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Showing posts from May, 2024

A Writer's Notebook, Two-Thousand-And-One-Hundred-And-Twenty-Six

I feel quite good about the work I am doing right now, in terms of the writing itself, but I am still quite frustrated with things in other ways.  It feels important to admit, for example, that I find rejection to be very difficult, and that much of, for me, what is most upsetting, is not simply getting a rejection but much of the structure that is built around the process and the inscrutability of it, as well.  I find it impossible not to be deeply impacted when I get a rejection, but I also know that the reality is, I need to send out work and can't expect anything to change, really.  I need a way to feel some sense of actual success towards my publishing and career goals, and those can't be measured by the results I have control over.  Sending out more work would only matter if I had evidence that my rejection rate remained the same and I could get a certain number of acceptances for every x number submissions I sent out, but that's not been my experience with sen...

Poem: I know the truth of things

I know the truth of things and what is reasonable and what to expect, all of that, the realistic odds, the possibilities. all of it, but  it does nothing to help.  There are those things, and then there is what was said and what was done and all the rest that contradicts and counteracts and complicates it into something else, and that matters, too, is the setting for everything. It is denied, now, but it cannot be taken away without consequence. What good is it to say that? No one will care and nothing will change and you will say you are doing what you can or that I should just continue and wait as if that helps or is an answer to the reality that the way things are is not alright, that the things which cannot change are the very things that cannot be survived.

A Writer's Notebook, Two-Thousand-And-One-Hundred-And-Twenty-Five

Some nights I write a story and it is just me riffing and I don't have a clue where it is going, if I am honest, and tonight that is kind of what happened, and I am not really certain if it actually landed anyplace, in the end, but that is a hard thing for me to judge, to be honest.  In some cases, I think that the endings of my stories are kind of empowered by their being a little bit odd and abrupt in some ways, and I wonder if the kinds of endings that I tend to write, the places my stories tend to lead me, is not something I need to just accept and embrace and take further if I can, even if it isn't what I conceptualize as a good story ending.  I think it may be that I just need to realize that I am doing something else besides that, and just take that as a positive.  Even if I want to just push myself to learn more so I have more flexibility and the skill to write different types of endings, I would imagine that one important step for me is just that level of accepti...

Poem: Something was done that was more

Something was done that was more was something in the way that might be called that with the right meaning to mean more and that is hard to get right, isn't it, hard to get just the way it means to be, because there is nothing but what is present, but the little things, the words here and there are not enough to also mean what is missing from their shapes, what is not carried by the line alone. I do not know if it is done or even understood or if it can be, or if, instead, the best thing is a mystery that may not be the same again, is not mine to name or to recognize, is just what comes and not what I placed down.

A Writer's Notebook, Two-Thousand-And-One-Hundred-And-Twenty-Four

I am feeling as though I am starting to become an actually solid fiction writer.  I don't mean that in any particular aspect of quality, rather it is more about my feeling a degree of comfort and fluency as a fiction writer that I didn't always have.  I've certainly reached a point where I feel truly capable of writing a story on demand, which feels like an important milestone.  It was getting to that same point in writing poetry that helped me to get myself to the point where I am now of having a solid daily writing practice.  Now that I am at that point with fiction, I feel a bit liberated, to be honest.  To be clear, I am not speaking of these as great stories or anything, but they meet a certain minimum standard for what a story is at the least, and the awareness that I don't need to wait for inspiration or anything like that, I can just sit down and feel certain about knowing that I can do it.

Poem: I have done that now

I have done that now and the rest of it is to come, but that  is enough, is commitment. I started and now it is a thing I am doing, is something waiting for my actions to bring it to completion, now.  Before it was a possibility, an idea I had, but now it is a thing and one to which I am committed.

A Writer's Notebook, Two-Thousand-And-One-Hundred-And-Twenty-Three

I am definitely reaching the point where I feel I can actually write a story a day and not worry that it won't be there when I want to do it.  I am not saying that all of them are great or anything like that, but I feel like I can do it, now, and that was kind of the first big thing I wanted to achieve when I started to write stories with this type of regularity.  As well, I do feel I am a far better writer in many other ways as the result of having spent this time focusing on my fiction writing.  At this point, I am thinking it may be time to push myself a bit more in one way or another with my fiction, but I am not certain just what that will mean quite yet.

