Tag: mood

Thursday’s Theme Music

“It’s that time of month.”

It’s not a monthly thing, but a cyclic thing, this periodic slide into a dark trough. I feel it as it comes on. It feeds my bitterness (or I feed it), despair, and frustration. I think, I’m a terrible writer, person, husband, son, and man, a waste of air, space, and energy, and the world is a shitty place.

I know it’ll pass. While it’s happening, I need to keep a check on myself so I don’t do lash out or burn my world down. It’ll pass, you know? But at least twenty-four to thirty-six hours of it are a deep abyss.

So, mood music is required for this shit. Today’s choice (probably used in the past, but I didn’t check, because — mood) is “On the Dark Side”, by John Cafferty & The Beaver Brown Band, as heard in the 1983 movie, Eddie and the Cruisers.

Let the merriment begin!

 

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Tuesday’s Theme Music

Stumbled down nostalgia lane this morning. Probably a combination of mood, weather, and personal struggles, the sort of thing that sometimes takes most of us. It ended up with a stream of what I used to do and used to be. That invited the 2008 Coldplay song, “Viva La Vida”, into my morning’s mental music stream.

It’s not a dance number but the way the song’s layers build always rouses me. It is at once a contemplative and reflective song about what had been, and a song that reinforces my will about what I will do. Does anyone else experience an effect like that? No? Well, maybe it’s the coffee.

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Wednesday’s Theme Music

Well, time was up.

Past ‘up’.

I was supposed to have departed the fix about fifteen minutes before, so I was now behind my schedule. Couldn’t help it. Couldn’t stop writing. Coffee was gone, butt was uncomfortable, and my sciatic nerve was causing pain issue from being perched on the coffee shop’s new hard chairs. All the signs were aligned, time to go, mo-fo.

But —

Yes. Closing up with a stern order, go now, I packed it all up, strapped on the backpack, and headed into the sunshine. It was doing little good against the wintry air, but it was in the low 40s, a better place to be than, say, single digits that some in Alaska are enduring, and it’s better than Australia’s fires and blazing heat. So, couldn’t complain.

Walking up the hill, the distinctive piano playing of the Moody Blues cover of “Go Now” (1964) arrived in my stream. It’s a wondrous juxtaposition when the thing you’ve been doing, memories of places and events, and what you’re now doing come together in a perfectly mellow mood. I usually need a beer, a glass of wine, cup of coffee, or the toke of a joint to arrive in such a state.

But here I was, just me and the small town, with myself and music in my head, cold in the air, and sunshine on the other side of the valley.

 

 

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April Showers

I picture April showers of stars at night, 

of singing people and loving sights.

Hopes of April showers of good luck,

keep me going when I feel stuck.

I remember April showers of another time,

when I was young and thought the world would be mine.

I want for April showers when people are less of a dick,

where we help each other

and stop being angry and sick.

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Coupling

It’s been three joyous writing (and editing) days. Having one such day always energizes and intoxicates me. Returning to life’s normal routines and patterns afterward is deflating.

But then, coupling three days together feeds the highs, giving me a sensation of feeling invincible and omnipotent. It’s empowering but frightening because it must be kept in context for what it is.

That energy can’t help but spill over into other things. It stirs something that’s deeper and more primal in me. The short and long of it is that I’m accomplishing, creating something tangible from my mind’s energy and my physical exertion, and that is rewarding. I set a goal, and I’m working toward accomplishing that goal. When successful progress and its accompanying energy continues over three days, this sense parlays into a belief that I can do anything, because, hey, look how good the writing and editing is progressing. Woo-hoo.

Common sense helps ground me. Writing (and editing) and the rest of life aren’t the same. Thinking of this reminds me of some hotel chain’s commercials. They went along the lines of, “Let me operate.”

“You’re a doctor?”

“No, but I got a great night of rest.”

It’s all about how you feel, and the self-confidence that it stirs. I think the chain was Holiday Inn Express.

