Cyber Monday

Others call it Cyber Monday, but I call it Writing Monday.

Writing Monday follows Writing Sunday. It’s the day before Writing Tuesday, and comes two days after Writing Saturday. Writing Friday precedes Writing Saturday, and falls after Writing Thursday, and two days after Writing Wednesday Eve.

Sometimes, to make it easier to say and follow, I call Writing Monday, Monday.

Likewise, every day is Coffee Day, but I call the days by their ISO 8601 standard week days, because the coffee is implied. Hell, in many cases, it’s expected. What’s a Monday without coffee?

As I have a full cuppa of hot java at hand, it’s time to edit and write like crazy, at least one more time.

The Optimistic Writer

He’d died, but he didn’t know it. He’d been writing his novel, and then editing and revising it. It wasn’t until he’d finished it that he came up for air and discovered he no longer had a body, and wasn’t a part of anyone’s earthly existence.

As far as he could ascertain, he’d been dead for several months. Probate of his meager estate was concluded, his clothing and personal items given away, and his name moved from one set of records to another. The cause of his death wasn’t clear. It seemed that he couldn’t see that, no matter how he tried to view it.

After some reflection, he wasn’t too concerned. Being dead meant no more concerns about money, health, politics, and the environment. He didn’t need to worry about being killed crossing the street or shot by some madman with a gun. The worst part about his death appeared to be that he was out of coffee.

That was going to put a crimp in his plans. On the other hand, he had a new novel idea.

He couldn’t wait to get started.

The Landing

Through dint of concentration, manifested by slow walking and constantly watching the cup, I can usually carry a cup of coffee across the room and not lose any.

It’s on the glide path to the table that I usually lose some. Yes, sometimes I miss the landing.

The Wait

I write on a laptop, typing and editing as I go. It has its bennies and shortcomings. For instance, you ever become so excited to write and edit, so looking forward to getting started that the muses are singing in your head and their energy is coursing in your blood vessels? But then you must turn…on…the…computer….

Then…open…the…program…

Then…open…the…document…

And…it…seems…to…take…about…two…million…years..?

Exasperating.

I am exaggerating. It doesn’t take two million years, but rather about three minutes, what with the things that are done automatically on startup, like Internet connections and security software updates. It just feels like a looonnnggg three minutes.

But it’s all open now. I have fresh coffee at hand. Time to write and edit like crazy, at least one more time.

Fairies

“What’s this?” I asked myself, speaking only in my mind.

I looked around. Nobody was in sight, but on my desk was an unexpected fresh cup of steaming coffee.

The coffee fairy had been by, I realized.

I’m very fond of fairies. Besides the coffee fairy, the doughnut, cookie, and brownie fairies have visited me.

Fairies do have a dark side. Just this morning some feline fairy left a gift on my shower mat. They also left another gift on the bathroom rug. It had to be a fairy, because my floofs were all bland innocence and whiskers.

Some fairies have never visited me, despite my hopes, like the lottery fairy (“You have to have a ticket!”), but the writing fairy often comes, streaming words through me. The words often make sense, too. Well, sometimes.

Time to write edit like crazy at least one more time, and see what the fairies have for me.

 

Reboot

Hearing unfamiliar banging and creaking sounds, he opened his eyes and found the ceiling.

Pink, and swaying. It felt like he was on a boat. Or would that be a ship?

He closed his eyes. Something was hung. Reboot. Try again.

When he next opened his eyes, he was looking at correctly colored sage green walls. Sunlight was streaming in.

Feeling better, he rose to hit the head and discovered a limp. He’d not had that before. As its presence was being digested, he passed the bathroom mirror.

He was female. Not bad looking, about the correct age, forty-five. Same colored hair. Those were starts to being the right person in the right reality.

More to digest.

He continued to the toilet. His cats and dogs must be out of the house. The primary reasons for keeping them was to help keep reality anchored. It didn’t work, if they weren’t around. Ergo, they weren’t around. That’s why his start-ups were hanging.

As he sat to piss, he considered going back to bed to reboot again, but it was already eight thirty. Time was the one constant that didn’t change when a start-up went awry.

Coffee, he decided, wiping, flushing, washing his hands and heading for the kitchen. He thought while popping a K-cup into place, coffee always helped release the hang ups. It was remarkable that way. Once he got the coffee into his system, he’d find the animals and bring them into the house. Then he’d decide. The house seemed correct, as did the reality outside his window. Maybe he’d enjoy being a woman for a day, or take a nap later and reboot.

Sipping the coffee, he smiled. Coffee always helped. If that ever changed, he didn’t know what he would do.

 

That Moment

Do you know that moment when you first smell the brewed coffee and lift a cup of it up to your lips, and feel the heat radiating toward you? You take that first sip and let it loiter in your mouth and slip down your throat, and think, “Wow, that’s so good.” You take another sip, and the sip becomes a long, lingering swallow that hefts a sigh in you as your lips finally part with your cup, and it comes to you, that might be the best thing of your day?

But then you go on, and there are other good things during the day, and you think, “This can be a pretty good life.”

Naw, that’s probably just the coffee talking.