Poem: Will you do it, though?

Will you do it, though? I want to know it is not words or just a promise, just that and not the actions, not the real thing that must be for the promise to be anything. I can't ask, really. That would be cruel and harmful and I would be wrong and the villain if it were my way. Still, I feel the need for all those answers and for more than just theanswers.

A Writer's Notebook, Two-Thousand-And-One-Hundred-And-Twenty-Two

It is quite a bit later than I had anticipated being up tonight, to be honest.  A good friend called and wanted to come over as he found out he needs to go out of town for a few weeks.  It isn't anything too major, I don't think, but I suspect the situation is a little fraught.  Anyhow, he wanted to come over before he left town and that wound up being a bit of a late night.  I had actually intended to get to work on a story that I was thinking of which is more complicated again, as happened not too long ago, but I know that would be a longer session and it was already late when I sat down so I put that one aside and wrote something more manageable that I think came together in a way that I feel good about.

Poem: You will say this and I will say that

You will say this and I will say that and it will be that way or another, but the same,  anyhow, different in one way that is not the way that matters, or maybe I am wrong but I have my fears and reasons for them, and you should know. It is nothing hidden. That you don't know is one thing that contributes to my assumptions and associated  apprehensions.

A Writer's Notebook, Two-Thousand-And-One-Hundred-And-Twenty-One

I often wind up spending a fair bit of time just sitting around at my computer before I really get to my writing.  In part, this is because I don't always know what I want to write, but it is enough of a habit that it can even happen when I have already got an idea and even, perhaps, a first line or two already composed in my head.  Much of the time, I will just automatically starting playing a silly game or something before I get to work, and that's just a habit, I guess, and it can be hard for me, sometimes, to just step away from it.  Often, I will think to myself that I am not doing that tonight and then just forget in the moment, somehow...  Anyhow, I am pretty proud that, while I did start a game, I just kind of stopped myself in the middle of it and went to work.  It was a conscious thing, to the point that I spent a bit of time just talking to myself as I was playing about how I was choosing to do this even though I knew I had writing to do and what I wa...

Poem: I said I would go

I said I would go so I will go and be there and do what I can though I don't know what I think or why it is worth taking these steps, not any longer. I am trying because I need to, because I believe in investing my effort, in working to make it right, but I don't know that it is possible. I am certain I cannot do it alone and I don't believe you have it in you, if I am honest. I do not want that to be unkind or a cruel thing, but there are limits and maybe I am the one who is being unfair, needing things and all of that.

A Writer's Notebook, Two-Thousand-And-One-Hundred-And-Twenty

I am feeling pretty good about my fiction lately, though I still recognize that I have a long way to go with it.  I think that I am starting to understand the shapes of the types of stories I like to tell in a way that I had not before.  The thing that I most need to work on, I think, is probably mostly in terms of endings, at least right now.  I often feel as if it is just that a story reaches a point when it is done, and that works for me in most cases, but I know that it is not really how most writers think about these things, or I suspect it isn't, at least, and I would like to have more variety, more choice in the matter.  Even if I end up doing things the same way, it would be something I opted for and not the default.

Poem: I was not

I was not only everyone else and what was needed for each one, each separate thing, for them.  For each of them.  Everyone but for me. That is the way you do things, I suppose. It has been that way before this. I don't know what to say or expect or think. It is nothing I should not expect even if it is not good, is not acceptable, If only you would notice or listen or if I could act to make it better for myself.

A Writer's Notebook, Two-Thousand-And-One-Hundred-And-Nineteen

While I am quite glad that I did tackle that longer piece last night, I am also happy that tonight was back to something more manageable.  By the time I got to bed yesterday it was around four in the morning and I am still feeling pretty beat right now, despite having slept rather late, especially for me.  Anyhow, I feel good about the story from last night, though I did think of a small addition to it that I think will be important.  That will have to wait until tomorrow, though, as I am calling it a night.

Poem: The same questions

The same questions are not answered as the ones asked yesterday, and you need to have nothing if you wish to know, nothing at all, not even the question can remain, but the answers were gone, they did not continue on. The questions have a purpose, but the answers were only  the answers.

