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.

The Military Exercise Dream

A heavy night of dreaming was endured last night. I’ve noticed my dreams have a cycle that parallels my other cycles. Observing it fascinates me. Within that cycle, then, I wonder if my military theme also works in a cycle within a cycle. I’m beginning to believe it does. Now I’ll watch for evidence while doubting that I, the observer, can objectively and dispassionately observe what’s happening to myself. It’s that kind of morning.

In the military exercise dream last night, I was part of the command staff. We were preparing for an exercise to test readiness. I was command and control IRL, and typically was the Battle Staff Exec (which I liked to state as the B.S. Exec), coordinating the Battle Staff response. But in the dream, I was given a folder. The commander said, “You’re in charge of communications.”

NBD, but I was surprised. The B.S. began walking through scenarios. Security went through a succession of possibilities about terrorist actions. I thought some possibilities were being overlooked and spoke up. Yeah, that was agreed.

Then it was my turn. As I began talking, the decision was made to move. We’d been in the commander’s conference room; now we moved to the actual battle staff. I took my place at the podium and tried to employ order so I could resume my briefing but small interruptions kept taking place. I kept beginning, “Communications will be an important part,” and then an interruption would ensue, humorously ironic, right?

Which summarizes the dream and my current issue. Writing at home instead of at a coffee shop has been been fraught with interruptions. That’s why (and how) I’d developed my writing process, to separate me from my home and its interruptions. So this dream seems like a manifestation of my daily writing problems while sheltering in place during the COVID-19 pandemic.

Sidetracked

I’ve been sidetracked on side stories while pursing the novel-in-progress.

These side stories are about the characters and the quintessential question, who are they? They’re entertaining but time and energy consuming.

One of the characters is Tink. I knew his companion, Deca, very well, and was coming to know his friend, Belt.

Not Tink. I’ve been wrestling with Tink’s character. I couldn’t get a handle on him. Part of me worried about this Tink because of other characters known as Tink, like Tink on “Lovejoy”, the tinker in rhymes and titles like “Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy”, or Tink as in Tinkerbell from Peter Pan. Didn’t want my Tink to be like those Tinks. My Tink’s name is not short for Tinker; it’s not short for anything. He is Tink, has always been called Tink, and doesn’t know who came up with it.

So, busy on other matters this morning, and suddenly his voice arrived. No fanfare, just there, flashing into my head. Sudden subsequent spurts of excitement were enjoyed: aha, that’s Tink.

Love those eureka moments. Think that’s what I live for as a writer, getting the answer to these queries I’ve created for myself. I always thought the scenes with Emma Thompson as Karen Eiffel in Stranger than Fiction (2006) when she’s wrestling with what should happen. The restlessness, obsession, irritation, and contempt personified what I sometimes experience.

Got my coffee. Time for Tink and I to write like crazy, at least one more time.

Diversity Fail

Saw an article today: “Friends Creator Marta Kauffman Tearfully Says She ‘Didn’t Do Enough’ for Diversity”.

No kidding, right? Black characters were few on that show. Past that, though, I thought, now there’s a timely sitcom: “Diversity Fail”. It would be about all the ways that diversity fails, and would feature a diverse cast, not just of races, but sexual identities and genders, sexual preferences and fluidity, and religion. It’d be a broad, rambling show focused on one person struggling to grasp it all without offending everyone. I’m thinking it’s more like “Fleabag” than “Friends”, though.

Got to stop thinking about it. It’s a distraction to the novel in progress. I’m already distracting myself with side stories trying to understand my characters. Gotta get more coffee. Then it’s back to writing like crazy, at least for a while longer.

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