Would That I Might

I have allowed myself to be fairly loose in the writing of my poetry.  I do not mean this in terms of formality, though my work does tend to be primarily free verse; rather, I mean the approach.  I have often just let myself to vent through poems, or in other ways that feel close to what I think of as journaling, as a kind of tool for the writer, not an expression intended for a reader.  I do like to believe that I have not gone fully in that direction, and it is not true of all the poetry I produce, to be certain, but it is something I am aware of.  I haven't really fought against it, and I am not certain that I should, except that I want to find a way to go towards other types of poems.  I think it is time for me to shake up my poetry in some way.  I'm not certain quite what that will mean yet, but I feel like  it is time to push my work in a new direction, or maybe, even, an old one that I have been ignoring.

Between Us I don't say it because I know it presents an impass, but it is there, is between us. You should be told, it should be addressed. I am afraid it will be made worse when you are aware and, still, nothing changes.

I am starting to get into a bit more of a groove writing the new novel, though that may only be an illusion right now, but the last few nights I have been feeling more connected to it.  I think that I need to be able to just trust myself to write it, really, and not worry as much about the larger picture of the book.  When I focus on a specific scene with action and characters, things often just flow.  I think that it might be that attending to that is enough, will carry me through the process, especially since I do have a strong sense of the story already.  I'm never going to be a writer who sits and plots out the whole of the book before I start, I know that, but I do think it through and have a clear sense of the plot.  Right now, I am kind of still wandering through this book, if I am honest, and I think that I just need to embrace that for the moment and trust myself that I know what I am doing, even if I am not yet clear on it.  It is when I let go and allow myself to dive in

I Cannot Call These Solutions They are only aimed at correcting the surface, cannot address what is beneath, what is truly wrong, and I do not want that, am not willing to accept it. It is all effort with no reward, and worse, I will be told it is good, is enough, is right. I do not want that. I need you to understand. That may be more important. You seem to only care about addressing what cannot repair the real damage. 

I had a rather successful evening in terms of my prose.  In working on the non-fiction, I chose to explore some more personal content, discussing my reasons for writing this piece and relaying aspects of my own history that are relevant.  It is a very different direction for the piece to take, in some ways, but I think it is important and is offering a lot of context for the rest.  If nothing else, it is very clear this is important as a way of uncovering my own thoughts around the material.  I believe it is important to include this in the piece, but even if I am wrong and it winds up cut from the book in the end, I know it is providing me a clearer insight about my motivations for this work, and also expanding my perspective around the subject in a way that is helping me to think about some of the more challenging and complicated issues that I am addressing in new and helpful ways.   As well as having this breakthrough on the non-fiction side, work on the new novel went quite well. 

You Want An Effort to Be Made and I should be doing it, I know that.  It should matter to me, but the truth is these things cannot be right, cannot be made better enough to make it worth the effort, worth any of it.  I don't care that much. All that can be done now is marginal, is not enough for it to feel right or be good. Do you understand? It is too hard.  It must be done and it is too hard, and not worth it. If I must do these things, it cannot be for what this will yield. It must be for what was wanted before things turned this way, when it was still good. The things you did have ruined too much. Now, all that remains is different forms of punishment disguised as improvements.

One of the things that keeps slowing me down, right now, in terms of the writing I am doing at the moment for this new novel is that I am basing a lot of the beginning on real experiences I had many years ago, and a part of me is very invested in being accurate with what happened.  This is not, I need to remember, a memoir or other kind of factual document.  I don't need to be all that faithful to the actual details of the real world, but it is an easy habit to fall into.  I hope that just being aware of it will help me to make different choices going forwards, and I know that I am going to be diverting from the factual very soon, in any case.  I find it quite interesting, though, to discover this documentarian urge.  I so often find myself writing in ways that resist mirroring the real; I did intend to write this piece in a more conventional mode, but I hadn't expected that drawing on a real experience would push me in this direction.

You Want Me to Tell You How to Make It Better but you did these wrongs and I have no answers, wanted to prevent it because I can't imagine  a way to make it right, not any longer.   It is your obligation, if you ask me. You did it, now you  must fix it. I cannot say this, you will not hear me, will say it is up to me, that you will do what I say if I tell you, but the only answer I can offer is to stop it from having happened. Go back in time and prevent all this. That is my answer. I am open  to other suggestions, but if you have none that is the path that you must follow.

