Sunday’s Theme Music
Mood: glum
After greeting us with sunshine this morning, Sunday, October 22, 2023, has served non-stop rain to Ashlandia, where the fresh air is never canned and the drivers are extra-distracted.
Well, first, my apologies. I’m glum today, even irritated and moody. This is due to my illness. It’s plagued me for over two weeks. Nothing deep nor serious, just enough to be bothersome. After convincing myself I was rid of it, the sore throat, lethargy, and headache parts all stormed back. Just depressing, you know? And irritating.
And frustrating. Did I mention that? I’d entertained visions of industrious editing and revising and this damn sickness just undercut all intentions. I’ve been gritting my teeth in a struggle to will myself through it. Instead, I just want to sit back, feeling sorry for myself, reading and chilling. Heavy sigh emerges after I acknowledge and type that.
I’ve tried to edit and revise twice; it’s a challenge today. Some of this is because I’m dealing with a very abstract notion toward the novel’s end. I’m attempting to transition it from its abstract roots into something real and authentic. Patience, deep thinking, and persistence are needed, and I’m struggling to generate those today.
Today’s theme music is “Black Hole Sun” by Soundgarden. I came up with this by myself, without The Neurons’ help. It came about from watching clouds move in and overwhelm the morning sunshine, undermining my enthusiasm for the day. These days come, of course. It’s not necessarily indicative of anything except a crappy-ish day. It’ll pass.
Meanwhile, I’ve always enjoyed “Black Hole Sun”. It comes across as a declaration to me. The words are sort of contradictory — “Black hole sun, won’t you come, and wash away the rain” — but that somehow springs some defiant hope in me. Perhaps it’s just the plaintive way it first comes across before exploding with brashness, a tone and mood reinforced with hard guitar chords and rolling drums. Besides those elements, weariness is wired into the verses such as this one:
Stuttering, cold and damp
Steal the warm wind, tired friend
Times are gone for honest men
And sometimes far too long for snakes
In my shoes, a walking sleep
And my youth I pray to keep
Heaven send Hell away
No one sings like you anymore
h/t to Genius.com
It’s a stream of consciousness of spent energy, which is much how I feel today. I should warn you, it’s a bizarre video.
Stay pos — at least more positive than me, please — and be strong. I’m trying to move forward; hope you do as well. More coffee, please, black as the sun, hot as ice. Here’s the music. Cheers
The Writing Moment
I love reading and writing. I think I’m learning to love editing and revising, but they’re more challenging.
Writing is a matter of switching on my imagination and playing various games. These games are typically, ‘what if’ and ‘who did’ variations, putting the characters into interesting and challenging situations, and then finding the resolution of those created problems. I write these in bursts and then spend time refining and expanding on them.
I’m a pantser, as it’s called. Pantsers are also sometimes called organic writers; we don’t outline, or outline very little.
A problem with my method of writing from the hip is what happens next is often a surprise. Characters often go into unexpected directions. As I write then, I need to address how they veered from my original intentions. Then I edit to some degree, to confirm it all somewhat fits together.
Editing and revising requires me to delve more deeply into these matters, also addressing pacing, and clarifying as I do. These activities are seriously embraced once a draft has become solid enough to start resembling a novel.
Editing and revising requires more discipline, and I’m not the most disciplined individual. Burdened with its own challenges, editing and revising also brings greater reward. As many writers will say, the first few drafts are learning the story, finding the plot, and understanding the characters. For me, the editing and revising parts are about developing authenticity and depth.
Then comes reading. I mean writing others’ works, whether it’s fiction or non-fiction, and any of the sub-genres.
I often limit my fiction reading while I’m writing. I know from my experiences that fiction reading causes me to challenge what’s up with my own fiction in progress. So I avoid it.
But all reading also inspires me to write. Non-fiction pulls me into a different direction, of course, which ends up costing me time as I pursue knowledge and expansion of things I seek to understand more deeply or clearly.
Once I’m finished with drafts and enter the editing and revision stage, I happily jump back into fiction reading. Where fiction reading now becomes a problem in that stage is that I need to divide my time between the book I’m enjoying reading, and the book I’m enjoying creating.
You know, though, I have it pretty good if that’s the summation of my life’s problems.
