Would That I Might

I am trying to keep focused on this novel that I just began writing, but it has been difficult.  For one thing, it has been a bit of a struggle getting into the meat of the story.  I've been finding myself writing a lot that is very honest and personal, but it is not necessarily in a form that resembles a story at the moment.  I think that is probably alright, for now, that it will begin to move that way when I am comfortable with the nature of this piece.  It is very much built on my experiences, particularly as a fat man, even as it also has science fiction elements at the core of the story.  I think that I need to get more comfortable in that space as a writer, and I believe that is happening.  I have been diligent, in spite of any misgivings or other difficulties, in working on this new piece each day, and I feel like that is the real secret.  I believe that if I keep at it this way, working on it a bit at a time from one day to the next, never letting it go but returning each

I Have Thought of What It Might Be if it were time for it.  I wish it could be that way, but it is not, will be different.  It will be, but not then and not here, not this, either. It will be another way and another place and some time to come that is otherwise to anything that is here or now. Someone will say that is fine, still, at least it will be.  Even if not perfect it is best it happen.  I do not know if that is the way or not. How would I know?  I am not sure there is a way to tell unless you follow it to the end and who wants to do that if it might be all wrong? It makes no sense, does it, none of it seems right, there isn't a bit of meaning there. It has gone out the side door while everyone else was busy watching out the window for storms, fireworks, the setting of the sun, a particularly startling bird.

I feel as if I am beginning to get a little bit more of a grip on the new novel, at least in terms of the voice and tone.  I am still trying to find my way into the actual plot, but that may need to wait until I feel confident about the character, and have a sense of the world they are inhabiting.  I think that I began to get a stronger sense of those things coming through tonight and I am trusting that as evidence that the process is working, even if it does not always seem that way.  It can take time, but I believe that it will come together soon enough and I think, maybe, that us beginning to happen.

It Is Still Slow A bit more each time, though, not that it is easier or that I feel steady, feel secure.  I wonder if it will fall apart, will collapse beneath me. It might, I think, but it has not, so far.  Maybe it will change tomorrow. If not, it will be the same thing. That is not terrible, I suppose. I have other preferences, if I could choose, but it is not terrible this way.

It took me a bit of time to get myself started with my work tonight, and it has gotten somewhat late, at least relative to my recent entries.  I am feeling it, am ready to just close my eyes and try to get some sleep.  I did it to myself, choosing to slack off instead of focusing on the writing.  Truthfully, it is that I am still feeling very hesitant around the new novel.  I think that a big part of it is the fact that I am attempting to write about the weight issue.  I think that I may attempt to write a bit about that outside the context of the story in order to help me get more comfortable with the topic.  I am also still struggling with some of the more basic aspects of the stories structure, but I feel like a lot of that might come together more easily if I can get to a place where I feel more confident writing about the general subject matter from an honest perspective.

I Thought It Was Another Way Those things, I made it clear, they mean nothing to me, are not to be used as evidence of any kind, not for me. Do not hide within that, telling me about  what will not matter. It is only a distraction. I do not want to spend time on these things, hoping it will be a way  to the real things that matter. If that is the plan, you do not understand. I remember telling you this, saying it plain and clear, and you seemed to understand, but I am afraid it is not the truth, am afraid of where I will find myself. I need you to show me results  that prove we are progressing towards the outcomes I prioritized. If you cannot provide that what good is this effort at all?

I am finding the new novel a bit difficult to get started, right now.  I've written a bit, of course, and am committed to keeping with it.  As I said last night, I trust that, by working on it with diligence, I will find my way, but I am also recognizing that I am writing something that involves a lot of stuff very close to home for me.  In many ways that is good, I know, but I am also finding it hard to express these things, to talk about them honestly.  I have a lot of deep issues related to my weight, and attempting to craft a story that involves that is hitting me more than I had prepared myself for.  My answer to this is just to be gentle with myself.  I don't need to be fast or write a great deal.  Today, for example, I only added a few sentences to what I began with yesterday; still, though it was only a few sentences, what I wrote felt real and honest and was difficult to get out.  It may not have been a great many words, but it felt like a significant bit of work.  