I mentioned previously that I was finally starting to get a clear sense of the specifics of plot for this new novel.  I've had a clear sense of many aspects of the story and its overarching structure, but there were aspects of it that hadn't coalesced for me.  I also recognized that one reason I was having trouble was about where the villainy is focused.  At this point, I am no longer focusing on the idea that the specific invention at the heart of the story is the problem, but rather that it might be a real solution if it didn't exist inside of the specific system already in place around it.  Basically, the technology works to help people, but it is being implemented as a commercial product by people whose goals are exploitative of their clients.  In thinking about this, I have also come to understand the role of one of the central characters, who I had thought of as possibly being a bad guy in the story, but now I am starting to have a different idea that I think might be

This Didn't Have to Be It was a choice, was a thing picked and pursued, not necessary, not inevitable, but made to be.  There was hesitancy and an effort was made to alleviate the doubts, to offer what was needed. That was the chance to not be in this position, but it was wanted, and the promises were clear, the parameters being proposed, the needs, the expectations, all of it was accepted. Do not say, now, it cannot be that way. Do not think that you can. You made promises. It is too late for that to be reconsidered.

There are ways in which I keep getting bogged down within this novel.  A lot of the time this has been a result of my being very close to the subject, but that manifests in different ways.  At the moment, it is mainly a matter of the scene I am writing being based on real life events and my wanting to be accurate in a way that is kind of unimportant for the story.  I need to give myself permission to push away from that, and maybe find a way to just skip forward a bit so that I can get into the action of the plot instead of letting myself get hung up on things that are really not all that important to the actual story.

What Was Thrown in Did Not Fill It Enough it still feels empty, with all the want remaining, though it was so much, seemed to be so much, but all of that must have been not enough or too much that wasn't substance, wasn't more solid.  It must have been emptiness in disguise.  Other days, it has seemed like less, what went through seemed, but it was enough. Is there an explanation for it?  Is there a way to know when it will be this and when that, or is it best just to wait and find out, to be prepared for what might come.  I do not notice a pattern, not tonight.  Maybe it is there, maybe  I do not want to notice it, am worried  it will force me to change things I do not want to change, that I do not want to need to change.  Still, it is no good, this way is not any good at all. I hope there is a way to make it better that will not make the rest worse.

Tonight was one of those when I don't really feel that much like writing.  I still did my work, pushed myself through it.  Sometimes, once I am actually engaged with the work it starts to shift, but not tonight.  I just had to keep pushing myself to get through it, but I did it.  It has been a long and somewhat exhausting day, and I know that I've been feeling it, so I am optimistic that it will be different tomorrow, but I am glad to recognize that even at times like this, I am still able to meet the commitment I made to myself and do the work.

They Say Both at The Same Time though one must mean the other is not so, it cannot all be together, cannot be, is not sensible, is not advice any longer but confusion, distracting and distressing and not at all of any use, not if they say both at once. Maybe they want that  to be the answer, want to not help while pretending to offer guidance. That must be an art, too, presenting far too little disguised as more  than would be reasonable.

I often feel very doubtful and uncertain, or, worse, certain about things going wrong.  It is easy to feel dejected and hopeless about things.  I've not had a lot of luck in the recent past.  This is true in ways in my personal life, my home, and in terms of my efforts with my writing.  I haven't had a great deal of luck with my submissions lately, and it is easy to get very down about it all.  At the same time, I know that some part of me still has to believe, at least a bit.  It has to be that I have a bit of hope, or else why would I keep writing the way I have been?  I am sure that their are many others who would write and not think of it this way, but, for me, it is always an act of communicating with others, is not anything I could do without the belief in that person at the other end.

That Old Bad Nocturne Is Back in Mind It still that flash of the sharpest midnight tooth who comes to pierce through, takes on the same shape, with them littlest paws, but not any better to know, not any different now in this kind of dreaming, the one that smells of wet fur, not the sweating of beasts or the breath heavy lurkers who are not there, even when heard. It is still coming again, isn't it.  Not enough passed time for it to allow stiller blood than what churns now. The room is cold and dark.

