Tag: real world

But, But, But

Daily writing prompt
How are you feeling right now?
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I feel like I’m on the edge. See, I’ve been writing a novel manuscript. Almost at the end, confrontations are underway. It’s tense and violent. I don’t want to stop writing, but —

Yes, life is littered with buts, those interruptions to intents and purposes. Several buts are engaging me. First, honestly, is my derriere, aka, my butt. I’ve been sitting and typing for about 80 minutes straight, and my butt is crying, “Up, damn you, up. Give me a break.” It’s classic writer’s butt.

My stomach is also complaining that it’s been too long since food was introduced to my mouth. And my coffee is cold. Just two swallows remain.

A war, then, is raging between the Writing Neurons and the Practical Neurons. The Writers want to stay and keep writing. “Damn it, man, you’re on a roll. Don’t stop now.” But the Practicals are urging, “Go get food. Run errands. Get other things done.”

The final piece of it all is time, though. Time is the empress. Much as I want to keep writing, I have real-world commitments to fulfill. So how do I feel?

Well, resigned to the inevitable brought on by the buts.

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The Writing Moment

It’s been profitable but daunting work down in the novel mines. After chipping along with the pick for the right words, rich seams of plotting, story, character, and setting were found and worked out. Coming up each day, re-emerging into the real world, brought realizations of how deeply he was into it. Matters such as time, tasks, and news, were slipping past, undone, barely noticed. He promised himself, as soon as this novel is finished, he will take up other matters, work hard and catch up.

Yes, he makes the promise but other novels are out there, waiting to be written. He wonders if having a clone would help. It couldn’t be exact; the other fellow would need to be the one immersed in the real world, because he likes it too much, down in the novel mines.

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Fourday’s Theme Music

Today is Thursday, commonly known as day four of the standard work week. Maybe that’s a used-to-be. Could be different in this 24/7 existence which supposedly rules the U.S. I say supposedly because there are many things not available 24/7. They claim it’s a 24/7 news cycle. We know that’s not true. Politicians and corporations love them a Friday dump because they know that news garners less attention.

I favor using Fourday in honor of Thursday’s tentative origins. Back when the days of the week were being conceptualized, many people wanted to name the days by their order. Weeks weren’t even involved in the first round of thought. Today would have been Nineday because it’s February 9. (2023, BTB). That was rightly criticized as not helpful. Imagine the conversation. “When do you want to get together?” “Nineday, February 9.” Doesn’t add much does it? That’s when the great thinker and philosopher, Whathehellus, stepped up and came up with the days we now use. Whathehellus is also famous for giving us the expression, “What the hell?” Why else do you think we use it?

48 F out in Ashlandia at the mo, cold air bleached warm by rousing sunshine. Solar light splashes in through windows throughout the house’s east and south sides, invoking delightful coziness. 56 F is due up as the high, according to the weather seers. No reason why that won’t be attained can be seen right now, but you know weather and clouds, don’t you? Weather and Clouds, once a proud Brit rock band, now just surfs the sky causes mischief. W&C, as some call them, had their most notable hit with “Shadowing Your Day”, back in the day.

Sol’s presence was noted at 7:15 this morning. Sol will be left out by the world’s ongoing spin at 5:36 PM. Those times are only good for Ashlandia. Your times will vary.

The Neurons planted a couple songs in the morning mental music stream. They’re related. It started with irritation with Papi, our ginger floof. He was going in and out and in and out times three. Poor little one was restless and bored. Naturally, The Neurons responded with The Who, “Squeezebox”, from 1975. But when I finally forced myself awake and out of bed, “Real World” by Matchbox Twenty (1998) was brought up by The Neurons, cause there’s this line, “I wish the real world would just stop hassling me.

Okay, coffee has been consumed (black with a shot of whiskey, of course), as well as brekkie. Time to go write and rule. Stay pos, and make Fourday the best one you can. Here’s the theme music. Cheers

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Sunday’s Theme Music

Today’s stream music arrived in my head because, what if?

The what if game is always a small diversion. The rules are to ask yourself to imagine how your existence would be different if you made a different decision, followed another path, or handled something in some other way than what you did.

What if you had gone to college?

What if you’d taken that job?

What if you’d married that person?

From that, in trickled Rob Thomas singing Matchbox Twenty’s song, “Real World”. It asks those questions about being in charge, or a superhero, among other things.

And it all has a direct link to writing yesterday. A big portion of my writing process is playing what if? It’s intriguing as part of the process because I’ll think that through, applying different ideas, possibilities, and outcomes, but when I sit down and write, it’s something completely different.

And that’s why writing entertains me.

Here’s the music.

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Unprepared

I’ve been thinking about murder. It was fiction, based on news stories and historical accounts of true murders.

I’ve been crafting scenes and realizing characters, and defining arcs. I’ve been immersing myself in these fiction details. It was enjoyable. It was about the writing, the story telling, the characters, and the richness I felt in finding them all in that one beautiful little chapter.

But today it seems odd, even wrong, to write about violence after such a violent week. Besides America’s gun violence, besides Dallas, besides WaPo’s feature that shows 509 Americans killed by Police this year to date, besides the bombing in Iraq that killed 300, besides these and the anti-Semitic, anti-sanity, anti-progress utterings of Donald Trump, GOP candidate for POTUS, besides the ongoing refugee crises from the ongoing wars and fighting, and the animal abuses and murders….

Well, besides these things, and climate change and the hottest June on record and the smallest Arctic ice on record…besides these things….

I write to entertain myself. The entertainment comes from trying to understand events and people. In my murder mysteries, I attempt to understand how one person comes to decide to kill another and the course of thinking investigators follow to discover who did it and why. In my science fiction, I attempt to bridge technological advances with the impact on societies and individuals, and strive to understand how they cope with the challenges of change, of being on other worlds and traveling through space in another world, the one of the starship.

But the real world is intruding today. Dallas is intruding. I don’t want to write about murder.

This becomes a test. I have my coffee, my goals, and my intentions. I’m here to write. Writing is meditative, a chance to escape the world’s trials and errors and the personal frustrations of living. But the building momentum of what’s been going on, the world’s escalating violence and, sadly, what seems like rising selfishness and hatred, is crashing over me and taking me down.

Now I offer another but. Everything is a spectrum for me. This post is on a spectrum of personal and private thoughts and efforts to understand the world and myself. On the private scale, it gets close to the bone, probably a seven on a 1-10 scale. If I’m ever at ten, I’m emotionally and intellectually naked and truthful. There have been searing moments when I’ve been a ten with myself. It’s ugly and beautiful.

So now, the but, writing this post helps me understand my perspective and permits me to vent. It isn’t deep nor gravely insightful or profound, but still, it’s a release. That’s what’s happened by sitting and writing out my thoughts. Now I can take a deep breath, pivot myself, open a file, and write like crazy.

Just give me a few more minutes, and I’ll willing to try.

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