Muted Days

It has been raining here all week and I love every moment of it. I love cold and dreary weather that gives other people seasonal affective disorder (which has one of the most fitting acronyms of any I’ve seen thus far). Perhaps it’s because I’m fat and also a furnace of body heat, so that having the cold weather makes it so I can operate without fear of overheating. It’s like I’m an automaton, but this secret is so well kept even I myself do not know the truth of the matter. What I’ve been assured is water my entire life is actually coolant and meals are simply fuel and resources being pushed into my body. Not in the metaphorical sense but literally. Perhaps rain is just relaxing to me, firing across my synapses, reminding me of snuggles I had with my first dog who was sensitive to thunderstorms.

I had a huddle of dogs on my bed, staring out the window at the gray sky and nearly motionless, nearly lifeless landscape from my bedroom window almost every day this week. To say there was a sense of anticipation among the group would be to ignore the quietness of the activity. We barely stirred among the sheets as we lay there and stared out the window. In the other room I could hear my older sister listening to CD’s teaching her Spanish a world away. These are quiet moments that don’t require thinking, just the feeling of warmth set against the cold. A somber consolidation of love on a mattress.

I never feel like there is more to do than I can do on days like this. I know that I’m limited in what I can accomplish that day, but the freedom that brings to a person is something we can relish. I know what is possible to achieve and I don’t have to fight my way through each and every obstacle. I know how fast I can go, and I feel encouraged to take a steady pace, rather than try to rush through things in short bursts. After all, there’s only so much that can be accomplished before I retreat to my bed and watch a static world with a multitude of dogs.

Yesterday, for NaNoWriMo, I wrote 2,690 words.

I’ve started off strong in the challenge, writing a bit more than I was required to write because that’s where there was a comfortable stopping point. It is, so far, the majority of the first chapter of the novel. Not a bad chunk of words and I honestly had to stop myself from writing more. After all, this is a month long marathon, not a one day sprint. Having been a very heavy procrastinator as a student, I’ve done plenty of sprints getting a story done, but that’s always exhausting, and I’m plenty tired as it is with my insomnia.

Honestly, it’s a lot easier to start writing the next day if you stopped before you ran out of ideas the day before. I’ve made that mistake in past iterations of NaNoWriMo. I’ve thought to myself, I’m on a roll, I’d hate to stop now, and then proceed to write for ten straight hours, netting over 6,000 words and been proud of myself. Then comes the next day and I sit down, fully prepared to pump that many words out again, only to find the word well dry, and my mind exhausted. That’s why forcing yourself to do only so many words a day, no more or less, is so helpful. The good days don’t overwhelm your mind, and the bad days don’t last too long.

Today, for me, is a bad day by reasons of exhaustion not to do with writing. The idea of sitting down with my laptop and typing for eight hours sounds overwhelming. I wouldn’t do it if that was the plan. But since I know the pace, and I know that it will only take me three to four hours to hit my word count then I’ll do that. It’s a much smaller job and one I can do in short bursts, and possibly after a nap if I can manage to fall asleep. I will be hitting my word count today. I’m going to write a whole novel this month, or at least the majority of one. I’m ready to run the marathon.

Shifting Structures

Have you ever looked up at a skyscraper and witnessed the nearly imperceptible swaying of the building? Or have you ever been up in a building and stood still, closed your eyes and felt the swaying beneath your feet? Yet, at the base of those buildings there is no movement. It’s such a strange illustration of how things work in so many facets of life. A strong foundation is necessary to build upon, but rigidity must give way as we work our way up to loftier heights. Simultaneously, it must never become too flexible or else it will be unsafe for anyone inside and the building will collapse.

It’s a fairly obvious metaphor about writing. The rigid base would be the language in which you write, for me that’s English. As you build up the way you use this language can’t stay the same or it won’t support what you’re building up. Reaching higher means more mess with language. Moving words from front to back, forward, inside out, twisting and turning until it sways in the breeze. Too much give, however, and it will lie limply across the earth, going far one way or the other, but never as high as you desire.

There will be some that will argue that plenty of people stick with a basic use of the language, using the rigid rules of grammar and standard words. Those people build pyramids with broad points that become narrow at the top, with little space inside for the reader to explore. On the inverse, there are some that would say that there are those that float up in the breeze. I’d accuse these of attaching kites to their top to keep themselves afloat. Inside, the reader will never fully feel comfortable or as though they understand what their reading. Going further can scare the reader, or seem unwise. It also depends on the winds generated by the topics therein. When those topics cease being as important, the story will fall. That said, both those extremes have classic works. Works can defy our expectations, but our expectations are there to show us that those are the exceptions not the rules, and it can be hard to find a good median.

The way I’m going to challenge everyone to shift that is to simply look through their daily interactions. We all make mistakes at some point when we write to people. We live in a world where the fastest form of communication is writing. As you go about your day, when you make a mistake in writing, correct yourself but not in the way that you were originally going to correct yourself. Shift it and change it to mean the same thing said in a different way. You’ll find yourself thinking of the same old words with a different flair that will become unique to your writing.

Once Upon a Time

The titular phrase passes through my head every time I sit down to write. A tired cliche for some, the hot breath of childhood nostalgia for others, and a well-known writing trope. Personally, I think it’s under utilized for the middles of stories as it’s become so ingrained in the beginnings.

Once upon a time, I started writing a daily blog. It was a terribly heavy undertaking that I wasn’t sure if I was at all prepared for so I took the leap off the bridge into the waters below. Silently, I am hoping that the waters are not so distant that their physics resemble more closely those of concrete than those of cushions. Once upon a time, I’m praying that my form proves more swan dive than belly flop. Once upon a time, this will matter.

The thing about once upon a time is that so few people need it at the beginning anymore. Those of us who still follow the fairy tale motif read it in at the beginning regardless. Others either try to ignore or don’t hear the insistent chant. Everything was, is, or will be once upon a time. Once upon a time there was a beginning. Once upon a time there is a middle. Once upon a time there will be an end. Maybe sooner than I think. Maybe not as quickly as you fear. Once upon a time, it was too late to go back.