I think that I need to think through a few things to do with the novel I am working on.  As I have said, I'm getting a much better idea of it than I had before, and I think that there is a way in which it is refocusing somewhat.  I think that the major shift is in the nature of the problems that arise in the main plot.  I had always imagined it as growing out of the main character's use of a new technology for weight loss, and that has not changed, but I think that the problems are not going to be as directly about that technology or about the inherent journey to lose weight.  Instead, I think it is going to be focused on the way that a potential solution becomes warped and distorted by the systems around it, how it is implemented as a product, for example, by people with a desire for profit, who are willing to make decisions based on that motive and not on the needs of those they are supposedly "helping."  I am not fully clear on all of it, but I think this is an imp

It Might Have Been Too Much or the wrong way to go, might be a bit unkind of me, the game beneath one nobody wants to play, not even me, really. I would be better off if it weren't complicated this way, weren't a sideways approach. It may be nothing, though, may do nothing, say nothing, may just be left unnoticed, and even if it is absorbed, what good is there? I don't want to discuss it or I would have done that in another way. I am waiting to be understood without having to communicate.

As I continue to research the connections between vampires and anti-Semitism, I keep running across these connections that feel very real, but which I recognize might not be intended.  As an example, I have recently been looking into Lilith who certain tales speak of as Adam's first wife.  She is a character from Jewish folk tradition and not written about in the bible.  To be clear, there is a reference to demons called the "lilim," and it is certainly true that this is connected to Lilith, but the bible does not speak of the specific character we call Lilith, only of a general category of demonic being.  Lilith, the character, is a specific invention of later storytellers building upon that biblical tradition.  Lilith exists exclusively as a part of that tradition, so I find it rather telling that many vampire tales name Lilith as the mother of all vampires.  The use of an exclusively Jewish myth as the source for vampirism seems quite extreme, but as I have been resear

The Trial Is in Refusing even with the want fresh, is in the choice made at each moment. It will matter later, is cumulating into an outcome. Maybe it will be fine even if it is not changed, but that is uncertain. It could go wrong even if all the rest is done just so. It is best to step back, to stay away, to keep it from continuing, but the desire opposes. Will it always be this way? Can it become unwanted or must it be resisted in each moment? It is no good to want so, but the other way, I do not want to go there, not any longer. I hope that I don't.

I am working on the new novel and having some fun with it right now, though I do feel that it may be off the trail of where I thought I was aiming, at least to some extent.  At the same time, though, I am glad to find myself having a better time playing in the sandbox of this story.  It has taken me a little while to get to a place where I have been able to dive in this way, but the characters are beginning to take on real personality, and more is starting to happen.  I also realize, as I think on it, that their is a way in which what I am writing now could become an important portion of the story, even if it requires a bit of rethinking in terms of the actual story itself and how things unfold within it.  In the last few days I have been thinking about aspects of this story and what is making it difficult for me to really get fully invested in the story, and I think that a part of it comes down to a certain pessimism inherent to the tale.  As I have discussed, this story revolves arou

Mirror Break I notice, notice and know and holding is inside, is as is and can be, is also itself, that is the way to go from, to move from and towards are not other than each and not differing if seen other ways at the times and places where they are noted but not inside anything. That is never anywhere to be, is outside the place and not what is to be said. Who cried those tears? They are sitting here and I know they are not mine because mine are saltier. These are fat and clean.

A lot of the writing I have done lately, in particular my poetry, has been quite dark lately.  It has reflected many concerns I have and I have, I think, used it as a sort of outlet for a lot of negative emotions.  This is probably quite healthy for me, as I have been dealing with many things I am finding difficult, even overwhelming, and I need a way to release that.  I do worry that these pieces are not going to connect with readers, that they are just angsty or angry and would read as juvenile.  It may be that is true, at least some of the time.  I would be shocked if I didn't have a few poems that were exactly as bad as I am imagining.  I don't really like to think of my writing in that way.  It isn't me writing a personal journal, is not an exercise I am engaging in for just me, but is intended to be an effort at communication.  I do bring that with me into these pieces, of course, and they are written with the desire to elicit something real.  It is hard to know if th

I Had A Plan but it has failed and I am still here at the start, only now it is no longer the beginning, I am just stuck while time runs on, worrying it will be gone. I should just start, but each time I think that can't be the answer. I do not want that to be the way. It is too simple. If that is the answer, why did I wait so long?

I have been struggling with my writing tonight.  I sat down at the computer and spent a long time not yet writing.  I knew that I had sat down at my desk to do my work, but I just didn't start.  Eventually, I opened up word and set out to begin, but even then it was not coming.  Eventually, though, I told myself that I just needed to do a sentence or so, anything at all, and then I could move on.  I would still have other writing to do, of course, but I could approach it the same way.  This took the pressure off and it helped me, at least a bit, to get something done.  I know that the work I did on my non-fiction tonight was pretty minimal, and I did add a bit to the new novel that I feel good about, but I didn't compose a particularly long passage tonight.  The truth is, though, that I don't feel like I need to push myself beyond this.  The real key to getting the work done is just having that commitment and consistency.  I know that, even if I only make a small amount of

I Have Been Through It Already though I said nothing, did not feel ready  to address these things. Most of it is fine, really, but what is not is upsetting because it seems clear it should have been excluded, if what was discussed before was understood, if what was said did not disappear from mind as soon as the voice ceased to echo. It should be obvious what is wrong. It was made so clear and this is the same. If you do not understand  I am not certain it can be explained.