A Writer's Notebook, Two-Thousand-And-One-Hundred-And-Eighteen

I try to write a story every night, and it is usually a few hundred or a thousand words.  At times, it might get a little bigger than that, but I would imagine that even the longer ones tend to be under two thousand words.  Tonight, though, I wound up writing a story that is closer to five thousand words.  I had this idea for a story earlier and started to play with it.  The core of the story is actually an idea that I have played around with but was never certain how to execute, then, this morning, I came up with a framework that worked and I was kind of ready.  I realized that it was a more complicated idea and would take more to tell, but I also knew that I was ready to tell it and that if I waited, even just until tomorrow, it wouldn't have been as fresh.

Poem: I will not, it seems

I will not, it seems I had planned to, that is true, and I may have said that it would happen. I meant it when it was said, if it was.  I can't recall if it was just in my mind  as a plan I had, or if I promised. Either way, it is not the way things are any longer. Consider the time. And I have worked hard, have done more than I do on most days. It will get done but my mind is not prepared. You may not realize how difficult I find the whole matter.

A Writer's Notebook, Two-Thousand-And-One-Hundred-And-Seventeen

I keep forgetting that I need to do some other writing this week, not just my fiction and poetry, but a few other little things, including writing something for my next newsletter.  I just need to sit down and do it, but at the moment, I feel a bit too tired to concentrate on that tonight.  I think it is best I leave it for tomorrow, when I should be better rested.

Poem: It is there

It is there but I think it will wait and tonight will just end for me, I am  that tired which is true, has been true before, is often the way it is, but I am foolish and do not listen, except, I am hoping tonight.  I can't know, though, until I do it. Before that it is only a promise I gave to myself and cannot trust.

A Writer's Notebook, Two-Thousand-And-One-Hundred-And-Sixteen

It has been another exhausting and draining day, and I am feeling it at the moment, to be honest.  I feel rather upset and am not even certain how to address any of it or what is possible, but I know that the way things are isn't alright, really, that I don't feel safe with things as they are, but I also have no real ability to do anything about it, and that is not alright for me, to be honest.  I need to let myself get some rest, I guess, and hopefully I'll have a bit more strength to try and actually address things tomorrow.

Poem: Considering Where

Considering Where Done and better and back and through, though the over is not away or gone and something comes that is another or the same or more  and that is all, but why?  Who says any reasons are the ones that matter? It could be this way, but it is not certain and the choice of which is best, or how to think it could be and why not?

A Writer's Notebook, Two-Thousand-And-One-Hundred-And-Fifteen

I am feeling quite fatigued right now.  I've been mentally stressing over a lot of things and I have a bunch of different things that have all kind of come to the surface at once.  It has me feeling quite overwhelmed, to be honest, but at least I am finishing up with my work early tonight so I can try and get to bed at a reasonable hour.  Towards that end, I am going to keep this short and wrap up my writing for today.

Poem: I do not trust you

I do not trust you and I do not understand your confusion at that, how it can be that you don't understand already, don't know how it has been and why I am upset. I can admit I might be wrong or too sensitive, but you manipulate and hide and act in ways that are cruel, act malicious, even. I suppose you believe you are correct in what you do, that you know best and intend best and expect me to believe that, but why would I when it has not been that way in so many years?

A Writer's Notebook, Two-Thousand-And-One-Hundred-And-Fourteen

I feel like I am starting to let myself go a bit more crazy in my fiction, in a way that is kind of me just having a bit more fun with it and going off the deep end a bit.  At times that may be too much, but I think I need to push into it a bit and find out.  Really, I tend to think that play is really important for any kind of art and that I am getting to a place where I am getting more in touch with that part of myself again.  Beyond any of that, though, it is probably just good for me to let myself have some more fun with my writing right now.

Poem: I do not know where it has gone

I do not know where it has gone or where it intended to be when it arrived there or if that is the place it was sent.  I do not know, although I am the one who began it all and sent it along and determined where it would be, allowed it to happen. I can only say I did what I thought was best, that I worked hard and hope my work is enough, is not too little. I think what is there is more than I know it is, or maybe that is just hope, is just what I am seeking. Even if that is true it is best I believe. It will never happen if I cannot trust  that it might be that way.

