Q &

Why is it that I think so much more than I feel?

I’m not concerned about it. (Or I try not to be.) But I’m curious. (Or I try to be.) On the playground of my conscious life, my Mind is a quick and cackling imp, running circles around a ponderous and distracted older child: the Heart. He’s looking off into nowhere particular and ignoring the probing jabs and shouts of the younger boy. His eyes focus and unfocus with frustrating irregularity (frustrating not to he himself, but to the imp, who begs incessantly for the older boy’s help with random this-or-that’s and all too rarely rarely receives it).

I wonder why the older boy won’t focus like the younger wants him to – and whether or not it would be good for him to do so.

What is a waste of time, and what is esoteric, and why am I afraid of the both of them?

I don’t know if it’s valuable to record these wandering monologues. Do they help us think more clearly, or muddle us further? I think they help me; I hope they help you. Writing is like taking a picture of thought: every idea which once flew or flickered, promenaded or snuck about, is suddenly frozen and on display. Writing is like wrestling: difficult, sometimes sweaty, and dangerous around fire. Writing is like vomiting: one feels as though one must get something out, and feels better for it, afterwards.

I wonder why thinking feels so effortless, and is so difficult to present proof of.

Why do I feel I must anchor myself with legalism, and fly with liberality as fuel?

I rest and find peace in rules. (“I must make myself sleep for a given amount of hours.” “I need to balance play with study.” “I have to-“) But I am joyful and reinvigiorated when I break them. (Have you ever walked out to stare at the stars at two in the morning? Have you skipped school? Do you know that gut feeling that you are doing something right? Do you distrust it?) Would Icarus have flown more safely with a pair of heavy boots? I can’t tell if balance is supposed to be the careful weighing of extremes against each other, or a steady stream of pleasures and inconveniences so mild that they need hardly be weighed at all.

I wonder if I am procrastinating, or preparing.

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NaNoWriMo 2014 // Last Words // The author loses his mind

The Emperors New NaNo_mephonix-deviantart-com

NaNoWriMo is National Novel Writing Month, an event where thousands of writers write 50,000 words (or more) in one month. A novel. Or a good start, anyways. I’m participating this year. And so, in actuality, I don’t really have time to be writing this post. But I am. Because you (Yes, you.) are the best. And because you (Yes, you.) are just that great. Here I shall log my daily “last sentence,” beginning, as today is the second, with yesterday’s. (All these, by the by, are my own personal intellectual property, and thus… do not steal them.) *Note: Intellectual may occasionally be a stretch… I end most writing days at late o’clock at night, when my brain is on the fritz. So, please, just… bear with me.

10.01 “This was how Minerva found him then: shivering slightly from the cold and covered in grime in a spotless attic, pouring over Hephaestus the Grumbler by the light of a dying candle.”

10.02 “Never was a roof more quickly thatched, nor a shed mucked more thoroughly, than on that morning in the cold, with the promise of breakfast, and a story to make it whole.”

10.03 “What is going on?” [Appropriate, I think, for my feelings on the third day of NaNo.]

 10.04  “’Thank you,’ he said, quietly, and fled from the room.”

10.05 “Hating the weight of the money in his hand.”

10.07 [<< note: yikes.] “Then the valley opened up once again, and he was overwhelmed by a cloak of heady joy.” [<< note: ROUGH draft. So swallow your snort and hop on off that there seat of scoffers, Ricky.]

10.08 “To see a person as they are is less alarming than believing in their deception.”

10.10 [<< note: O_o] “And then five more words, like bells ringing in his ears: ‘You must not forget again.'”

10.11 “The street was far less frenzied in the evening, the press of bodies having thinned to a more comfortable crowdedness.” [“I am stinking beat. I have a writing headache. This is bad. This is very bad. I feel like I’m shaking a dry paint brush over a canvas, trying to get something to splatter off and look awesome. Today’s sentence was cherry picked out of the last paragraph I wrote. Everything that came after it was garbage. AUGH! AU-UH-AU-OO-AUGH! *chest-thump* *chews pencil* *eats pencil* I’m going to have to do something drastic.” End of transmission.]

10.12 “But the smithy raised a heavy hand for quiet, and when at last it came, spake softly, ‘No longer.'”

10.13 “Thus, despite the predicament you may be finding yourself in, I ask that you wait just a moment more, and allow me to sufficiently elaborate.” [Ha. Story of my (writing) life. p.s. This one was pulled out of the middle of the text too, but only because, well… the last line is stinking awesome, and I want to save it for when you READ THE BOOK. Woot. :-]

12.7 …. Hm. Two things I’m realizing here. For one, November is the eleventh month of the year…. *headdesk* *homeschool* *so, no desk* *just head* Secondly, that did not go at all as planned.

I shorted out. 14,000 words, near as many cups of chai, hours of sitting at a desk, or in a chair, or on the floor. By the end, there were a handful of times when I would sit down to write for two or three hours, and at the end of it, I’d end up with a couple hundred words. A pittance. Ugh. I had a weekend (around the 13th) (of November…) (11.13) where I literally had no time to write for 2 days. And I was… exhilarated. “And at last I see the light” kind of thing. I felt like someone lifted a barbell off my chest.

So rest was what killed me. But I will keep writing, now, and tomorrow, and the next time I hit a block. And the next time I’m disappointed. And so forth. A tortoise, running a better race in the long run. So… onward. :-)

Tortoise. courtesy of Disney
Tortoise. courtesy of Disney

Writer’s Block

I badly want to not write day. There’s so many things that I want to say

but I can’t because it’ll never do: it dies on my tongue before I’m half way through.

It’s like dreams where your arms can’t move, and you can’t quiet breathe, and you guess that you’ll die now

but you don’t because, when you get there, it’s just one more place where you can’t do what you’re meant to.

“Writer’s block.”

Stupid that they named it, ’cause now it’s my excuse. Foolish they called writing an “exercise,”

because now I have to, and thus would maybe like to, but it just won’t come.

And all of the sudden it’s a New Year’s resolution, and you and I both know it’s all down hill from there.

I badly want to write today, but it is a conflicting feeling, because I don’t know what I might like to write about,

and I’m fickle, so if I don’t want it, maybe I won’t get there.

Good grief.

Time to start speaking again.

Time to start saying, maybe, “I don’t know,” and then, “Here’s what I think anyways.” That’s how I can get my feet back under me. That is how to get the juices flowing. Just setting the words down again, on the page, like I used to. Ink isn’t fickle. Words are progress.

A “writer’s block” is his notepad, left blank. I’ve got a pen. Time to fix this.

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Why I Write

Photo Credit: Strobist (on Flickr)

In a fashion atypical to the majority of blogging (or writing in general), I’ve decided to give “the big reveal” at the beginning of the post, and work my way backwards from there. Dessert before breakfast. So here’s why I’m writing this blog (in four words).

I want to converse.

Are you… surprised? Confused? I hope not. The best conversations I have ever had have mainly involved other people talking. Dialogue trumps monologue in any arena. There are no one sided arguments. One man can’t sing a duet. The best parts of the victory speech is the triumphant cheer of the crowd. The best of my blog posts in my eyes are not those that are viewed the most, but those with the most comments. If it is really interesting, it should really be talked about.

I want the same principle that applies to these to apply to, and not only apply to but define, all of my writing. Your comments, arguments, suggestions, questions – these are the reason I put my work on this blog, because I want to engage your interests, and grab your attention. I don’t just want to stand in front of the microphone; I want to walk amidst the audience.

So today, I’m taking requests. What do you want me to write about? Or, more accurately: What do you want to talk about? Until the next…

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