My therapist finished reading that story and we discussed it today.  In truth, I don't know that she had much to say, though it seemed like she appreciated and enjoyed it.  I don't know that she really was interested in it, of course, as a piece of fiction, but was more looking at it from a different lens, as material that impacts her understanding of me, I suppose.  I don't think she is interested in using it as a specific tool for analyzing me, more that it is another bit of information, another glimpse at something.  She said one very interesting thing, commenting that it helped her to understand why I feel such a strong need for a reader, recognizing the way in which the work is somewhat reliant upon the reader as a collaborator, in a sense.  The metaphor which I offered is thinking of it somewhat like dehydration, where the reader is kind of adding in that missing element to restore the piece to what it needs to be.  I should ask her how she felt about the way that the

It Needs to Be That Way but you do not understand and are not the same as those who did what came before. You cannot recall it, were never part of what was, do not understand any of what is desired, but it cannot be explained, will not be.  It is not possible, that is what you are told, that it must be done right but you cannot be told what that will mean. Still, you must do it. There are consequences for each mistake. The proper way must be honored, and this requires it be done without instruction.

I decided to take a little break from working on my larger non-fiction project for tonight and began a new piece, one that I expect will be on the shorter side.  It is about the trend of having animals speak or write in broken and misspelled English.  I have always found this kind of thing a bit upsetting, but it took me a while to really understand my feelings about it.  I used to actually joke about how silly and dumb I thought these jokes were, considering how much more of a task it is to acquire language in the first place than learning to write properly.  It took me a very long while to recognize that, as a person with issues around reading and writing, and as someone who has been mocked and insulted as a result of those difficulties, I cannot help but think that these jokes are ableist.  To me, this is quite apparent, but I am having difficulty with explaining it, probably because it is something that I experience as an intuitive and emotional response, not as anything logical. 

Inescapable It is nothing I understand or know how to accomplish, has been beyond me.  I have tried, have failed again, but I cannot let it stand this way: I must get through this, must find the way  towards success. I must.  I do not know what I can do, though, am told there is nothing but this effort, that it is impossible to change things except by waiting for it to happen, for there to be luck. That is what is said. I am afraid that it is true. I cannot live in a world where that is the truth.

I have been attempting to research the allegory about the baker's daughter being turned into an owl that Stoker references while discussing the wandering Jew myth.  Shakespeare makes a reference to it with a line from Ophelia in Hamlet , but I haven't yet found much about the original story itself.  Many of the references I find are actually to an alternate version that changes the Jesus figure into a fairy, but the rest remains the same.  I am not certain that researching this is really all that significant, but, then, one thing I know about research is that you can't really tell what you will discover until you get there.  It may be that I am not going to be able to find out much, or it might be that I stumble onto something more.  The truth is that I discovered this entire thing by accident while attempting to investigate a completely different part of my essay, so who knows what might turn up or just how it might be relevant.  I suppose that type of discovery is one of

I Am Behind, Now I just recalled that I am, just remembered an obligation that is waiting, is overdue for my attention, and I did not do it, have not done it. There is time, I suppose, if I get to it right away, but right now I am here and I have this to do and after?  No, I have more, even then, I can't do it so soon. If I had remembered it would be done by now. I suppose that means nothing, it being too late and all. There isn't a way to correct it. I can only wait a bit, until it is possible again.

