Welcome to my irrelevant blog. A wide open journal that I will never share a link with. If you are reading this and aren't me, then you've found it. You're free to read if you stumble on it, or ignore it. Doesn't matter. Knowing that this is an open door will maybe motivate me to live a life worth living, lest I face the judgement of the few and probably zero strangers out there who have read this far. It will also keep me vigilant to keep identity hints at a minimum. This blog is going to be sparsely updated and I have no prediction what will be in it. Perhaps politics some time, but I'm hoping I can stop obsessing about that.
I just invented a tradition for myself; begin a story with a martini, end it with rye. A writing tradition.
On (thank you honey!) encouragement, I'm in a writing class, have just finished my first draft of a short story and have a glass of Rye in hand. Cowboy Junkies playing. I'm calling the story "Fielding Day"; it's almost entirely fictional. Maybe.
I haven't felt this satisfied with everything in... who knows? Since those moments in the wee one's early days, you know, before the sleep deprivation hit. This isn't on the same scale but still it's very nice. Accomplishment rushes are a nice thing.
Maybe it's because I spent the week wracked with doubt. Doubt about my career, my ability to solve a problem at work, my ability to attract a job offer from a new company - questions over whether it's a good move for me and how badly I'll miss my current coworkers. In the span of one week, from last Friday night until now, I went through a job interview, waited for a strongly hinted expected offer, and couldn't come up with a good story. I started last week with a martini and music. I scrawled out a couple scenes and then... had a setting, a vague notion of a strange turn of events, but no ending or way to get there. And worse, no idea about characters. Thinking things over, potential scenes, all week but no confidence that I could string them together...
So tonight, I forced myself to sit down and write. I wrote a dream scene, chopped it up and sprinkled it around different scenes. Played with dialog, dropped in some character building moments, and hurtled towards a [spoilers!]... and I had _fun_ doing it. It was exciting, ideas outpaced my fingers so getting it all down was a race. I think I got an adrenaline rush.
Popped open a nice bottle of Crown Royal Select that my brother bought for me once on a visit. I can't wait to send him the story and tell him about my new tradition. Martini-rye bookends.
I like this.