Just for the record, I’m now reading the second book in Naomi Novik’s Temeraire series. A creation of alternative history, it’s written like historic fiction with a fantasy kicker. That kicker is the existence of dragons. These dragons are intelligent and well-spoken. Yes, they speak, and they develop solid, beautiful relationships with their people.
They’re also used as instruments of war. A great deal of the first book dealt with dragon strategy in conjunction with naval warfare, and the tending and treatment of dragons.
It’s all set in the era of the Napoleonic Wars, but fascinating politic variations emerge, as well as challenges built into that era regarding class and sex roles. Lot of fun to read. I can imagine writing it was terrific fun.
As far as non-fiction reading, I’m now into The Wager: A Tale of Shipwreck, Mutiny and Murder by David Grann. I’d previously read his books, The Lost City of Z and Killers of the Flower Moon. I enjoy his writing style and the information they convey about things that I didn’t know. I know so little about this world, and it’s fun and exciting to learn more.
I don’t hesitate to recommend any of the mentioned books. My hope is that someday at least one of my efforts will be regarded and enjoyed in the same way that I enjoyed these.
Another Driving Dream
In this dream, I’d driven to a pre-arranged place where I met up with friends.
I was younger, in my twenties, I think, and the others’ age was in that same realm. While I knew everyone in the dream and considered them a friend, only one was a real life friend. This was my sister-in-law, B, who I’ve known since I was in tenth grade in high school.
We were meeting as a group to decide where to go. A brief discussion led to someone suggesting, “Let’s go to southern California.”
“Yes, let’s go to San Diego,” another said.
Further discussion changed our destination to La Jolla.
Pushback rose. “La Jolla? It’s nice but there’s nothing there.”
“There’s the ocean,” others answered. La Hoya was confirmed as where we were going.
I’d been to La Jolla a few times. Once on vacation with my wife, and three other times when my employer, US Surgical Corporation, sent me for trade shows. I like the small and picturesque place. Going there pleased me.
I asked, “Are we all driving?” Because we’d all driven cars there. It seemed to me that one reason we’d met was to share cars, letting us share driving, too, and cutting cost, not just in money, but in what our driving did to the environment. My car was a large black BMW hybrid sedan.
Nobody seemed to hear my question. All seemed busy just gabbing. I called, “Does anyone want to go with me?” Again, there wasn’t any response.
I went to my car to prepare to leave. Part of that was trying to attach an fabric doughnut pillow to my car’s rear. Even in the dream, I wasn’t sure why I was doing this, but, paradoxically, it was important to me in the dream.
The doughnut was attached. Onlookers were impressed, and thought my solution clever. Worries were rising for me that the doughnut would be dragged along the roads and ruined. So I worked on it more, becoming satisfied at least.
Returning to my group, I asked once again, “Does anyone want to ride with me?”
Damian, a young man, said, “I will, if you’re offering.”
“Great,” I replied. “I’m over there.”
I was walking, talking, and pointing as this went on. Damian was on his back. I noticed several others in the group were on their backs, awake and talking, but looking up. Possessions and cluttered surrounded them.
Eager to get on the road, I went to my car, slid into the driver’s seat, and waited for Damian to appear. Impatience growing, I finally got out and went looking for him.
“I’ve changed my mind,” he said after I found him. “I’m going to drive myself.”
Exasperated, I called out, “Does anyone else want to ride with me?”
“I will,” my sister-in-law answered. “Where you parked?”
After showing her, I headed back to my car to wait. I was pleased she was going to ride with me because I enjoy her company.
That’s where the dream ended.
My first thought was that the BMW isn’t a cheap ride. But does that signify anything? No, The Neurons replied, except is has value.
Most of my focus went to the frustration of trying to get the seven of us moving. Why seven, I wondered, and why my sis-in-law.
My SIL is someone who I respect. Things weren’t going well for her after high school graduation, but she changed directions and reinvented herself. I admire the willpower and determination she asserted in those years. She’s a confident and charismatic person.
As for seven, I undersand it’s supposed to be one of those spiritual, powerful numbers. Doing some research on the net, I saw that it can mean you’re on the right path.
From all this, I created an explanation that I’m on the right path for what I want to achieve, but I’m exasperated by my slow progress, and that it’s messier than I like. But if I focus, as SIL did, I can make it.
Either that, or The Neurons are playing mind games with me again.
Michael Seidel, writer 