I Was Distracted on My Way Here, almost did not arrive, almost, but I caught myself before I was too far off course. I would have arrived,  I would have.  Maybe later, even later, I should say since it is already late. I caught myself, but I did get distracted first, did not stop myself  before I was late, but I did still arrive. I did.  I am here. I made it, even though there was adventure, I think, excitement, things to notice and do. I am here, though. What more is wanted? I am here.  It may be late but that is nothing, is so much sooner than when I would have come if I had not been so diligent as to remember to come at all.

I began work on the new novel, though I am not entirely confident about it yet.  I knew I needed to just throw myself in and get started, or I would wind up pushing it aside and it would just fade away, as so often happens with an idea for a story.  I am committed to this idea, have chosen to follow it through, and so I just started writing.  I know enough about the idea itself, have the overall plot in my head, at least in general strokes.  The specifics are not all clear, but I trust myself to figure that out, and I feel like forcing myself to begin is a good way to motivate myself to get there.  I am committed to keeping up with work on this each day.  I don't know that it has to be a huge amount, but I know that if I keep at it with that kind of steady pace, I will find the story, and once that happens, the rest is just staying the course.  The resulting piece will likely need a huge amount of work, even still, but I will have a completed draft to work from.

It Will Continue This Way We have chosen already to keep it this way, to allow more, to give the chance for this to work. It may.  I want to hope, but I have concerns, doubts.  I worry, though, am always that way. It may mean nothing that I have these questions about the approach, about what will be. It was clear, wasn't it, what was needed, what the goals must be? It was all discussed, I am certain of that. But is this right? Will it lead forward, towards that destination which was pointed towards, or is it another direction? I do not know.  I am trusting, am trying to not call it hope but think of it as more than that, want to believe it is better than just the chance  it might be right.

I wrote what I think might be the end of that short story, at last.  I am not entirely certain, but where I have arrived feels pretty good as an ending to me.  It would be  nice if it felt clearer to me, if I felt more of a sense of finality, but I know, also, that the story isn't ending with that kind of finality, it is ending in a way that suggests things just continue on without real change or resolution from this point.  That is not all that final, even if the story is done.  I want to show what I have to others and get some opinions on it.  I think that the ending does work, but I would really love some reassurance about that, honestly.  It may be, of course, that I am still not ready to end the story because I am afraid that means I have to really buckle down and start writing on this new novel tomorrow.  I certainly do not feel entirely ready for that.

I Thought I Had A Metaphor That Worked but I wrote a few lines and stopped. It did not feel right any longer so I threw the lines away. Don't worry: I know the metaphor. The lines don't matter, were obvious enough if the metaphor worked. It may be that it does and I just need to think, need to consider it again and find the right approach, the attitude, the understanding. That does happen, sometimes. I am hoping that is the truth, here because I would like a good metaphor, I have been trying to find the right one for a long time.  I need to explain these things and it is difficult to get it right.  A metaphor so would help.

I have been doing a lot of research into the connections between transphobia (and other forms of hate that target those in the Queer community) and anti-Semitism, and it is really pretty brutal.  Many aspects of what I am discovering are things that I have been aware of in a general sense for a very long time, but the specifics of what I am finding are really pretty upsetting, or, to put it in simple terms, none of it is surprising yet everything is shocking.  I don't know how many people really recognize what it is I am talking about, but many of those on the right not only believe that transgenderism is, at best, fake and undeserving of recognition, but feel that their is actually a conspiracy of people attempting to turn children trans as a way of undermining the values of our society.  It is disturbing, but one can find many who believe in such conspiracies.  I can point to numerous articles and pieces of "journalism" that make the claim that numerous wealthy individu

This Is Not Where I Wanted to Be It is not anything like that place, but I wound up here, even so, I came to be here.  I did not choose to wander off, or go astray from the path.  The path was not the path I thought, or those who guided me did not point me  to the right ways, did not equip me with a compass or map, or maybe they did and I am at fault, have forgotten all that. Maybe, this is my fault. I do not know. It could be this way for no reason, too. Is it egotistical to take on the burden of making it one world and not another?