Another Writing Update

Editing and revising continues on Book Three of Incomplete States, a novel titled, Six (with Seven). 

While remaining ambivalent about the title, I’m feeling more attached to it as I edit. I’m ambivalent about it because I conjure negative reactions from others about the title. I imagine that it will sour some because it’s different (gasp). But reading, editing, and revising the book has brought me closer to the title. I understand why that title came to me, and why it works. I also swung back toward ignoring and dismissing the naysayers, which basically goes along the lines, “Fuck you.” I like to think that they’ll be so in love with the series by the third book that they won’t care about the title.

See? I can be an dewy-eyed optimist.

Editing and revising Six (with Seven) hasn’t been all coffee and cookies. One chapter obviously needed major reconstruction. I struggled to fix it for several days. Then, one morning, I opened it and realized, the chapter didn’t work because everything had evolved away from it. It’d been an early, exploratory chapter. Now, it didn’t fit.

It still took some time to cut it. I liked the characters and the writing. It was damn prettified. I also worried that I was cutting it out of expediency. The muses didn’t agree, so I cut it. I saved it…just in case.

Once that chapter was removed, everything else fit together like fine tongue-and-groove construction. I loped through several chapters a day. It’s a fine thing to enjoy what you’ve written.

Enough patting myself on the back. Coffee has been downed, but this is free refills Friday. Time to write edit like crazy, at least one more time.

Whine #7,635,499,117,006

Sometimes I think, TGFC. Yes, thank God for coffee, a.k.a., thank God for caffeine. Coffee helps me cope when the friggin’ world seems determined to be the pebble in my shoe.

First, the wildfire smoke has returned. Grrr. Yes, the smoke isn’t as bad as the actual fire, nor the many accidents, disasters and true nightmares that others are enduring, you know, like being a refugee without a home — or country, any longer — or being torn away from your family and sent to another place, or raped or shot. I’m far from starving or being financially insecure. That’s why this is a whine.

Second, the bloody Internet connection is sooo…damnnn…slooowww…tooo…day….

I was at home first experiencing this. What the hell? Who knows, at that point. But now, in the coffee shop, it’s OMG time. Task Manager and all the security apps said there’s nothing wrong here. I tend to blame Google Chrome. Hasn’t been working right since that update.

Again, not big stuff, first world complaints.

Which took me back to Dr. Dinardo’s post, “Shifting From Anxiety to Excitement”. Her salient point:

Did you know that fear and excitement share the same set of neurotransmitters, including dopamine, glutamate, and acetylcholine.

  • Opposite emotions. Identical neurotransmitters.
  • Same neural activity. Different cognitive appraisal.

And the best way to shift from performance anxiety to excitement is to say one sentence on repeat.

Her information can be applied to multiple situations. It’s about changing your  reactions, right? So, as I walked, I worked on changing from feeling negative toward something on the spectrum’s positive side. While doing that, I thought about how Dr. Dinardo’s point is directed toward the first world. Her focus is on helping her students. The lessons can be applied to others (like me), but imagining myself leaving one of the world’s war-torn, disease-ravaged countries without any idea of where I’m going, it would be difficult for me to try to change my cognitive appraisal to be more upbeat.

It’s not a slam against Dr. Dinardo (although some might think, that sure read like a slam). It’s a slam against the world and the many ways that suffering is forced upon others, how slowly change takes place, and how impermanent it often seems. It’s a slam against people who think, let’s go back twenty, thirty, forty, fifty, one hundred years, to when times were simpler and life was easier. I consider that simplistic, narrow, and short-sighted, perhaps as simplistic, narrow, and short-sighted as my whining about the wildfire smoke and a slow Internet.

Yes, I understand that I’m simplifying cognitive appraisal and its mechanism. Hey, I’m only on my second cuppa. I’d need one or two more cups of coffee to go into it more thoughtfully.

I’ve read — and I’m dubious about projecting these things — that climate change will eventually affect our coffee supply. I’m dubious because projections are based on the known, and there often turns out to be many things that aren’t known that affect the projections. I’m also hopeful that a woman or man will arise, unite us, and say, “Enough with this shit. It’s time for a change,” and manage to rally everyone around them to change the world for the better for all, and save coffee.

It’s probably a naive hope. Meanwhile, I have coffee, time, a secure place, and a working computer. I’ll take advantage of the here and now, at least how it applies to me.

Shocking Moment

It was sort of a shocking moment, but it’s only a moment, a single incident with a single person, but —

Well, that’s the prelude.

I was buying a coffee drink. It’d been rung up. I was paying for the $4.75 drink with a ten.

The cashier said, “Oh, hang on. I put in that you were paying with a five. I need to figure out how much I owe you.”

I know from previous conversations that the cashier is nineteen years old and that she’s enrolled in our local college.

After a few seconds of allowing her to puzzle through it, I said, “I think it would be $5.25 back.”

She looked at me.

I said, “If I’d paid with a five, you would have given me a quarter back, right? But I paid with a ten, which is five dollars more, so you just give me five dollars more back. Does that make sense?”

She looked relieved. “Yes,” she said. “It does.”

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