The writing days have rolled together. Sleep interrupts work, and work interrupts writing, and feline health issues interrupt everything. Keep thriving on new found focus, desiring positive results to encourage me to keep going on and not fall back into old ways.
My main focus has been "Many and Varied Potato Recipes". I thought I'd finished it and yes, I had written a polite, interesting story but it was not the illuminating story I sought. I liked pieces of it. Through days of thinking and editing, I addressed and re-addressed the role of the words in the story and the character's existence. He emerged more and more, becoming a tall giraffe of a man, subjected to a cruel father's anger and frustration, and an emotionless, religious mother emptiness. With dad dead and mother growing weaker, his challenges to his 'knowledge' of who she is and who he is are increasing. As with most people in life, they'd constructed an existence based on what they preferred to acknowledge and accept, pretending that other things didn't matter. Other things do matter, however; their impact on people became seen and felt without reasons ever being clear.
So I woke at four this morning, phantom writing, as Rebb would call it, and rose and turned it into concrete writing. By six fifteen, I was almost done. Then work interrupted, and I wrote around work. After adding more than 3,000 words and cutting some, it's now at 5800 words. Finished? I don't know. I typed 'The End' but I will review, re-read and tweak some more.
Now I'm hungry, and I haven't brushed my teeth today or cleaned up or dressed, and I'm well into the work day. I'll do those things and put the writing day on hold, as if that ever happens. The writing day doesn't know sun rise and sun set. It seems that as like as I breathe, part of me is writing.
Causes Michael Seidel Supports
Kiva, Women's International League for Peace and Freedom, Propublica.org, Doctors Without Borders, GreaterGood.com