Christmas is a bit difficult and strange for me.  It was never my holiday, of course, growing up.  In fact, as a Jew, and perhaps especially because of my late December birthday, it has always felt a bit exclusionary.  It is a big party but not one that is really intended for me or those in my community.  Now, though, I am in a relationship with someone who has a different relationship to the holiday and I am trying to get better at understanding and connecting with Christmas.  In truth, I know I am not very good at it, but I have tried, at least in the past.  I feel like this year, it really has gotten away from me.  I know that I haven't done a good job of making it special for Melissa, and I feel really bad about it.  I am hoping I can do a few things tomorrow to help make up for it, but I know it is probably too little, too late.

I Should Have Known Better You have said, again and again that it would be fine, have suggested it many times, have pushed for it, and I did not say yes, hesitated for so long because I know, I understand how it goes when I accept. You say it is fine until I say yes. When it is real, you are not the same. You want to be supportive, but it is impossible for you to do it for real.  You say I should but when I do the reality of what it means is not something you can accept.

I am working hard to wrap up the story I have been writing.  It is almost over, I am certain, but I still need to capture the concluding piece that I think will bring it all together for me.  I am very close, indeed, I am certain things can't continue for much longer as the plot is fairly well ended, it is only a bit of resolution that is happening now.  I trust my process to get out what I am waiting for, but I don't yet have a full sense of the specifics.  It will come to me, that final little piece of the puzzle, I just have to trust the process and keep doing the work.

I Did Not Prepare at All and I am not certain how to make it right, not at this point. I should have acted, it is not as if I didn't know, but I did nothing. Why was it this way? I do not understand at all and can offer no explanation. It was not this way, once. I had a part of me that knew, that was able.  Where has it gone, that piece?  I need to remember. I need to become myself again. Even if that can happen, I do not know what good it does about things right now.

I just realized that I have a piece of writing that I promised to try and get done before the weekend which I completely spaced on.  I am sure that it will be alright, but I need to get on it asap at this point.  It isn't anything that will be too difficult to put together, really, but I completely forgot about it until just a moment or two ago.  I suppose I have been preoccupied this week with various other things.  At least I am thinking about it now and should be able to take care of it in time, despite the temporary mental lapse.

It Is Not Changed  I must do  what is needed to make it different, but it is not done yet, is not begun.  I think it will be difficult, but it is worse, is harder, to be here while it remains unaddressed.  I am  the one at fault for all of it, this time, with this.  It is nothing that anyone else has done.  I failed and I must make it right. I said that before, though, said it and thought I would, thought I had the intention, and here I am, still, here all of it remains just as it was then. Why should I believe this time is different? How can it ever be if I do not think so?

In writing about Dracula and the vampire genre over-all's anti-Semitism, I also have found it important to research and discuss other aspects of the genre, in particular the queer elements that exist in these works.  I think it is integral for me to acknowledge in writing on this topic the legitimacy of claims that vampires are and have been queer, just as I believe it is also clear they have been Jewish, and I think this overlap cannot be understood as prioritizing one or the other side of the conundrum, if it is approached honestly.  One way I have been attempting to explore and discuss this is by considering various interlinks that already exist between anti-Semitic and homophobic and transphobic narratives.  This has required quite a bit of research into some very upsetting stuff, if I am honest.  I need to take a bit of time to process and think on how to present my thoughts coherently and with respect for the various perspectives invoked.  

The Distraction Might Have Lasted Longer but it seems I did alright, pulled myself back  to what was most pressing before too much time had passed. It is earlier than I had thought, if you want to know.  I had expected it was an hour or two later already. I suppose that means I have been diligent, or more diligent, or not anything of the sort and it is just earlier than expected.  The last one, yes, that is the one that is the most like a truth. or most likely to be, because who is certain? If I were the type to be certain, I would also have known, already, just when it was. 

