The Writing Moment
Still at it with the manuscript in progress. Its working title remains Memories of Why.
As I began rev 6 — I think it’s rev 6 — I saw that I’d gone too meta. The beginning was too abstract. I understood things, sure; whether muses created it, or I did with my imagination, or it’d flown into my being from some other dimension or alternative reality, I was familiar with it.
But it wouldn’t work for other readers. I’m sure the great mass of others would ask, “WTF?” I didn’t want to put that on them. I needed to create a more substantive setting for them.
As I worked on the last revision, another aspect of the situation had emerged. I could weave elements of that arc into this one. I felt it would cement the story, provide a solid introduction to the main character, and create greater empathy for him.
So that’s what I did. Feeling a need to couch it all in the best words and phrases I could, there’s been a lot of stop and go. Lot of deleting to begin again and a great deal of going off page to write myself into understanding. I think, therefore I write, so I know what I think. I perceived how I sometimes overthought myself into paralysis. Made things too difficult for myself. Tried to be too clever or too precious.
Intriguing to me, when I began each time, the world would form, the characters would drop in, sounds would be ladled in, and the place and its story would be. Then I’d wipe it out and commence again. And again, all would fill in, like I was opening doors and walking into other worlds.
The aspect of the process is stunning and mesmerizing. Once I felt sure of the scene and moved on, I felt the weight of that existence as surely as I know impact of the real world that I inhabit.
So, there were detours. There usually are in any effort. But I advance. So does the manuscript. And the pleasure and satisfaction remains.
Cheers
Sunday’s Wandering Thoughts
I was skateboarding the net yesterday, swerving from click to click. An ad bounced up for an Ashlandia coffee shop I used to regularly frequently. It permanenly closed due to the pandemic, Jan 2021.
My backstory is that I enjoy coffee shops as a place to write. I began doing that when I started working from home and began writing short stories in parallel. I use the process of going to the coffee shop as a method to put on my writing hat and throw off the rest of the world. Finding the right place is a challenge. There’s the taste. Location. Prices. Staff. Decent writing surface and a place to plug in. Wifi is a nice convenience to add.
The coffee’s shop closure during the pandemic was the abridged edition. Located in a hotel, a husband and wife team managed it on behalf of her father. He owned the hotel He came in one December day and told them that plans were changing. They protested. The exchange grew angry and loud. The husband and wife were fired.
I’d been loyal to them. The staff walked out with the managers in protest. Long-time customers like me left and didn’t return. They made changes. I visited once a few months later. It wasn’t the same. Management declared after that that only hotel guests were welcome. That was only in the morning.
Replacing it had been difficult. An ad to come patron it surprised me. I checked online: permanently closed, according to its FB page and website.
But businesses are often shoddy about keeping their social presence online up to date. I drove by. Dark. Empty. Closed.
I went on to my new favorite coffee shop. I’ve already lost four Ashlandia coffee shops in the nineteen years I’ve lived here. Hope I don’t lose a fifth. Yes, it’s all about me.
Still, I had to ponder the business intricacies that had an ad for a closed business riding on the net. Sometimes, it’s still garbage in, garbage out.
Michael Seidel, writer 