I was reading that passage from Stoker's Famous Impostors on the Wandering Jew and there is a great deal in it that is very relevant for what I am working on.  There is one part that I am wanting to do a bit more research into, as there is a detail of it which I am wondering about.  In the chapter, Stoker tells a different story in which Jesus turns a baker's daughter into an owl after she refuses to give him bread.  Stoker raises the tale because of the similarity of Jesus cursing someone who refuses him a small kindness.  What strikes me, though, and I am aware it may be a coincidence, is that the owl was often used as an anti-Semitic symbol in medieval Europe:  " Owls, who are day-blind and live in darkness, were used to represent Jews in medieval England, who were said to have rejected the light of Christ and live in the uncleanliness of religious blasphemy. This accounts for the anthropomorphic appearance of some manuscript drawings of owls: they were sometimes given

Observer Many things I notice, many details that I think about, wonder at.  I want to make it better, can see ways to shift this or that which I think are improvements, but it is not mine to make better, is not mine at all. I am simply here, an outsider who should not say. I should observe and not speak at all. I think that is a part of the intention. I do not know. The details, though, I can notice them and think it through, cannot help that. It is the way my mind is, maybe it is trained or it may be something else. I think it is learnt but it is still part of me, now, part of who I am now. I cannot change it, do not think I want to. I only wish I felt it had purpose.

 I think I have had a real breakthrough in terms of my understanding of the novel I am writing.  There had been certain parts of the structure that weren't quite lining up yet, and a part of that was that I didn't quite know who the villain really was or how to incorporate that person into the story as more of a character.  I was thinking that the individual responsible would be behind the scenes, maybe, or not as significant to the action of the story.  What I was imagining was the main character receiving a sort of medical treatment that was the product of some particular doctor or corporation, but earlier tonight I realized who in the story is behind that and have found a way to add a stronger personal element which will help me to make it work better.  It is a strange revelation in some ways, as I am not certain if it is something that I just came up with, or if I am just catching up with an idea that was already percolating on some level, as it was a result of my consideri

It Should Have Been Done Already but I am not certain I am prepared or that I want to face that. It is a simple thing, I know, or it should be, but it is not easy, which makes sense, really, since simple is never  the same thing as easy, but this is difficult in other ways, has an unpleasant quality, or that is how I find it. I don't like it, do not want to do it, and I know there is preparation done, that others have made efforts to make it easier for me, but I don't find it that way. I do not think they understand. I do not think they are able to do it right. If it could be done by someone else, if I trusted them to do it, I would be in a different situation. The way things are right now, I do not have that and it will not be that way, though it is what was called for, was most important.  It is this way now and I am living with it. That is what I am able to do, is the way it always seems to be. Even the things they call solutions do not seem to be helping, not when help is m

I was doing some research for my vampire essay and found a very interesting passage I had not known about previously.  In truth, it was not even what I was looking for, and I only discovered it at random.  Earlier, I was watching a video on the subject of Julie D'Aubigny and it happened to mention that Bram Stoker had written a piece about her in one of his books, and suggested the piece was not sympathetic to her in ways that I found potentially intriguing, and so I sought the book (Stoker's Famous Impostors ) on Project Guttenberg.  When I read the passage in question, I was not all that certain it would actually be relevant, though I am planning to go back through it again at some point.  Indeed, I might well have spent more time on that  portion of the text if not for another discovery.  Initially I had not looked closely at the table of contents, but had found the relevant section of the book and skipped to it without considering the rest of the book.  The passage I had fi

A Detail Overlooked I should have considered that first but I was not thinking about it when I began, and now there is so much done, but it can be addressed, will be, is being.  It is clear that it was already known, that the order of events is not as essential, though it requires assumptions. They are logical, are not great leaps but small steps, are sensible and clear.  It can be understood, even accepting this as the way of it, even knowing that, it seems right. Maybe that is not a good argument. There may not be a better one, or maybe it would have been possible to do more, to do it right if it had been started with that understanding. This is the way of things, though, it is what has come to be. It may be, anyhow, I am just worrying. It may all be in place and proper. I am not the best one to judge that, should at least wait to consider it again when I am in the proper mind.

I do feel that I am finally getting settled in the new novel.  Do not misunderstand: I still have a lot to figure out and am far from confident in where I am going, but I am at least in the story now.  The first week or two working on it, I was kind of just spinning my wheels and writing around the ideas, but something shifted and I found my way into the story.   I don't have the whole thing figured out, but I have a good sense of what needs to happen with what I am writing at the moment, and I have a strong sense of how it connects to the rest of the story.  I am working to establish certain relationships and to give a sense of the stakes of the story and the world where it is taking place.  A lot of what I am writing at the moment is still drawing on my experiences in a very direct way, which is helping me to remain grounded right now.  As I keep going, I know the story is going to head into a very different direction at some point and it may be that pulling from my own life is h

It Is Not as Easy, Now but I do not understand: nothing has changed. It is the same rules and I am following them with the same precision, but it is not as easy and I do not know why. Maybe it was my choices, was a lack of forethought. I did not plan it well and made unwise choices. Maybe that is all, but I worry.  I did it the same way as before, did not do anything  that I think was different. If it was my choices, why were they wrong and why did I not learn sooner. I would be fine with it if I understood and knew how to make it as it was again. I am sure nothing changed, so it must be possible, don't you agree?