I had a rather low-key birthday this year, though that is far from a complaint.  Things have been hectic enough that it was nice enough to just enjoy the day without much of a plan or anything much to do.  I did go the bookstore and picked up couple of things that I am excited about.  In particular, I finally purchased a copy of Kevin Young's anthology, African American Poetry: 250 Years of Struggle And Song , a book I feel remiss for not having purchased sooner.  I am quite eager to dig into that in the next few days.  Other than that, it was a pretty quiet day for the most part.  Melissa and I had lunch with my mother and went to dinner with a friend (Mom had planned to come but was not feeling well this evening).  Nothing too exciting, but pleasant enough.  I am quite glad, to be honest, to have had it be a rather low stress, low effort birthday in the end.

Other Givens I must go out to the world within my own form, carrying it to each place with the hope to gain what will connect with that thing carried within, that I may bring it, may transform it into what is not yet known, what will be discovered and opened up, what becomes a delight for one deserving joy. That should have been known, even before, it should have been. Isn't it all so obvious? Wasn't it already?  

It is 11:49 right now, as I write this, which means that, in just about eleven minutes, it will be my 44th birthday.  I am not sure how to feel about that, if I am honest.  I suppose it shouldn't mean much at all, should just be another day, right?  That is sort of the way my dad always seemed to think of it, is more or less what he said to me, at some point, though he didn't mind celebrating, either.  It was more that it shouldn't be taken as a big deal, which I suppose is fair enough.  I don't think it matters very much, except that I am recognizing that I am really middle aged now, as much as I have not processed that, really.  I don't know that I think of myself as much of an adult most days, if you really want the truth of it.  My father once put a sign up on the wall of the garage that said, "you are only young once, but you can stay immature indefinitely."  I think my mom left that sign there, actually.

I Look Many Times, There Is No One There Each time, so far, that is, but I look again.  I know: it will not change.  He is gone, will not be there.  Never, it cannot be expected. This world works in ways that are clear enough, at least about these things. Why keep looking for him? He will never be there, and it will hurt each time. Still, I know it will hurt worse the day I find I am not looking, again.

In a number of ways, the novel that I am planning right now is quite different from other pieces I have written.  The major distinction, of course, is that this piece is intended to be a bit more traditional in style, and is intended to take place in a more grounded, less absurd world than many of my other fictions.  While there is a science fiction element to the story, it is still intended to be rather grounded in terms of the reality it presents.  As I am thinking about the book, I am finding this aspect both challenging and liberating.  For one thing, I can easily imagine incorporating some things from real life into the story, especially since the story is built around issues related to obesity and diet.  It makes sense, doesn't it, that I would choose to write a story built on a premise that connects with issues of significance in my own life, of course, but it has been some time since I've written a story that was grounded enough to consider such an approach.  I am still

I Spoke to Him for the first time in weeks and he was not doing so well, and I am worried about him. I always worry, really. It is a thing that I do in many situations, and it is likely unwarranted. He has always been fine. I have worried about him before and it is never justified, it is always alright and there was nothing at all to be concerned about. I am sure it will be that way again. No, I am not sure, if I were sure I would not worry.

One thing that often happens to me, and, I would guess, to others, is that ideas start to pop up when they know they are most distracting.  I have committed myself to writing the novel that I have mentioned previously, and I am very close to finishing up my current fiction piece, meaning that it will be time to begin this new piece.  Thus, it is quite expected, though no less annoying, that an idea has popped into my head to do with a sort of literary experiment that I have contemplated for a long while, and which I am very tempted to pursue.  It is a very different idea than the one that I have had in mind, and I know that I need to set it aside right now as a distraction.  I really want to write the book I have been thinking about, but I am hoping this other idea is one that sticks around in the back of my mind until I am ready for it.

Forgiving I have not, but I should, not should, really, but need to, maybe? It is necessary if things will change, but it is not simple. The damage continues, is not done. The healing of wounds seems impossible. I want to be honest. I do not know how to let go of the upset. I think holding it, maybe, is a power, too.

The new novel that I am planning to start as soon as I finish my current short story involves an exploration of weight and diet in our culture.  The main character is a man who, like me, has a severe weight problem but he is offered an opportunity that allows him to change this.  Of course, as is inherently true in any such wish fulfillment story, what he winds up with is not really what he thought he was getting.  My goal is for it to be rather comic, or at least satirical, and I think that I have a lot to put into this book.  I know that many of my own experiences struggling with my weight will be relevant, especially as I have been through some very extreme programs.  I have a sense of the plot as a whole, and I think that I understand the conflict at the heart of the story, but I also recognize that I am still looking for something in particular that I can't quite get hold of yet.  I have to figure it out soon: I am almost done with that short story.