A Writer's Notebook, Two-Thousand-And-One-Hundred-And-Thirteen

I've been finding myself really pushing into some interesting new and fun territories in my fiction.  A lot of the time it is driven by an attempt to do something technical with the language, as a sort of challenge or game, maybe, but also with an awareness that these things impact what the story can do and communicate to the reader.  For example, I have been playing around a lot with very long sentences, often run-ons, but done with the intention of catching a sort of stream-of-consciousness breathlessness, a continuing motion that never pauses.  In some ways, what I think is best about applying a craft challenge of this sort is that it kind of distracts me from the larger picture stuff and forces me to focus on telling the story one sentence at a time.  Strangely, at the moment, this has actually been a good thing for me, as it seems like the larger elements of the story come together quite well when I focus on the smaller details of crafting a story.

Poem: It should be said

It should be said It is what  you must know, what must be considered, it is a concern, is a thought, a worry, a response, a concern, as I said. I do not know how to speak of it, though.  I am not good at that, am scared and get flustered and you don't like listening, don't like being told you are wrong or I disagree. You are a bit of a bully, if I am honest, and it is hard for me to deal with that. But you should know, should understand what I have to tell you. I wish I felt I could, but you have taught me by your responses the times before this.

A Writer's Notebook, Two-Thousand-And-One-Hundred-And-Twelve

Still feeling a bit off kilter about things right now.  As I said, I don't really want to get into specifics, but suffice it to say that I had received some potentially good news and the aftermath has been kind of terrible, and it seems like the possibilities that I thought were there may no longer exist.  There is more to it, of course, and I could get into things about blame and disappointment and whatever else I could throw in there if I were to try, but there isn't really much point in that at the moment.  I just need to process this and figure out how I want to respond to various aspects of it, and try to make certain that I can avoid situations like this in the future.

Poem: Given, Taken

Given, Taken I find it strange but I understand and don't really care in some ways, anyhow, had made choices that make your choices irrelevant, in practical terms, but your choosing, the knowledge of why and how and that this mattered, that is a thing itself, is what weighs now. I don't like any of this. It has all been difficult for me, has caused pain, has battered me, bounced me, tossed me, has caused me confusion, I am hurt by it all. I do not have anything or know what remains or how to answer back. I don't want to answer you. I want to have it repaired and made right, otherwise, I have nothing  but the knowledge it has gone wrong again, just when there was something that might have been hopeful, it has gone wrong once more.

A Writer's Notebook, Two-Thousand-And-One-Hundred-And-Eleven

Today has been a bit of a difficult day for me, with something of an emotional rollercoaster.  I can't get into the specifics at the moment because it is stuff that is still ongoing, but the general thing is that I had some potentially exciting news arrive this morning that has not turned out quite how I had expected it would, and it was, as I alluded to above, kind of emotionally turbulent, because I was pretty excited at first and things since then have kind of undercut all of that.  Anyhow, I did at least have the energy to do my writing and I feel pretty good about the fiction for tonight, as well, so I have that, at least.

Poem: I followed

I followed and it was long or felt long, felt longer, not as it was expected to be, and it went one way that was not what I had thought would be the way and that was fine, but there was more, and things were well but not all of it remained as I expected and things changed, and I went with it, allowed it, did not fight or try too hard to hold or control or be too demanding. Maybe that will come and it will come together. I cannot say, not tonight or tomorrow, and I know that is fine, that I don't know and maybe I should not.

A Writer's Notebook, Two-Thousand-And-One-Hundred-And-Ten

One of the things that I have found really rewarding about fiction is the playfulness that often emerges in the process of writing a story.  I very often will find myself floating off into idea after idea, or hearing strange and somewhat silly conversation unfolding in my mind, even before I have sat down to write.  For me, this is often something that emerges when I have an element that is kind of absurd, and generally a lot of the humor arises out of dealing with that single absurdity in a way that treats it as something more than just a bit of nonsense.

Poem: I want more now

I want more now Even now, even still, even after, and I know it is bad and I should not but I might, it would be easy and better than suffering, right? The strength must remain and grow, because the desire will do that, as time passes. I can resist now, but each time it is harder and the want is greater.