I did, at last, get into a specific scene in the new novel.  It was not the scene I have been considering, not yet.  I didn't feel ready for that to happen, in terms of the sequence of events I am imagining happening at this point.  I had been offering description and commentary up to this point, but finally I found my way into the specifics.  The scene itself is quite small, just an interaction between the narrator and a receptionist, but I was very pleased with the characterization of the receptionist.  It wasn't anything major or groundbreaking, but I felt like I offered a sense of her as a character, even within this rather trivial scene.  I had been a bit worried about finding my way through this story, and I know that this small triumph does not mean I have resolved all the issues or that it will be smooth sailing from here on out, but I also do not miss that it is still, even if small, a triumph.  

It Is Not Clear What Was Different if there was a difference at all besides the ones that were obvious in the outcome itself.  It may be it was all the same, or equivalent, not the same but still identical in the specifics dimensions, in terms of impact, perhaps? No, that is not the way to think of it as the impact is what changed. It seemed to come at random, though, was not a result that could be expected or determined.  It did not work that way. It would be good to know how it was done, how it came to be this way in this case, but it may be something unknowable, and even if it were determined, what if it is still impossible, a result of circumstances in the world, circumstances that cannot be controlled and certainly not from here.

I think that I am finally getting a clear idea for a real scene that will ground me into the novel, one that will give me a change to flesh out more of the same themes and ideas but in a way that is based in the events of the story.  I didn't quite start it tonight, as I was a bit hesitant to just drop into it without a transition into the scene, but I should probably have just done it, especially knowing that so much of what I have so far is probably going to be considered as preamble and dropped or changed severely before I am done.  I am still, I know, a bit self-conscious with this piece and have to cope with that.  Even so, I have a clear sense of the scene now, and I can imagine it as the start of a transition for me in writing this.  It is about delving into the characters and the world of the story in a way that will bring it to life for me, and I believe this scene has the right spark for that.  I will have to write it to find out if I am correct, but I know that I have no

It All Waits is ready, is not hidden away but waiting, open and ready, waiting for this, for the time when it is needed, when it is wanted. It has been here, has waited, with assurance a time would come, but is this it? Is this the moment when things transform, or is it still not time yet? It is not certain, cannot be known until it happens, and it is not clear, even what that will mean. It has never happened yet, is still undefined. The preparations were done properly and should be enough. That is what can be (must be) trusted,

I have to get myself into a real scene in this novel.  Even now, as I have been getting more towards things with the characters, I haven't really written anything that is truly grounded in a specific event, but it is all still more detached and descriptive.  I need to get into the actual events and I think that will help me to find the way forwards in writing this piece.  It is strange to me that I am having this difficulty, in some ways, as many would say that the writing I am attempting here is less ambitious, but I don't think that is really the truth, I just think it is a bit different than my usual focus.  It is probable that difference is making things harder for me right now, since I am not used to writing this type of fiction, but I think that is only a part of it.  The truth is that I am still just a bit lost about the way to get this piece to work and how exactly to tell the story I want to tell, or even, perhaps, exactly what that story is in some ways.  I have a sen

It Must Be Changed must be corrected, but I do not have the strength or the desire to engage it. I am beaten already by what has been done, am hurting too much and need to recover, but that cannot happen within this disarray. The only way forward is to make the choices I do not want to make. It is not good, and nothing can come of it that makes it better: it was all disaster and we allowed it, not that we understood, but our choices did nothing to protect us. It is too late for it to be made right. I know what it would be for things to be right, and that is impossible, and I do not want to do all that I must for it to still be wrong. I have no choice, but I can't accept what must be done as anything I would ever do.