Domestic Hubris I tried, again, to make dinner with the new pressure cooker. The last time, it worked so well and I was optimistic, was ready to have another go, make use of what I now knew. But that is dangerous, isn't it, that sense of certainty, swaggering, swinging, singing a song of my own triumph before it is ever earned. At least it went bad early enough we had time to order dinner.

I am feeling quite tired at the moment.  Melissa and I went out earlier this evening to an event, a jazz performance and dinner.  It was a lovely event, but a friend of ours who was there kept making certain that my cocktail glass was full.  While I was not drunk, I was certainly buzzed, and when we arrived home, I just found myself dragging as a result.  For the first time in a long while, I really didn't feel like doing my writing, in particular poetry.  I think that the prose didn't bother me as much in part because I do that first, and in part because what I am working on is already in progress, providing a pretty clear idea of what to do next.  By contrast, I start each poem with a blank document and usually do not have a set idea of what to write about.  There are times, of course, when I come to the page with an idea already in mind for a new poem, but that is not the norm for me.  In general, I don't find this process all that challenging.  There are certainly times

What Shall We Do Instead? I do not know, do not have  any answer, do not want to have  an answer. I want to go back and have it be what it was, have it be the same and not need to change things, but that cannot be, I know that, have to accept it, which is fine. I realize it is this way, that it is different, now, but the plan was made and I don't want to change it so late.  I don't have an alternative. I need options that I cannot imagine. Maybe they exist, but someone else will need  to find them.

As part of researching my piece on the anti-Semitic aspects of vampire fiction, I have been watching (and rewatching) a lot of movies and television shows.  Many have aspects that feel quite striking when considered within this framework.  For example, I recently watched the first (and thus far only) season of the Netflix show, First Kill .  In the series, monsters are known about by society but are exiled.  The first episode includes one of the main characters who is a vampire discussing hiding her real identity and I could not help but feel that the description was very evocative of the words used by Jews hiding from the Nazis during WWII.  Of course, such a comparison might be considered inevitable in the context, and I am sure that many others who heard the same emotions being expressed would draw a connection to other groups who have been through similar ordeals.  Many communities have been forced into hiding because their identities were deemed undesirable and forbidden.  I am n

Those Same Mistakes I was hesitant to commit in the first place, did not want to, not when I knew it would cost me if things went awry. I had doubts, but I trusted, expected it to be fine, this time.  I trusted them. I do not know why I believed  it could go another way. I should learn. It wouldn't be better but I wouldn't make it worse.

I have often discussed, in the past, the non-fiction work that I am doing, but I have been intentionally vague about it.  The subject for that piece is the anti-Semitic nature of Dracula and the vampire genre in general.  In truth, I have been afraid to be straightforward about this, though I cannot entirely explain that fear.  I recognize part of it is because the subject has the potential to provoke some truly undesirable responses, but that is not the whole thing.  I think that my bigger fear is the awareness of how many people won't be open to understanding what I am saying, no matter how legitimate.   Consider that for almost a millennium blood libel (the accusation that Jewish people consume blood) has been a central narrative intentionally proliferated to kill Jewish people and destroy our communities, and yet the idea that a monster who drinks blood might invoke anti-Semitism is not commonly considered, even when that attribute is coupled with ideas of conspiracy, hunger fo

Results Show me what has come to be that would not have been, a result that exists, right now, because of your actions. I do not want to know what might one day be or the steps being taken to pursue the possible. Show me the evidence of any benefit, of anything concrete and actual, a thing that is. I do not want to look back and think it was all a waste, but that is how it seems. Show me I am wrong. I so want to be wrong.

