It's a work day, and I've managed to get up at 4:30 AM for the purpose of writing before work. Just half an hour to start and maybe more later if I can make, or better use, the time. Sometimes there seems little or nothing to write about.
My stomach is making odd sounds, likely because I ate something containing lactose last night. The microwave is chirping mechanically every minute to let me know the coffee I reheated is ready. That sort of synchronized repetition eats away at my patience if I let it. I'm distractible. Something like how whistling tea kettles sound like panic to me and cause me to run to make it stop or respond with verbal anger. My tee shirt smells like perfume. Cars are beginning to move out there.
It's still winter, but snowless and warmish, as far as I can tell from in here. Yesterday, I didn't speak to anyone except the young man at the supermarket check out when I went to stock up on antacids, and then only to ask him how he was doing. He was doing alright, and since I didn't have my own card, he was willing to use the store card to save me a few cents. I found that encouraging - the thought, I mean.
I'm waiting for my paycheck to hit the bank and was disappointed to see that it hasn't yet. The microwave is still dutifully chirping. If I respond aloud - either sharply or thankfully - it will make little difference. I don't know how long it will continue. At some point the microwave will get distracted, become bored, give up hope, say screw you, or get caught up in other electronic activities and desires. Another car goes by.
In sitting down to write - actually I'm sort of laying down, propped up in my bed - I can choose to look around, look back, or look forward. Or I can look within and start inventing things. H.P. Lovecraft, for example, "idiotically digging in a grave". I read that last weekend and it stuck with me.
Pure spontaneously invented fiction is difficult and of little interest to me most of the time. Fictionalized non-fiction works a little better. That's what I call writing about something that actually occurred but with a twist, or some embellishment, or distortion that makes it story telling rather than journalism or a confession. I read a description of creative nonfiction that I liked - true stories, well told. I often find myself aspiring to that.
Pure spontaneously invented fiction is difficult and of little interest to me most of the time. Fictionalized non-fiction works a little better. That's what I call writing about something that actually occurred but with a twist, or some embellishment, or distortion that makes it story telling rather than journalism or a confession. I read a description of creative nonfiction that I liked - true stories, well told. I often find myself aspiring to that.
It's probably a good idea to write with purpose or a plan, but right now, I'm just happy to be writing at all. I should have done this daily practice thing years ago, but then I should also avoid should of's. That's just another patch of quicksand.
The microwave has given up, by the way. And the Indian psychiatrist I recently worked with advised that one should only use the bed for sleep or for sex. Definitely not for writing, he'd say with certainty, no.
The microwave has given up, by the way. And the Indian psychiatrist I recently worked with advised that one should only use the bed for sleep or for sex. Definitely not for writing, he'd say with certainty, no.
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