Even as I have been working on this new novel, I also have had another idea that has been developing for a piece of fiction which I am excited to about.  That piece is very different from the one I am trying to focus on right now, and I do find it tempting.  It is a much more complicated piece with a lot of meta-textual elements, and is intended to involve the reader in the story in interesting and unusual ways.  I should just focus on the current piece, especially since I have been struggling with it some, but I can't help that this other idea is very interesting to me.  Indeed, I think that the idea for this piece might be me finally figuring out how to achieve certain things I have been wanting to do in my writing for some time, and so it is quite natural that I am drawn towards it at times.  Of course, part of me has to wonder if the timing of thinking this up isn't just a ploy, or maybe a test, by some part of me that doesn't really want to focus on the novel I am curr

It Bothers Me That You Gave It Away did not get even the single dollar that we were expecting.  It had been mine, had been my book, and I donated it, and not for you to give it away. Am I being selfish saying this? I do not think that woman needed it, could not spend a dollar on it. She was at the museum today, had driven there and paid admission. I do not think it was much to ask, and I gave it so it could be sold. But you chose to give it away and I do not understand, do not like it. I should not be upset by it, I know. It is a thing that is inside of me. I think I should be honest about it, even if I recognize it as my problem. I will try not to keep judging you for this.  I promise, I will try.

I am finally feeling as if I have a sense of the shape of this new novel.  I had, as I said, been writing without it being grounded in any particular moment or event.  I was just rambling on about the themes of the story, in a way, offering the main character's thoughts and feelings, but not any actual story.  A few nights ago, though, I began to hone in.  It was still rather broad, but it was narrowing in towards a moment.  Tonight, I found myself getting more specific and moving in.  I know that I still have a ways before I am fully there with this piece, but I am starting to feel that I am on firm ground with it for the first time.  I really do think it is more a matter of my gaining comfort in this material, because I have at least as good a sense of the story as I had when beginning work on other pieces in the past, including the novels I have written.  This piece is building on a lot that I have never really felt comfortable writing about before.  I sort of pushed myself to c

The Start Was Uneven and did not seem  aimed at sustaining the effort for long. The momentum did not build. I was uncertain for so long, but it is changing. It is still slow, is not a smooth or even path, is not yet right, but I sense the changes are coming, are beginning. I feel the pace about to quicken. I expect it soon. Maybe I am wrong, and it will falter again. If it does, though, I will just continue and wait until I am right and it has transformed.

I had a very long day today, and I have to get up early again tomorrow, so I am not really sure how much I feel like writing here tonight.  I did my usual writing, and I think that the novel is finally starting to move towards the story, and in a way that feels like it might actually be building a bit of momentum from what came before, though, honestly, I know that what I have already written is far too much of a rambling start for the book and will have to be edited in some way.  In any case, I think it feels as if it is beginning to take shape.

It May Be That Is Still The Right Plan and the best way for me to proceed, but I am waiting to be certain. Things changed, just a bit, already.  They are not  the way it was before, not right now, but maybe it will be that way again or not that way, not quite that way, a different way that is the same, that shares the essential qualities. If it is not different then I must consider, again, changing things, doing it different. It might be that is still required, but it may have been enough that I considered it.

I am feeling very frustrated tonight.  It is not all that unusual, really, but it is more acute at the moment than usual.  It is not clear to me why, honestly, as nothing happened in particular.  I just feel that sense of being stuck and not knowing what to do about it.  Maybe if I were feeling more on track with this new novel, but, as I said last night, I am still finding my way with it and am not even certain that I am writing the thing I had intended when I started.  Perhaps I should start work on some work that is more clearly fiction, not that I would stop working on this if I did that.  I would just put another iron in the fire, as it were.  I don't want to spread myself too thin with the writing, but I also know that I am not writing nearly as much as I have at times in the recent past.  It might be that I need to liberate myself in writing this piece to just let it be whatever it will become, but right now, I kind of still want it to be fiction because I am committed to th

Another Way Is Needed but I don't want it, either, I do not want to need it or to take it.  I want to go where I intended to go and by the one route, the one I expected and prepared myself for. I do not want another way, another way is not the same, and I do not know where it leads. I do not want to arrive someplace else, and I certainly do not want to arrive having been through a journey that made me too different, that made it impossible to arrive as the one I want to be.  I do not know what else to say about it. I know I will be told it can't be, told I must accept things, must recognize how it is as the way it will be and adjust to it.  Take it as it is.  No.  I cannot.  