I am still working on this same story, and it keeps rolling along in ways that I didn't quite expect.  Nothing that is happening has undermined where I have always imagined the story was going, but there have been a number of times when things occurred that I wasn't expecting which have resulted in the story inviting in ideas that I hadn't considered or anticipated.  In some ways, I am worried that it is not all holding together, or that the reader, when it is finished, will find it rambling or boring in some ways, but I am also aware that I don't really know.  What seems boring to me may not read that way to a reader, and even if I still think things are too slow or have off track in part of the story, I will have the ability to revise it when I am finished.  It feels important to allow myself this freedom in crafting the story initially; even if it were to end up with much of the work being cut out, I still think it is important to write it all in the first place.

The Equation Must Balance What goes in here must come out on the other side, or it isn't right. That is all I want to explain, that it can't be solved, can't be called a solution, if it won't balance. If what is put in will never come back, will never be there on the other side, that is no good. It is not a way to make it right, is not a solution. I do not know what to call it, but it can never be a solution.

I have mentioned before that one of the non-fiction prose pieces that I have been working on has been getting quite long.  At present, it is close to 30,000 words, which is around halfway to being a full length manuscript.  I still keep finding more and more that seems relevant to say, and I recognize, a well, that much of what I have already written will need to be revised extensively, including the addition of more supporting material and passages that connect ideas together.  So much of what I have, right now, is still disjointed, written without concern for those other elements in order to capture the actual ideas.  It is quite clear that I have a great deal of work that will need to be done, but I realize that I am writing another book already without even having intended to. 

The Danger Do not show  so much of the truth in this place: it is not safe here, you are not safe here. Not safe enough to be so honest. There is harm waiting here. Do not forget which eyes can see you or what  they watch for. It is not wise to take the risk. One day, it will be fine, even here. I still think so, though I know it is not that way in this place, tonight.

It is my Father's birthday, or it is the anniversary of his birthday, perhaps?  He was still born on December 10th, so I suppose it is still his birthday, even if he is not here for it.  He would have been seventy-four today.  It is almost six years since he died and the loss still feels so fresh.  I suppose that is not unusual, that it takes a long time for grief to mellow, if it ever does.  I wish I could visit him tonight, sit by his grave and feel I am keeping him company, but he was buried in New York and I am down here in Florida.  Besides, I think that the cemetery where he was buried does not admit visitors at night. 

We Went Back but it is not the same, is almost the same but not quite, not now with the new owner. They kept so much but not exactly, not all of it the way it was. Details were changed. It is strange.  They kept so much just as it was. Why change anything? They must know people are coming for it to be the same, they must understand or they would be different. Why is anything changed? It is just enough to make it not what it was, but not enough to be anything new, to be anthing other than imitation.

I am still not certain how to start this new novel I am intending to begin working on when I finish the story I am currently writing.  I know that I am close to the end on that story, but I still only have a general sense about the new novel, really.  I have a lot that I know in terms of the general plot, but there are still a number of aspects that need to be pinned down.  I have two conflicting ideas of how the story could be done, one involving a whole secondary layer, and I am not certain if that second aspect is too much or if it will work.  In some ways, I think it is just convoluted and I am not certain if it would just be a distraction, but on the other, it might be the thing that brings the book to life in a real way for me, which seems just a bit important.  I am wondering if I can find another way in that feels more organic to the story itself, or, alternately, if I can find a way to make this idea feel more connected to the central premise of the novel.  There might be a wa

You Speak of Finding A Solution "Determine what must be done and what it will take to do it.  Whatever it takes," you tell me.  I do not know if you understand. Your idea of a solution does not match my definition of the problem. I do not know how to explain it. You want to solve a different problem with a solution that only worsens what troubles me most. The real issue won't be corrected, not in that way. There may be no way to fix it. I don't want to pretend. I want you to understand what is wrong to me.

I have been pushing myself to write more explicitly personal poems recently.  As I mentioned a few days ago, I often have difficulty with being too direct or divulging too much.  This is a natural thing for many, I think, and it is not as if I never write anything personal, but there are many times when I find that I can't get the words right when trying to discuss such issues.  It is, of course, fear, a desire to not be judged or misunderstood.  It is not entirely true, I know, as I have written some very explicit and personal pieces at times, but that is not the norm for me.  I suppose that it would be good to figure out what was different when I was writing those pieces, if I can.   Pushing myself to write about things from a more personal viewpoint and to include more direct details from my real life is not always natural for me, but I believe it is important to gain a greater capacity in that area, and it is certainly a way to push beyond the work that I have been doing.

