The Writing Equation:
Five minutes of imagining scenes of your novel in progress while in bed = roughly thirty thousand words and ten days of writing.
That’s how it feels to me.
Your experience may vary.
Wednesday’s Wandering Thoughts
Slow day at the coffee shop. Bailey and Nat were behind the counter. No customers were behind me. I asked Bailey if she wrote cursive.
Yes. She told about learning it, she thought when she was eight, in Washington. “Then we moved to Tennessee. I was just learning how to write cursive then.”
“Can your children read cursive?” I asked.
“My daughter can. She’s thirteen and she just learned to read and write cursive. My son can’t, yet. He’s younger and I think they’re going to teach it this year.”
I then explained why I was asking. We’d been at the DMV in Medford where the agent joked about the need to read cursive. Her children couldn’t read or write it.
Bailey asked Nat if she could write cursive. “Yes,” Nat agreed. “But we were the last class to be taught, we were told.”
I said, “I’m happy to hear they’re still teaching it.”
Bailey volunteered, “Yes, but I think it varies with the district. I’m 38.”
Nat said, “I’m 24.”
“You learned in California, right, Nat?” I asked.
She nodded. “Yes, and my teacher was like, you will learn cursive. I’m not changing my writing. You will learn it.”
Her imitation had us laughing.
So, cool. Here in Ashland, at least, cursive remains alive.
The Airplane Crash Dream
I was on a large, modern aircraft filled with people. We were going on a long flight.
After takeoff, I was taken to the cockpit. It was airy and spacious. Windows showed the air around us but I could also see the planet below. It was a bright, beautiful day, with a few high clouds. Very cool.
I was told that I’d been selected to monitor the flight. Didn’t need to do anything; just be there.
Well, I could do that! It felt like some kind of honor. I settled into a chair and my role. The flight progressed…
Then, I was awakening on the flight deck. Klaxons were blaring. I could tell from perspective and angles, we were MUCH lower. I thought, oh my God, we’re going to crash. And I’m going to be in so much trouble.
Then I was irritated because, why didn’t someone already respond, come up, and take over. Then I thought about pulling on the controls and trying to take us to a higher flight level.
I thought, ARE YOU NUTS? Don’t touch the controls. You might make it worse.
Then, in a weird dream shift, I was on the ground at the airport, in the working part of the airport, waiting for the plane to craft, fretting about the trouble I was going to be in. I ran into a friend who was on the flight; he was worried about being in trouble, too.
We had to keep moving to stay out of the airport workers’ way. My friends explained that there were five of us in positions like me, people who were supposed to be watching things, so there was trouble to go around. At the same time, the people who were supposed to be on the job were not, so they would also be in trouble.
Exactly, I agreed.
Meanwhile, a young female set up equipment on a table not far from us. She was going to monitor the aircraft’s progress from there because they might need to blow it up. She was busy and couldn’t explain more about this process.
Then I heard others saying, “Look, what’s that?”
I went out. They were pointing up. The sky was blue but a bright white fireball was going across it.
That’s the jet, I thought. Then I thought, but that could be a meteor. Or a comet or asteroid.
Then I thought, wait: how am I on the ground, waiting for the plane to crash? That didn’t make sense.
I then went back in and decided to change clothes so I could walk around more. Then I thought, how do I have my clothes on the ground with me if we’re waiting for the aircraft to crash? How did we all get off the aircraft, if it’s still flying?
That didn’t make any sense.
Dream end.
NOTE: When I wrote up this dream this morning, I saw how much of it paralleled what I was going through with writing. I set aside “Unfocused” after several drafts to let it cool, get some distance. Then I began working on “A Tribe Called Death”. As I hit page 70, I was frantic because that novel took some weird turns and left me flailing about where to go, what to do.
I calmed myself: hey, this is the first draft, nimrod. Just write. And by the end of the day, a character had taken a position and showed me the way. I think the dream reflected that whole process, in its own way.
Sunday’s Theme Music – Alright
Ashland, southern Oregon — Sunday, June 7, 2026.
Terribly deep blue sky is out there, reflecting the front capping the valley. Clear and sunny, the temperatures are hovering in the mid 50s F but are on their way up to 70.
I’ve been running into friends who have ‘heard the news’ about my bladder cancer. They get the look and posture of concern. Ask how I am, offer to do things for me, all those things that we do. I love the support but dislike the attention.
Of course, it’s more than me. Most of my friends have lost friends and family to cancer of different kinds. They carry that weight.
Mom’s house is still being cleaned out. Gina sent a photo of Mom’s empty closet. Mom’s closet was always tight with clothes but impeccably organized. She had a thing with hangers, using different types of hangers for different materials and needs, a process born from years of life, routines, plans.
Habitat for Humanity is closed to donations in that area. Gina is paying Goodwill to come, take the furniture out, haul it away. The sales of some other furniture, purses, Corning Ware, fans, and electronics will cover those costs. The clothes are being given to various area charities. The irony is that the cost is about $600, which is almost as much as Mom paid for that furniture twenty years ago.
To have a life reduced to dollars and cents.
I have thoughts on Trump today, gleaned from new articles, but I’m running late. My wife arose early to continue cleaning the refrigerator. I couldn’t stand by and not help. It’s all done now, and yes, looks great and was worthwhile to do.
The music in today’s morning mental music stream is “I’m Alright”. Kenny Loggins wrote and performed it. The song was used as the theme music for “Caddyshack”, a movie with Bill Murray, Rodney Dangerfield, Michael O’Keefe, Ted Knight, and Chevy Chase that came out in 1980. It also starred a groundhog.
We were stationed in Japan shortly after that. Home video players were just hitting the market. We bought one and would go down and buy bootleg recordings of movies like “Caddyshack”. Then the USO at the base main gate opened a video rental business where we could rent videos for a dollar. Pause to reflect, that was over forty years ago. Where did the time go?
Hope your weekend is going well and is full of more happy peaks than low valleys.
Cheers
Michael Seidel, writer 