Monthly Archives: November 2002

Art vs. Life vs. Imitation

Shit like this bothers me.

Three assholes gotta ruin it for everybody. Thanks to thepinklamb for the link. It’s a shame, too. Brilliant game.

Do parents not teach the difference between “make-believe” and reality?

Just another thought.

Even if I don’t make it to fifty-thousand words–

I’m going to write after NaNoWriMo. I’m going to sit at my desk (which is now in the family room) and just write. I’m going to write like I used to. Throughout high school and college, I had anger, angst. I used to sit at my desk and write for hours at a time. Papers, essays, stories, rants. It didn’t matter as long as I was sitting at a desk and writing. I had my laptop, I had WordPerfect 5.1, and the writing flowed forth.

Then I graduated, got several fairly decent jobs in a row, and got comfortable. I just stopped. I lost my “fire.” For the last couple of years, I have been writing journal entries, and little snippets that I deemed “storylets.” Character profiles, dialogue, descriptions of events. I shared these with others, and although they enjoyed them–but what were they a part of? They were interesting, and incomplete.

I agonized over how I was going to piece all of these together into a cohesive story. I chatted with my other friends. I started them, I deleted them. Nothing was good enough.

What I realize now is that nothing has to be “good enough.” It just has to be there.

First thing I’m going to finish is that short story I’ve been meaning to write. That one. The one with the guy and the girl. May or may not have happened to you. You tell me.

In the meantime, I have about thirty-one thousand more words to write, fifteen days to do it in, and no editor.

Anyone who’s interested in watching the creative process as it happens is welcome to come over and sit on my couch while I drink port and type like a madman.

“Someone call Guinness–I’m going from zero to drunk in twenty dollars!!”

Just a thought.

Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.

But novel writing is a difficult endeavour. The way is fraught (fraught, I say!) with peril. Like corrupted documents. And moving your computer out of your room. And work. And real life.

19,000 words and some change.

A little behind, but I can make that up in the next few days.

The worst part is. . .

There’s a zipcar ad running the rounds at bus stops here in the district. It reads:

350 hours a year having sex.
420 hours a year looking for parking.

This makes me want to cry because I don’t even have a car.

Fall

It’s the color of the leaves falling around you when you’re walking. It’s the crisp, fresh air and the comfortable warmth of a jacket that isn’t too warm. It’s the smell of burning wood in the fireplace, pumpkin pie spices in the kitchen, and the distinct rich sweet scent of earl grey in your mug. It’s open umbrellas and windows.

It’s fall in the city.

My favorite season here in the district. Not too cold, not too hot or wet–it’s just right. I think I fell in love with fall when I first experienced it in 1993.

Previous falls were spent lounging around in shorts and a t-shirt in San Diego, where yes, it’s always high sixties and low seventies, partly sunny, partly cloudy. It’s like the city got stuck changing gears between spring and summer and then the clutch broke.