I Understand The Difficulty You do not want  to change the plans: it was a difficult arrangement, but circumstances change. There is more to consider, now. You have to choose: I will not say what is best, though I have opinions. Do not be held back by what you think is best for me.

I am still working on this story, and it isn't quite done yet, but I know that when I finish it, I am going to want to be ready to start work on the new novel I have been thinking about.  I am committed to making that my next project, but I am still working on the specifics of the plot and character, as well as many of the other specifics.  I have a sense of the piece on a larger level, but not all the details.  Some of that will come together easily enough with just a few decisions, but I know it is going to take a bit more than this to make certain that I have something which I believe will work as a whole, and, in the case of a longer work such as a novel, all the way through.

Still The Outsider I do not want to be seeking the way to enter any longer, but I do not have anyplace else that I can go or want to go. This is where I need to be, and I was told I could be here, was told to come. But there is a trick to gaining entry. I am certain my name was there, on the right list. I am certain. It was promised. I don't know what to do if I can't get in. I will not just leave.

I am inching towards the conclusion of this short story.  Each day, I am writing more of it and finding myself moving closer to the ending, but it is always a bit off at the moment.  I always feel this is an exciting part of the writing process, and I think I tend to savor it a bit, allowing myself, when I can, to draw out the last of it so I can really enjoy wrapping it up.  At the same time, there is always a point when the actual end comes and it can still feel a bit of a surprise and a rush when it hits.  I think that is more about the letting go than anything, really.  Maybe all of it is about that aspect of ending the draft, the requirement to leave behind the world of the story and the characters within it.  As I move to that final sentence, I know that it feels somewhat exhilarating, even when it is only a short story, but I also recognize that their is a pang that comes from putting aside this particular piece and whatever special thing I have found in writing it.

It Is Within The Rules but I do not know if that is enough to mean I should, or if it is better to leave things as they are for tonight. I want to do it, and the rules say it is fine.   It can be said they tell me I should do it, that it is better. But even so, I am not certain I trust that. It seems better to let things be. I do not know what I will do, not yet. It feels like I am too weak not to give in to my desire. Of course, the rules say that is fine. It may be they are broken if I do nothing, or that may be another excuse I am imagining.

I have a lot going on tomorrow and want to finish up work so I can get to bed soon.  We have some people coming in the morning to check out certain aspects of the work that has been done on our house so we can try to decide what we are going to do next.  Really, we know what needs to be done, but the first question is whether we can trust the work by our previous contractor.  It may be that we won't find out anything much, really, or at least nothing that is truly conclusive, but if things are big mess with what is here, that will change some of the decisions we have to make.  Really, I am just glad we will be making some progress towards finding a real solution, though I am still not at all certain anything can actually be done to make things right at this point.  Whatever the case, it is certain that things can't remain as they are, and tomorrow will give us a chance to understand more about our current circumstances so we can make the right decisions about whatever is next.

Rekindled I almost forgot and walked off before it was all done, but the patterns of action, the habits and routines, they were enough to remind me. I know, I had forgotten, had not considered it at all. It was nothing in my mind, but when the time came I found myself remembering. I do not know just how it happened or why, even, it seems a miracle, but it does.  Tonight, it does. Oh, what a joy to notice such simple things and take delight in them. I wish it were a thing I found easer and did far more often.

I know that I should start writing some different kinds of prose pieces than what I have been working on.  This is not to say that I don't value the work I am currently doing.  I still have strong feelings around the work I've been doing, and the material feels very important to me.  Even so, I recognize that I should be working on some more personal essay type material at the moment.  I feel that would help me in a number of different ways.  For one thing, I believe that it might push me in directions I am not always comfortable going as a writer.  I often don't like to reveal details or specifics and find it hard to talk directly about events in my life.  I think their is a certain amount of fear that comes up for me, if I am honest, and that I feel scared that what I am revealing will cause me harm in some way.  I don't always respond that way, to be certain, and I have a number of poems that are quite revealing, but in general, I find that I get very squeamish about

