The Writing Moment
I completed revising and editing the novel in progress. Gravity’s Emotions.
I wrote the novel I wanted. The story I wanted to read. As ‘they’ always advise and suggest. ‘They’ are the establishment. The writers who made it. The teachers who teach it. The editors who edit it, the publishers who print it, the agents who represent it. Of course, once the writer writes the novel they want, ‘they’ all take their turns on it. That’s the art, and the business. Then it gets to the readers.
Woo, boy.
My doubts have been kicking me, heaping scorn on my effort. Those doubts are always ready to jump on me. Doesn’t matter what’s going on. They are what they are.
“Your idea of inconsistent consistent inconsistency is ridiculous,” they growl. “It’s too complicated. Too surreal and too far out there. And the book is too big. That’s also a stupid title.”
“Thanks, guys,” I answer. Because there is no arguing with doubt. Let it come, beat you up, expend its energy, and walk away. Don’t engage your doubt. That’s what ‘they’ say.
The doubts do present legitimate points. The manuscript is an epic monster. 700 pages. Umpteen billion words. Lot of fun to write, edit, revise. Amazing that I wrote that thing in a few hours a day. I started it in July of 2024. I often ponder, HTF is that possible? It neatly slots into my thoughts about duality: it was at once hard work and a long time and a lot of hours, and not much time, not too difficult, and a lot of fun.
Meanwhile, the draft is being distributed to my small core of private readers. See what they think. Decisions will be set regarding their feedback. Then, into the submission maws.
While that’s all happening, another novel is already underway.
Munda’s Theme Music
Cold spring night ended with sunshine breaking apart the clouds like Jesus taking on the money changers. Blue sky smile down on us. Sunshine is tasked with warming us to 68 F, up from 46.
Papi likes having the pet door back on. He’s resumed his unique style. A paw is inserted into the space betwixt the flap and its flame. He pulls the flap toward him to enlarge a space. Then he sticks his head through. Creeps on in. Seeing me watching, he pauses. Confirms who I am. Greetings are exchanged. He comes on for some pets, treats, and cat nip. A little later, he reverses course. Heads for the sunny backyard.
But. A but always crops up. In this but, Papi still beats on the back door. Even though the pet door is open. I have applied some erratic noodling to it. I believe that the beating is his communication system. Like drums or smoke signals.
Papi sending smoke signals. Alarm inducing idea.
Papi was telling me that he wanted his water dish refilled and outside. I’ve pulled it in at night. Don’t want to encourage other wildlife to hang around. I’ve set up a water bowl for them in another area of the yard, around in the front, away from the doors. Papi detests drinking water in the house. Likes drinking it outside. We all have our foibles.
On to politics. Ugh. No. Full coffee saturation is required before I go there today.
All kinds of music occupy the morning mental music stream. Like rock concert going on in there. First up in heavy rotation was the Animals with “House of the Rising Sun.” Brought on by seeing the sunshine rising, brightening, filing the world, including our house. Then there was Chris Isaak. “Baby Did A Bad Bad Thing”. That was in response to some news article I read. Next came Aerosmith. “Walk This Way.” That came after my wife returned from her exercise class. I was reading, thinking, gaming. Wasting away the hours that make up a slow day. I finally said, “I got to get moving but my get up and go seems to have got up and went.”
So here is my morning mental music stream. Brought to you by The Neurons. The Neurons: when you don’t know what to think.
I enjoyed watching and listening to this video of The Animals. It brought back elements of another time and delivered smiles to me. Hope you find it the same, seeing those young individuals and the more primitive conditions of television and pop culture.
Listening to Chris Isaak has been tarnished by a “Friends” episode that featured Isaak as a guy dating Phoebe. He sings a few high notes. She starts laughing.
Coffee is at hand. Time to coffee up and go be me. You go be you. Let’s do the best we can. Come on, let’s walk this way. Cheers
Sunda’s Theme Music
Chilly. Rainy. Foggy. Those were yesterday’s descriptors. It didn’t get to anywhere near the theoretical high of 51 F around my zone of life.
Today is sunny. Windy. Warmer. 52 F. Clouds and blue sky mingle like it’s a company holiday party. The high will be 62 F.
Today is Sunda, April 27, 2025.
My wife and I are setting up for a trip to the coast. Our usual house sitter is available. Reservations have been made. We have worries. This will be Papi’s first time being alone. He knows the house sitter. Doesn’t run from her. Let’s her pet him. But with spring pointing toward summer, the wildlife has grown busier. Raccoons come by. Coyotes, bears, cougars are out there, along with opossums and skunks. Rats and mice. We’ll set things up as best as we can and cross our fingers.
Today’s music is “Bloody Well Right”. 1974 song. Supertramp. I was singing it to myself after different topics traversed the sticky gray zone this morning that I call thinking. Not much of it was of import. Just the usual forays into novel writing, fiction I’m reading, cat, family and personal matters, health, politics, news, government, dreams, and memories. I’ve been experiencing a wealth of dreams, for instance. What does it all mean? And I’ve set up a dental appointment for some overdue work. Then there’s house repairs. Call to Dad. Text to Mom. Mother’s Day card and gift. Flowers, candy, food, or…what? It’s all underlined by what is perceived as a time of drastic change in the country.
Coffee is singing its songs to my cells. Sunshine is shining. Plans are underfoot. So is the cat. Hope you have an awesomely solid day, devoid of crises and problems, and maybe with some good food. Here we go.
Cheers
Twosda’s Wandering Thoughts
Time for some first world blues. I’m in the coffee shop. Music is playing. Business is booming and the baristas are scrambling, shouting out order details, clarifications, comments. Machines grind, hiss, and whirl with energy. Other customers are set up to chat, read, type. Conversations rise and fall.
Above it all is a man with a baritone theater voice. He’s on his cell phone. Although he’s across the room from me, his voice echos above all other sounds. Maybe it’s a matter of acoustics. He’s calling to different businesses to make purchases and complaints. He’s pedantic but polite. His first three calls are flavored with a condescending attitude toward the people on the other end.
“Do you have my email address?” he asks again and again.
“You have a screen in front of you, don’t you?” he asks. “Look at the screen. Does it have an email address? What is that email address for me? And my phone number. No, this is what you should have. 541111111.” This is repeated. “Yes, it’s seven ones in a row after the area code.”
I respect that it could be worse. I could be at home, typing on my computer, responding to my wife and cat, becoming annoyed with them. I could be trapped in an airport, waiting for a delayed flight, or in traffic somewhere, wondering why traffic isn’t moving. I could be sweating it out with an injury or disease, or fretting over a loved one’s health. I could be poor and homeless, hunting for a meal and a little relief from the elements.
I’m normally effective at filtering sounds out of my awareness. His voice and conversations are just one of those things annoying me today. That’s my problem, though.
That’s why I rant.
Michael Seidel, writer 