Meanwhile, however, some of my mind views all this with deep suspicion. “Maybe you’re fooling yourself,” at least one advisor whispers. “You’re probably not that good.”

It’s an amusing proposition because it demands that I hold two contrary ideas in mind, that I am that good, and that I’m not that good. Parts of my writing is probably amazing, and parts are probably crap. This is a draft, and I’m the writer, and I wrote it for me, so if I enjoy it as a reader, mission accomplished. It’s natural that others will dislike it, not get it, enjoy it or not, decide that it’s, “Okay,” (shudder), or love it. None of that’s within my control except that I wrote it for me, and I enjoy it.

Am I conning myself? You bet! But I think I’m also being realistic. I know, too, that I’ll probably encounter days when I feel sick about reading what I wrote because it needs a lot of work.

Accepting that I must stop now is a reluctant choice. I love the immersion of writing and editing my novels. I know myself, though, and my writing process, and its capricious nature. I know that going out on a high helps sustain progress because I feed off expectations created by past success.  It at least makes it easier to get to the document the next day.

So, sadly, but joyously, time to stop writing editing like crazy, one more time.

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Sweet Release

I try to stay emotionally balanced and optimistic, but with my personality and worldviews, balancing on a paring knife is almost as easy as it for me to keep my balance.

I fell off within the last few days. As usual, I crashed into angry, bitter darkness. I felt lost and alone. It’s not fun. It’s exhausting. Walking and writing both help me climb back out of the dark canyon. It was a long climb this time. Today’s walk definitely helped.

So did conscious efforts to release my anger, bitterness, frustration, sadness, despair, hopelessness…name a negative emotion or reaction, and I probably had it in the mix. Each step on the walk was punctuated with me hissing to myself, “Release my anger, release my bitterness, release my frustration,” and so on. Eventually, feeling stronger and cleaner, and enjoying a sense that those negative energies were evaporating, I turned it into a more positive urging, “No anger, no bitterness, no frustration.”

This plunge felt deeper and darker. I don’t know why this one was so deep and dark. I don’t know why that was so. Outwardly, all was well. I’m editing a novel. Other novel concepts swirl through me head. Projects are established.

I was having issues with Amazon KDP and their paperback process. It took longer than expected. Of course, I’d been set up for disappointment with claims about how fast – five minutes – and easy it’s supposed to be. It was not that easy, which might just be me, and nothing else. I found their support process short of expectations, too. When I contacted them with a problem using their Cover Creator, they kicked back something nonsensical and suggested I use their Cover Creator.

Eventually, with stubbornness and persistence, I overcame the issues. Then the darkness hit.

So I walked today. I hadn’t planned to go so far. Sometimes I intuitively know what’s needed. Today, my mind and body requested a hard, fast, long walk.

After a mile, I was striding fast. Sweat soaked my Tilly hat and shirt, and tickled my neck as drops dripped off my hair and ears. I breathed hard and my heart thundered in my ears. Still, I pressed on until I realized that I was out of the shadow of darkness. The world seemed better, then, and my hope and optimism were restored.

Still, in the aftermath, I wonder what it is in me that causes these regular, recurring crashes. I know my wife hates them. I’m not fond of them, either. I imagine others experience them, too. If they’re like me, it’s probably only those closest to them who are aware that they’re going through. If they’re like me, others probably aren’t aware of the depths of despair, bitterness and frustration encountered.

My outward signs are that I become almost a mute. I’m often truculent when I do respond to others. It’s not deliberate, or a choice, but something I endure, and try to overcome. I’m probably okay for another twenty to thirty days.

Then it will come again. I’ll try to be ready, and I’ll resist it. Sometimes, I’m more successful than other times, but it’s not at all predictable.

I’ll take it on when it comes.

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The Writer

Thinking, drinking, reading, writing,

Head down, butt asleep,

Busy, intent, intense,

He goes on until he picks up the cup and finds it empty, except for dredges.

This signals the end.

With some sighs and clear reluctance, he packs up and moves back into the normal world.

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