This Is The Same As What Has Failed Before I do not think any of this is real or what you have offered me so far is anything new or different. I am still trying, am still here, but I do not trust these things. You want my trust, I know, I realize it is important to you. I wonder why you want it so much. Is it part of a trick?  You still claim this is new and different, is better than other options.  But how? I do not believe you, I know this is nothing new.  I have experience.  I have heard each of these things, have known it all for a long time, it is decades ago already since I first heard these ideas, and not just the ideas, but the same terms for them. You understand the problem, I hope, the issue that is arising.  I know it is not new, but you insist that I must accept it as different. How can that be anything good? I cannot trust you if you do not accept what is true in my experience.

Even as I reach towards the ending, this short story keeps surprising me in various ways.  There are all these little twists that come, small shifts in the action and details I had not anticipated.  Right now, the character is musing about things that are happening, imagining an entire reality behind events based on a misinterpretation of what is going on.  I don't really recall how it is that the story got to this place, but I recognize how it fits into the story as a whole and it feels very integral, in a certain way.  In the end, to be clear, this won't, I don't think, lead to anything more, but I think it may well be that aspect of it that becomes significant, in a way.  As I have said before, a large part of what I am trying to do in this story connects to the character not understanding their world and being stuck not knowing what to expect of the world in a very extreme way.  Things turn out fine, but the nature of the reality they are inhabiting has been revealed as

It Is Not Safe Here It is not safe for me to be stuck in this. I am afraid of it, cannot cope with it. I don't know what to say or how to deal with it. I feel done, and, also, undone. I was overwhelmed before all of this and it brings more than was there already, makes it worse in new ways I had not imagined. I am not well. I do not know how to be. I do not want to continue  if this is what must be. I do not want to. It scares me to not have a way forward, to not have anything I can do except more of what will make it worse.

The story I am writing seem to finally be reaching the actual end point, or at least getting closer to it.  I know it is not over quite yet, but things are moving forwards in a way that seems to be approaching what I have imagined is the final part of the story.  I don't have it all fully mapped out or anything, but I know what is coming in a general sense.  At the point where I ended today, it is just before things are going to begin to be restored or rebuilt, a distinction that is(intentionally) not all that clear in the story.  This is the last major action of the story, really, though there needs to be a bit after that as well that will provide the actual conclusion.  Right now, everything is about to be "fixed." but it is only a material repair, does not address the nature of things that have happened or offer any explanation for them, let alone any assurance about things being alright going forward.  The world of the story has been disrupted and shattered, in a way,

An Escalation Tell me now what you have done, has what we discussed been enacted or did you do nothing? I want to know that it was done, that you did as discussed. It is important: I received word things are moving in the wrong direction and I am not alright with it. I need to know you did these things, I need to know it will be made better. I do not want to hear it cannot be helped or that it is this way and I can do nothing. I enlisted your help to avoid those possibilities, I asked you to act before things escalated. Did you?  What can be done? What will be done, now? I need a way forward that does not allow this, I need to know you did not just wait, that it is already taken care of.

I have been doing a bit of research and other preparation for the novel I want to start when I finish the story I am currently writing.  In part, the research is about the specifics of the science fiction device that I am premising much of the story around, as it is a fairly reasonable creation and based on actual science to a certain extent.  In truth, I don't think I need to have a super detailed explanation for how it works, but I want to have a clear understanding for myself, even if it doesn't wind up being part of the story.  As well as looking into the science, I've also been thinking about elements of plot and theme, and about certain specifics in the story.  Earlier today, I just happened on some material that demonstrated how certain ideas that are central to my story developed, and which makes some important and interesting connections that I had not considered before but seem quite obvious and sensible when considered.  What is quite interesting is that I feel l

Hindsight You were right, I think, had the better idea, at least, though I disliked it,  was not supportive of it then.  I think back on it and I think I should have said yes, should not have balked at it. It may be possible to make it right tomorrow, or it may be too late. I will have to try, but I can't wait long. Today would have been best, was, I think, the right day as you, I am sure, knew; at least if I try tomorrow it might still be alright.