A Writer's Notebook, Two-Thousand-And-One-Hundred-And-Nine

The story I wrote tonight is one that I feel is very strange and may not be sensible in some ways, but I also feel like it works in the way that I want it to.  I feel like it is doing something new for me, at least, and something I find interesting, is weaving together a number of different elements that I have been playing with into something different and interesting, at least for me, and I feel like the ways in which it is kind of non-sensical work within the absurdist framework that is often present in my fiction.

Poem: You say it can't be changed

You say it can't be changed and that is true but it is not a defense, does not mean your actions can be forgiven or should be accepted, that the wrongs can be dismissed. There is pain. It is no good to use time's arrow as your defense: you did these things that they can't be undone does not make you innocent, if anything, it complicates finding forgiveness.

A Writer's Notebook, Two-Thousand-And-One-Hundred-And-Eight

I feel that I am starting to get a better sense of the ways that I want to use fiction, at least some of them.  There are a number of different modes that I find myself writing in when I am crafting stories, often involving elements of both craft and conception in ways that I don't think I would have really shifted through as I have found myself doing.  I think that I am developing a sense of what I am able to do in stories, and particularly am learning to craft certain types of stories that I might have found more challenging in the past.  In specific, I think I am getting better at exploring very small things, even things that are more mundane or common, but with an eye towards using that to expose aspects of a characters thinking that are intended to represent a certain type of experience and thought process.  It makes sense that writing more would help me to learn and grow, it is just nice to feel that I can actually recognize that progress for myself because it ...

Poem: It took longer

It took longer to ready myself, but most of that was just choosing, was just starting. That is what is hard. Once I begin there are other challenges, on some nights there are, anyway. Tonight, the challenge was only in beginning.

A Writer's Notebook, Two-Thousand-And-One-Hundred-And-Seven

I am thinking a lot about language and meaning.  It is a difficult thing to be able to discuss, as might be obvious.  Using language as the tool to discuss language has an inherent problem, but it is what I have at my disposal.  In part, I think, the real difficulty is not in the use of language itself as a tool for describing the thing, but in the fact that my own mind thinks in terms of language and is thus within a certain linguistic framework, and it is very hard, if not impossible, to understand what anything is like from inside it.

Poem: Schedule

Schedule You ask and I tell you there is nothing, is only time that we can fill. That is good, I think, is nice, is a good change, is good to have that freedom for tomorrow.  It has been so much, so many things, we have been busy, harried, overwhelmed, all of that. A day for ourselves might help; at least it will be a little relief. Even if it is temporary, it is something.

A Writer's Notebook, Two-Thousand-And-One-Hundred-And-Six

I have been working quite hard on writing fiction and I feel that I am making real progress, but there are always nights where I find myself staring at a blank page without much certainty of what to do.  It never prevents me from coming up with something, and there are, more and more, times when the results surprise me, when I write something that I feel has a bit of real life to it despite its haphazard beginning.  Still, there are other times when I just have to push myself to get anything out, and what results is often just a bit of a description about some event or even just a triviality of daily living.  I suppose there is probably merit to some of these, but I know that when I write them I am just struggling to get the minimum done.  Still, there is a victory in knowing that even on my worst days, I am still writing something.

Poem: Those Answers

Those Answers I reject them. I say "no" to them and do not allow it into my heart. That is necessary. I cannot have it be that way: it would break me. I know it is foolish to be that way, that it does no good, but it is the only way that I have. It is no good, I know that, and it is not helping me, is not making things better. But I know I won't be survive without hope, without believing it can turn out well, that I am on that path. I know better, though, than to think it is not a delusion.

A Writer's Notebook, Two-Thousand-And-One-Hundred-And-Five

I did not sleep very well last night, for some reason, and I am feeling quite tired tonight as a result.  I'm a bit surprised to find that I was able to get through my writing this early, as I really didn't have a great idea of what I was going to do when I sat down, but I am getting far better at writing stories off the cuff instead of with a well formulated starting point.  I think that is probably the skill that, when I feel comfortable relying on it, will be an incredibly liberating step on my journey with writing fiction.

Poem: I know better

I know better but I don't allow myself to think it, because I know that is worse, I know better than to think it, I know it would not be alright. It is the truth but it being true and my knowing in my mind it is the truth does not mean I have accepted it: I am afraid to because I know what accepting it means.

