The Tired Trek

The last thirty-six hours have been presented me with a real challenge:  how does one write when they aren’t there mentally?

It’s a strange feeling, let me tell you, but this whole weeks has been a bit of a writing bummer.  I’ve been managing five hundred words here, six hundred there, and while I was able to manage nearly twelve hundred on Wednesday night–which really is my night to shine–last night I managed only two hundred twenty-two, and I struggled the whole while I put that out.  Part of the reason was eating way more than I should have:  for some reason I was in the mood to pig out, and I overdid the carbs something spectacular.  That didn’t help at all.

Another reason is I’m tired.  I was up at four in the morning Friday, and last night I was up and down the whole evening, finally giving up the struggle to crawl out of bed about four-twenty and sit in my leather easy chair until about five, at which point I figured it was time to start getting ready for the long day ahead.

Why the trouble sleeping?  I’ve a few troubles going on:  there’s a friend I’m concerned about, and in another week I’m moving on from my old life and into the new one as I finally come out at work.  Nothing really major here, but it all adds up after a while and starts playing on your mind.  Particularly the coming out thing at work:  I’ve finally pulled the trigger on that matter, and though I’ve known it was going to happen one day, it doesn’t mean that I’m not finally getting a case of nerves over the fact that people I’ve worked with for a year and a half are now gonna deal with the New Girl in the Office.

Come on, who wouldn't love that shinny face?  Probably a few people, that's who.

Come on, who wouldn’t love that shiny face? Probably a few people, that’s who.

I’m also recognizing that the end of the novel is near, and I know this is gonna sound strange, but this time, I really don’t want it all to end.  Yes, it’s been a huge part of my life–sixteen months by the time I finally put it to bed–and it’s not only hard to say goodbye to these kids of mine, but there’s the realization that I don’t know when I’m going to revisit them.  There is a need to get out some other stories, and that will take me away from Salem and my Baby Snakes.

I have to finish this story.  And in a way, like them, I know they’re going to be real sadness when that happens.  I even had one of the lines I want to write for them in my head not long after I woke up–which followed, incidentally, a lyric from Wichita Lineman, “And I need you more than want you; and I want you for all time–” which was in my head as I opened my eyes this morning.  Those kids:  they won’t let me sleep.

A smoothie later and I’m finally waking up.  There is shopping ahead of me today, and I hope to get back into the story tonight after I return from my long afternoon trek.  Being out trying on clothes I’ll use for work should go a long ways towards waking me up.

Let’s hope the drive home doesn’t make me sad as I revisit the story once more . . .

Penny in the Rain

I don’t even have to think about the day and know it’s going to be rough.  Why is that?  Getting up so many times . . .

It was hard enough getting up at one AM and then trying to fall back asleep, but then the rain started about four.  Not just rain, but a thunder shower.  I haven’t heard thunder in a while, actually:  before I left home we were having something of a mini-drought, and though there’d been tons of rain in the spring, the summer had seen fit to shut it all down.  So a decided lack of thunder, you know?

Not here.  The storm started right about four and kept at it for about a half hour.  There were times when it sounded like it was right outside my window, but that was probably my imagination–or sound echoing off the mountain ridge a couple of miles away.  It was loud, and it wasn’t going to let me sleep.

Which I haven’t.  I may have dozed off for about thirty minutes at some point, but I was wide awake and not dreaming at six-ten, so I decided to get up, have breakfast, and start working on this post.

I would certainly love to have one good night’s sleep, since it seems as if I haven’t had one all summer long.

This story that’s been running through my head for the last month–I’m trying to clear it out so I can concentrate on other things.  After much consideration, I do not want to begin writing another erotic fantasy story that is going to feel like more of the same.  More of the, “Yeah, I’ve done this already,” feeling that is as bad for your ego and motivation that deliberately setting out to write crap.  I’ve done that last, and ended up with a novella.  I set out to write a novella, and I end up with a fifty-two thousand word novel.

Ideas that eventually aren’t that interesting go in the bin.  Maybe time for them at some point down the road, but not now, not here.

My imagination seems lacking in a way these days.  I suppose it’s the new surroundings and the job and the living out of hotel conditions.  Or maybe there’s something waiting to spring, getting ready to burst out and take over.  Between the last sentence, and the one before that, I actually paused for about a minute because a thought came into my head about an idea I had for a story last year.  There were only two words, but I hadn’t thought of those words in probably a year now.

That’s strange how that works.  Random thoughts popping into your head like that.  Almost as if the idea is trying to tell you something . . .

Tonight, I see an apartment, I get something to eat, and I sit down and brain storm some daddy issues.  The last I may have a handle on–oh, and they’re not my issues, but the issues of a character.

If they don’t make you crazy, it’s probably because they already are.

Rough Night in Nox

Today I was hoping to end out my first week in the new digs with a quick day at work, a little lunch in a new cafe, and finishing up Chapter Eleven tonight before turning in and figuring out what I’m going to do for the weekend.  That’s what I thought about last night.

However . . . my body and my mind thought otherwise.

The headache is still here, though not as major as it was the other day.  Last night I managed to edit about twenty-five hundred words in Couples Dance, and did a very good job of it, if I may say.  I watched a hilarious version of Pulp Fiction on AMC while I edited, because things were cut out and words were completely edited, and if you were using this movie as a guide to figure out what was going on, you’d probably get lost.  Any movie where The Gimp isn’t present, but you get to hear someone tell a young boy about how they kept a watch stuck up their ass for two years is a strange time indeed.

With all that behind me I headed off to bed . . .

And woke up about two AM with the guitar solo from Firth of Fifth running through my mind in a never-ending loop.  I felt warm, I felt a little disoriented, I felt uncomfortable.  I got up and washed off my face, then rolled back into bed and spent hours tossing and turning.  I didn’t seem tired, but I didn’t want to get out of bed, because I knew that once up, I’d be up the rest of the night.

I know I finally fell back to sleep because I had a dream that I drove up to my house and found people I didn’t know working on it, and who had put some of my things out on the curb for garbage pickup.  This did not please me, I can assure you, and there were words spoken, though being it was a dream I don’t know what was said.  I think at some part I ended up driving away and going for a walk in the woods because why not?

There were other moments, too, where I felt like I may have been awake, may have been asleep, and I didn’t know if I was dreaming, if I was hallucinating, or just had strange thoughts running about my head.  For one I was out shopping at Catherine’s, getting a couple of outfits for work, and Donna Noble–not Catherine Tate, the actress, but the actual character–was waiting on me, giving me the strange eye the whole time.  There was another of these moments where I swear the reason I was having trouble sleeping was because I’d just gotten breasts implants, and having big boobs in bed was bothersome . . .

Lastly, though, I was with someone I know, a special friend shall we say, and I spent a considerable amount of time kissing her from her cheeks to her toes and back.  This was topped off with something special that, while it took some time, the end result was great for us both.  The last part of this moment that I remember was holding her and calling her, “My dark witch,” to which she replied, giggling, “I’m not a witch, I’m your wife.”  Then she spooned into me and drifted off to sleep.

That’s what will likely happen to me tonight.

The drifting off to sleep thing, you know?