The Writing Moment
Every day for the last seven, I’ve sat down to write thinking, is this the day this novel’s first rough draft is finished? Then I write like crazy, and no, ‘The End’, is not found. I know the end but I’m a pantser. The territory between the beginning and end is a dark continent. I work my way across it to ‘The End’ with only vague navigational markers about where I need to go to get there. I set down ground rules but the characters and muses drive the novel.
That’s the way I like it.
Tuesday’s Theme Music
“It’s only Tuesday?” I asked the world. “Why does it feel like anything but Tuesday?”
The world mutely pointed me to the calendars. One on my wearable, one on my phone, one on my wall, one on desk, one on my laptop, one on my refrigerator.
“Why do we have so many calendars?”
Two were sent to us in the mail. Bank and animal shelter. I ordered one (which also came by mail) because it memorializes an era of auto racing prevalent during my childhood. The others are digital and come with the package.
Strange, though. The days of the week and date have little meaning for me. Streaming and routines define me, not the calendar, though I bow to the holidays’ existence and do as I must to observe them, succumbing to peer pressure.
But it’s Tuesday, June 20, 2023. Last day of spring in Ashlandia, with a feel lifted right out of spring’s first day, rainy and cold. Rained throughout the morning and early afternoon yesterday in Ashlandia, where the coffee is hot and the cannabis is legal. Only made it to 52 F as a high. Cats were like, screw this noise, wake me when sunshine returns. I replied with all the reasons why we should be grateful for this rain. They responded, got anything to eat?
Today’s high should top the mid-sixties. Clouds are shouldering out the blue sky. Sunshine, which came up strong earlier, is as faded as my hairline.
Got some Fall Out Boy in my morning mental music stream. The Neurons planted “Sugar, We’re Goin Down” (2005) in there when I responded to someone that even if I fail, I’m going to go down swinging. Pop, The Neurons had it loaded like it was ready and waiting. It was last heard as theme music back in August, 2020.
Okay, let’s stay pos out there, sweethearts. I’m drinking coffee and turning in to where I was when I last stopped writing, ginning up the scene, ready to go in there with keyboard blazing. It’s your move.
Here’s the music. Cheers
Nick Medina Said
Writers and their quirks…
Saturday’s Theme Music
Saturday, June 17, 2023, and the temperatures are dropping, preparing for summer in Ashlandia. Now 67 F with a cool breeze sometimes goosebumping us, today’s high will entrench itself in the upper 70s F. Tomorrow’s high will be 65 F and Monday, a rain recipient, has low expectations, just 55 F. Then it’s supposed to start slowly rising.
The morning began slow for me, a leisurely petting of the floofs, followed by a leisurely floof-petting session, capped with leisurely coffee-sipping on the porches to experience the cool air and spy on the floofs. Some interesting dreams to contemplate , including one about building a complex while dealing with a lion.
Today’s song, from 1991, is “Kiss Them for Me” by Siouxsie and the Banshees. The song features lines about being delayed. I was in the coffee shop yesterday when a man stopped by my table, looked back, and called to the person they’d been with, “Tell them I’ll be delayed.” I was writing and thought little of it but The Neurons went into a tizzy. Soon the song melody was drifting through me like smoke from a distant fire. Then I’d hum some lyrics to myself. Then, awakening to a song in the mental music stream, I realized that I’d been ambushed.
Just an aside but when the song came out in 1991, I didn’t think it was Siouxsie and the Banshees. It seemed different to me than their usual fare. like “Spellbound”. This is the first time that I’ve seen the “Kiss Them for Me” video.
Stay pos, drink coffee, unwind, relax, carpe the moment. Let’s do this again next year. Here’s the music. Cheers
Friday’s Wandering Thoughts
I took a writing break and went for a walk. Gorgeous out there. Unfettered sunshine. 76 degrees F . Fragrances freed from blossoms and flowers surfed a light breeze. Submerging myself into the moment’s ambiance, I strode along.
A turn took me north, toward the far low mountain ridge. Blue sky rested on the peaks, but I drew up. The sky was hazy with dust or smoke.
Returning to my writing nest, I searched the net for wildfires and checked the air quality, worried that the smoke was sneaking in on us from one of them, worried that some conflagration was already growing and racing toward us.
It’s that time of year, you know.
Michael Seidel, writer 