The more I write on what I had thought was my new novel, the more it seems clear that I am writing something a bit different than I had planned, a much more personal piece that is focused on aspects of my experiences as a fat person.  It may be that I have tricked myself into writing about something more directly than I was planning or felt inclined to do, or it may just be that I need to get through some of this in order to be able to reach the right space for writing this novel.  It may be that all of this will actually serve a function in the book at some point, though I am imagining it will need to be changed around from the way it is right now, if it is to be put in that context, since most of it is pretty disconnected from a real story at the moment.  It is not directly placed into a scene or a story right now, is more removed, focusing on certain fears that come up for me around the idea of trying another weight loss program at this point.  I had begun with the idea that it woul

I Might Wait Even though I know I should not.  It is time and I should not wait, but I am thinking it will be fine. It is not good for me to think that, I know it is not. It is expected, there are others who have expectations. It should be done, but I am not ready, do not feel prepared. I have no energy for it, and I think that matters. I think it does.  You may say it is just an excuse, that the idea of it is nonsense, this nebulous energy thing that I am claiming, but I think it is the truth. In any case, I don't want to, want to wait instead, but, I promise: just until morning.

I finished that short story last week and brought a copy of it to my therapist for her to read.  That may be odd, I am not sure.  She gave me the prompt for it in the first place, as a part of a discussion we were having at the time about my wanting to write more fiction and needing a bit of a push.  I am curious what she will think of it, especially as she is the first person who will read the whole thing.  I have a friend who read parts of it when I was writing, but he has been out of town for a bit, so I haven't shown him the full draft yet.  I am curious what she will think.  I have shown her a few pieces of writing before, but that was a bit more intentionally therapeutic, with the idea being that I would write a sort of metaphor to explain aspects of my experience (which I guess is a rubric for most any piece of fiction, in some sense).  Of course, I am always going to anticipate feedback with a kind of anxious excitement.  Not that it being my therapist isn't going to ma

That Is Not A Way I Wish to Go Is not one I think of when I consider the paths that I would like to follow. I do not mean that, not quite that. It is not a path I want to take now, is not the place I wish to go first. I have other destinations  that matter more.  If I arrive there it will not be any good, not if it is first.  There is an order, a proper way.  For me, that is. I do not know if it is true for others, but I have a sense of what is important and what must come first. I find that has a significance for me.

I have been working on the new novel for a few days now, and it is still slow going.  I feel like I am warming up to it, but I am still only just getting into it, really, and don't have a sense of the plot's starting point, yet.  Most of what I am writing so far is more reflective and seems quite close to things I might say if pressed to discuss my feelings about weight.  I believe that is important, even if it is not quite what I had expected to be doing with this work.  It may also be that it is necessary for me to work through some of these things in order to be ready to do the real work of the novel, or it may just turn out that the original idea was a sort of head fake that just got me started writing about this.  I am just going with it, right now, trusting that it is leading someplace.  It is, as I have said before, a process and the key to making it work is often just trusting it and continuing on.  I know that it has been getting easier to get into the work the past fe

He Has Accepted Many Things I know he says it is fine, would tell me to accept things as they are, would say it is silly to be upset over it.  It is the way of things, he would tell me.  I want to explain, to have him understand my perspective. I can accept he is alright with things as they are, can accept what I cannot, and that is fine.  I do not think he is wrong for not being as I am, but it is not the same when it is the other way.  I know his thoughts. He accepts the way things are, accepts what never came to be, the life that is that is not the one he wanted.  He is fine, has gained acceptance, he will say, and he will tell me that I must change and be like he is and not the way I am, because it is much better to accept things and he is all about acceptance.

I have begun to mess around a bit with Open AI's new Chat GPT.  Some time ago, as a few might recall, I was attempting to work on a language model trained with my poetry, and possibly prose work as well.  It didn't really go so well for me, but I am still very intrigued by the idea.  I am not certain what the point of this really would be, but I feel like it is an exciting and interesting area to explore, and I think that it might help me to consider the challenges of writing in new ways that could open up new possibilities for my work.  I don't really know enough to code such a thing myself, but I am working to see if I might be able to do something with the help of this AI program.  It feels possible, though it may be difficult to do.  It certainly feels more realistic than when I was trying to figure it all out on my own.

Do You Understand What Is Wrong and why I do not trust you, now?  Do you know or do you care?  I do not want to explain it, but it is not fair for me to expect you to know, I suppose.  I should make it clear what the harm is.  I think you understand, I think it was told to you  before it was done, when things could still have been different. I know, don't I, that it is not all your fault: you only provided options, right, that is what you will say.  It was not you who made the choice.  But it was a choice you made possible.  It was not there, was not waiting to be had.  And you wanted this to be the way it would be.  Even more, you chose to push for it.  Chose to push things in one direction, and it went that way, and now this is the way it has become. And it is not good.  I am not good.  I have been hurting, and it does not seem it can ever be changed for the better. You want me to trust you, now.  You say it is help, you say you want to do that.  The first help must be fixing the