A Writer's Notebook, Two-Thousand-And-One-Hundred-And-Four

I have an idea that I want to do something that plays around with writing something that kind of combines fiction into some sort of essay type framework, with the fiction kind of feeling like it is inserting itself and sort of keeps taking over, maybe, although I think that I should first just try and find a way to get the basic concept clear to myself, because right now it is still rather jumbled beyond the basic description.  In some sense, it is an idea that has been lurking in the back of my head for a while, though I don't know if I could have put my finger on it to explain it until this point, and that is even considering how poor my description has been.  I feel like I have a better grasp on it in my head at the moment, but I wanted to try and at least begin to think of it in a more concrete and actionable way, and writing about it requires being able to put it into language, obviously, which is a way of forming a clearer definition and understanding for me.  I thi...

Poem: I will speak of it

I will speak of it I need to.  I should have long ago, but the fears, the worries, and I don't know who will listen. I did not think it would matter because who listens, who will?  No one is changing things because I speak, I don't think so, I don't think what I say will change things. But that is an excuse, isn't it?  It is not the reason. I was afraid of letting them know, of being clear what I think. It is strange to admit that. It is the truth, though, or a part of it: I am always suspect of anything I would call the truth.

A Writer's Notebook, Two-Thousand-And-One-Hundred-And-Three

I am starting to become more comfortable just riffing through a story without a clear sense of what I want from it.  The story I wrote tonight, I kind of had an idea that it was going to end very differently than it did, but I feel like the ending is right in some way.  I could sit here and try to offer an explanation about it, but what is the point of that, especially when you have not had a chance to read it?  I think it is a good story, is the main point, or that is how I feel right at this moment, or maybe I would not actually say I think the story is quite good, but that I am satisfied to have written it.  I am not certain about the stories overall quality or what anyone else will think of it, but I feel like I did a good job putting it together.

Poem: I let the time slip off again

I let the time slip off again and it is no good, or it is fine, in a way, but not what I want, not right, maybe? I don't know. It may be needed, necessary for me, a requirement of the process, an unwinding that feels like I am wasting time. I don't know. I suppose that is just an excuse, that saying I don't know is one, as well. Even so, I do more than I think is required, so why does it even bother me? I suppose that it wouldn't,  if other things  were going better.

A Writer's Notebook, Two-Thousand-And-One-Hundred-And-Two

Tonight was the first night in a bit where it was a bit of a struggle to get a good grasp on what I wanted to do with my fiction for the evening.  I did find something, in the end, that I feel is interesting, if nothing else, and it was certainly in the direction of the work that I am most drawn towards, as it involves a sort of metafictional approach that I've been playing with and which feels as if it is going in a bit of a different direction than most of the work I encounter that plays in that space.  A lot of it is to do with a certain playfulness, as well as it being largely about my relationship as an author with the characters who inhabit the work.  I certainly feel like it is letting me play in a way that feels my own, whether or not it is something others would see it in a different way, and that is enough of reason to keep going in that direction.

Poem: It was about my father

It was about my father and about the world, about the change that came.  I can explain it in that way, about paralax and what came about and how I think of what is true and what the world can be, is like, allows, what to expect in it. I didn't expect he would die, even though I knew he was mortal and sick, also. I didn't think of it as something that would happen, as actual.  Did not imagine it,  did not consider it, with that type of mind, and then it happened and the world is not the same, is not the same in ways that cannot be because he died and are not only the delusions of a mourner's eyes.

A Writer's Notebook, Two-Thousand-And-One-Hundred-And-One

I got through with my work early tonight, but I am somehow feeling almost as tired as if it were far later.  I am not certain why that is, really, but at least I am through with my writing and can try to get into bed on the early side for once.

Poem: I accepted it

I accepted it and I should have known to think it was not right or not true or less than it seemed in some way or another, but I was young. It is easy to be fooled and not know better when there is so much, when things are solid and seem real and are real in some ways but not real in the crucial way, not real enough. I didn't know then. I have learned. but it is too late: I trusted and built on that trust. It is too late to change that. I might know better but I cannot change it.

