People” (1974).

I’m fortunate to have family, but more, a writing process and endeavors which I enjoy, and a couple cats. Thanks to all this, I rarely have moments of feeling alone or isolated. But there are too many out there who are lonely people, even when they’re with friends and family, and more who are lonely, and alone, in isolation.

It’s them I think of this morning.

This is for all the lonely people
Thinking that life has passed them by
Don’t give up until you drink from the silver cup
And ride that highway in the sky

This is for all the single people
Thinking that love has left them dry
Don’t give up until you drink from the silver cup
You never know until you try

h/t to AZlyrics.com

 

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Pentafloof

Pentafloof (floofinition) – 1. A dwelling with five animals. 2. Geometric shape formed by five floofs. 3. Constellation of five animals that animals use to guide them.

In use: “The night had clouded over. The dog couldn’t see the stars and the pentafloof. She curled up in resignation. Despite her fear, and the worries that she knew her people would be experiencing, she’d need to wait out the storm before she could return home.”

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A Healing Massage Dream

I experienced many dreams last night. One of the most interesting ones was the healing dream.

I’d been walking and my feet hurt, so I sat to massage them. A man sat beside me. Large and black, his head was as round and bald as a basketball.

“What’re you doing?” he asked.

“Massaging my feet because they hurt.”

“I can help you with that.” He held his hands up. They glistened with oil. “I have the power.”

“Okay, cool.”

Taking my feet, he rocked back and forth, humming and massaging them. Skin sloughed off my feet. Pain and soreness went with it.

He finished and rose. “Thanks,” I said. “That was amazing. I really appreciate it.”

Nodding and waving, he said, “No problem,” and then ambled off.

I was still sitting when a woman then approached me. I couldn’t get a clear look at her. It seemed like a misty gauze moved with her, but from glimpses, she seemed slender, young, and white. She wore light blue but her arms were bare. She said, “You look like you could use a massage.”

I debated it and then said, “Okay, sure.”

Darkness fell around us until we were in a circle of yellow-white light. The air grew cooler. She began massaging my chest and shoulders. Her hands and arms went into my chest. I could suddenly see into my chest. Her fingers embraced my heart and massaged it. Shocked and amazed, I just sat there, gawking.

A little girl ran up. The woman took my heart out of my chest. It looked like a piece of fried chicken. She gave it to the girl, who gave the woman a new heart.

As the girl ran off with my fried-chicken heart, the woman put the new heart inside of me. “That feel better?”

I couldn’t speak because I felt so amazed, so I nodded.

“Good.” Shifting her hands, she began massaging my lungs. Air rushed into them like never before. As she massaged me, my perspective changed, so that I was now watching her from outside of myself. Next, she massaged my liver, and then my stomach, and then moved her hands up, and massaged my head. I held my breath as I saw her squeezing, shaping, and re-shaping my brain.

“There,” she said. “Done.” She was gone, and I was back in my body.

I awoke feeling like I’d been scrubbed clean from the inside out.

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