Tag: novel writing

Cake On My Mind

If you know me and my blog scribblings, reading the post’s title might prompt you to think that I’m talking about the alt-rock group, Cake, being in my stream. They’re not, although I sympathize with them and the theft of their music gear in Portland, OR.

But, if you read my blog posts, you might also think I’m talking about food. I like food. I don’t often post about it, but it’s been on display recently in conjunction with health issues (nothing too serious).

The cake, though, comes from my writing and dreams. Ahah, there we are the other tracks that I’m often following when I post.

Cake has been part of my writing and dreaming worlds the last few days. My April Showers 1921 protagonist encounters a survival group. The group is made up of children. After rescuing him from an attack by a pack of dogs, they take him to their fort to have cake, incidents and details delivered by the muses on Wednesday. Thursday was spent broadening and detailing the scene. Several cake options are available. He likes chocolate, so he chooses to have a large slice chocolate layer cake with buttercream chocolate between the layers and fudge frosting on top. A team of children baked it; teams of children baked all the cakes. Anders wonders where and how they have these resources to bake cakes, but other important matters are at hand, and he can’t pursue the answers.

So, okay, been writing about cake. It must’ve bled over into real life, because, last night, I dreamed about cake.

In a rollicking dream, a competition was going on. The activity was too frenzied and chaotic for me to keep hold off upon waking, but I know that I did damn well in the dream competition. What I do remember very well was that cake was being served at the end, to reward participants. I was so happy, I was giddy. The big piece of sheet cake presented to me on a plate had yellow cake and white frosting with roses, and it fell apart on my plate.

The server apologized and told me that she’d get me another one. I took the plate, though, telling her, it didn’t matter. I could eat it even if it was falling apart.

Then I ate it with my hands, laughing as I did.

It was a weirdly satisfying dream.

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Be Brave

Another writing slash self-examination of myself post. It’s all about me, you know…

Writing often is about the author, whether it’s the process or subject, the writer is deep into it. I’m too damn introspective for my own good, and I’m a fragile beast.

I’m struggling with April Showers 1921. Much of the struggle is my fault; some is due to life events.

Life events kept me from writing several times. Vacation. Vacation is a good thing, right? Not for this writer, as it meant not writing. Felt like someone was scraping the enamel off my teeth.

Other life events, a birthday party, memorial service, surgery and health issues, interfered with my writing habits. Those, though, could be overcome. I felt confident of that.

Harder to overcome was my doubts about what I was writing and the story that I was relating. “Overthinking” is the world. Overthinking let in the doubt monster. The doubt monster fed my writer angst. Next up was a full blown case of imposter syndrome worries.

I walked and fretted, ate and fretted, awakened and fretted…fretting accompanied everything. I was engaging in one of the worst and most common problems afflicting writers, trying to write for others instead of myself. It took me until this morning to realize it. A young woman’s tatoo finally awakened.

She’s a barista at my fave coffee shop. On her left wrist was a tattoo, “Be brave.” 

I’ve known her for four years. She graduated from high school a year early. She was sixteen. She then took a year off to travel Thailand and southeast Asia. She said tattoo was a reminder.

After speaking with her, I went on a walking break. I admired her and her tattoo. I’d never tattooed anything on myself, but I employed a mantra: “No fear, no doubt, no worries.” I’d developed it when I was young to help me overcome those things. Others were always saying that they saw things in me and nominating me for stuff or asking me if I wanted to try something.

What kind of cad would say no to such sugary words? Not me. Between genes, birth order, and socialization, I’m just a boy who can’t say no. I want others to like me too much. I don’t want to disappoint them. I fear disappointing them.

That’s where and when the mantra was born. People would tell me, “You got this. You can do it.” Nodding, I’d agree without speaking, and then tell myself, “No fear, no doubt, no worries.” I frequently added, “Focus.” Results were often excellent, usually surprising all of us.

Remembering that, I turned back to the times when I employed that mantra and achieved good results, and decided, time to drag that mantra out again.

No fear, no doubt, no worries.

Time to continue writing and editing like crazy, at least one more time.

 

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