A Writer's Notebook, Two-Thousand-And-One-Hundred

Last night I went with Melissa to Easter services at the Greek Orthodox Church.  I should have done my writing before we went, but I am so in the habit of waiting until just before bed that I didn't really think about it.  You see, the service is centered around midnight.  Most people don't even arrive until at least ten or eleven, and it doesn't even let out until close to one in the morning, at which time they have a dinner to celebrate, especially since the Saturday before Easter is a fast day in the Greek Church.  I was glad to go and I know that it meant a lot to Melissa, but I should have realized how late it would be before and gotten my work done.  As it is, by the time we got home it was already close to 3 in the morning and I wasn't really up to doing my writing any longer.  If I am honest, a part of me still thinks I should have forced myself to work anyway. 

Poem: There is not

There is not You want to help and I want help and it is clear, not just to you, I mean, I know and realize that what I want is not anything that can be helped, not in this way, not with anything that is real or practical. I want changes to what I can't control, want things to be different than they are. I am not reasonable, am not willing to be alright, not willing to accept. That is the truth. Solutions do not exist in that space. You can offer help and I want it, but I won't be helped by what is possible. There is not a solution. The problem is designed to make certain of that, and it won't change. I can't let it, I can't even want to.

A Writer's Notebook, Two-Thousand-And-Ninety-Nine

I mentioned previously that one of the tricks I often use when I am trying to come up with an idea for a story is to just think of some sort of excuse for why I didn't write it in the first place.  This idea often leads me to think of something that just becomes a story that doesn't relate at all to the original prompt.  I don't need it to be about my being interrupted or distracted or otherwise prevented from writing a story for the concept to work.  At the same time, I do come up with ideas for stories that work best rooted in that specific situation, and it can feel a bit strange or frustrating to be writing another story with that same exact setup again.  That is one response, and I think that, for me, the real key to it is more in the sense that I feel like I can't have all these stories in my portfolio that are so similar.  However, I found a way to reframe this by considering it from a different perspective that makes it feel far more positive and reasona...

Poem: Accidental

Accidental I do not know why it never changed, why the name is still the same when it is more and not what it was, when that name is old and wrong and reflects how it once was and nothing more. It does not have a meaning. It is just a calcification, a remnant.  It was this way and did not change. There is not a reason that I can give, but I realize that does not change it having a meaning just by it being this way, even if none  was ever meant.

A Writer's Notebook, Two-Thousand-And-Ninety-Eight

The story I wrote tonight turned out to be quite a bit different than what I had imagined it would be.  In fact, the images and ideas that first occurred to me did not actually come into the story at all, which is fine.  If anything, I am kind of lucky because the ideas I used and the original imagery I had in mind are very different and I wouldn't feel strange using that first idea as I had intended, so I sort of wound up with a bonus idea for another day.  I do like the piece that I wrote, as well, though it is very different, as I said, than what I had expected.  In some ways, I wonder if I took it far enough, but I know I can always revise it, if I still feel that way when I read through it again.

Poem: The Only Resolution Available

The Only Resolution Available I can explain but it is bad and will not help though it will help in other ways, maybe, it will only show the problem that can't be solved is also the one that must be.

A Writer's Notebook, Two-Thousand-And-Ninety-Seven

A great deal of my anxiety around fiction has been more about having an idea for a story than anything else, which I think is somewhat odd, if I consider it for a bit.  What I mean is that the concept for a story is not the thing that makes it work, the writing, the actually bulk of the effort is what matters more.  I can point at numerous works with identical, or nearly so, plots and there will be a great variety in terms of the quality of the work.  I suppose that a large aspect of it is that I feel quite comfortable with writing in general, and that is not something that changes so much when writing fiction instead of something else.  At the same time, I never really concentrated on fiction writing in this way, and so I have never really tried to come up with ideas for stories on the fly.  Now that I am beginning to feel more comfortable about that aspect of the work, I hope it will let me start concentrating on developing more understanding of the craft invo...

Poem: I am being flexible

I am being flexible or trying to be, trying to adjust, to accept, to recognize the limits that exist and conform to them, to be alright with it, to be able to change, flexible, as I said, and it feels good, I think, right now, anyhow. It may be that it won't when I am in it, but right now, I feel fine knowing it is this way. Maybe that will last. Even being willing seems to be  a positive sign.