where the writers are
The Writing Day Part Deux

Almost 3 PM.  Just stopped the work day to walk to The Beanery and begin the writing day, part deux.  

Feeling spent after writing this morning and then working, with just a few breaks.  I had great hopes for work that I would get more accomplished but numerous interruptions slowed me.  I posted while I ate breakfast, lunch, and during breaks, as there was but one meeting.  It required me to talk, so I wasn't able to do other things.  

The interruptions are part of my work life but they frustrate me. I had two projects I worked on.  One was a summary of issues for others to reference so they can see and understand the issues, but cutting up that complex situation into bite size pieces was time consuming.  The second project involved compiling info from three different sources to paint an intelligent datashot of what was going on.  The interruptions, about one every thirty minutes, caused me to drop anchor and change focus.  Afterward, it was, okay, where's my compass? Let me find true north and figure out where I am and where I'm going next.  But first there would be a stretch, a glass of water, and a little gazing outside. I left my work system up and running, so I can return to my projects, if I have the urge later this weekend. They are so close to being finished. Have a lot of activities planned for the weekend, though, including writing.  The Writer is an irascible person when he's asked to give up writing time.

It was odd coming here to write today.  I felt the compulsion but...the story is done.  Don't really have the energy to address the novel this afternoon.  I do have other previously written short stories that I could edit....  

In some ways, because I don't have the short story to write, I didn't shift moods while walking.  It was pleasant weather, and quiet, good reflecting weather, with the smell of rain surfing the cloud diffused sunlight. I let my thoughts splash through meaningless drifts. 

I'm being he who supports his wife by attending her organization's dinner tonight.  It's not 'her organization', that's poor writing.  It's Peace House, a local activist org.  She works with them on many projects.  She sort of amused me the other day, first giving me a pep talk about things I should mention on my trip to see Dad next week. She feels I'm too self-effacing, oddly true in person and on the telephone.  It's only in writing this blog that I really boast about myself.  I'm anonymous here, sliding along underwater, occassionally breaking the surface for air.  

My wife also surprised me, mentioning that when I do quit working, I should get involved with some citizen's committees. She's been talking to others and thinking, and believes I could be helpful.  It is something I have been quietly and privately pursuing, especially in the realm of homelessness and helping others.  Didn't tell her that, though.  Didn't really respond to those suggestions, other than to laugh. We both did agree that I'm not a politician.  

Part of why I didn't respond to my wife is that I'm trying to protect my future time (interesting short story concept there). I dream of being a full time writing.  I've always allowed others to re-chart my plans by letting them appeal to my vanity and sense of duty. I don't want my dreams deferred any longer.

Ah, I've wandered from the writing day. I'm second guessing the story's ending, of course, me being me going about me ways.  Does the whole thing work?  I'll do this until I set it aside and read it again.  It's rare that I write a story in one setting and go, boom, done!  One that I did that with was "Door Closed." Sold it, too.

I was thinking about that with my short story, "Cranes," published a few years ago. I wrote it after listening to a survivor speak of the day the United States dropped the atomic bomb on her town, Hiroshima, Japan.  I met and spoke with her briefly afterward.  My wife and I had walked down to hear her and then walked home.  As I walked that hot, dry August day, the story began spinning in my head.  I wrote it during the next two days while at The Beanery.  But I didn't like it.  The tension felt wrong.  As I read and considered it, I made the odd choice of telling the story in reverse order.  It took some time and editing to do that but it worked. The story sold. 

So it's all hard to say.  I always have nagging worries but at last some instinct will mollify the worries and tell me, "You're done."  

Of course, sometimes the instinct is wrong.

Just thinking, maybe I'll put together a collection of short stories and publish them via electronic media.  I could call them, "Previously Written Short Stories." It would give me a way to get my feet wet and perhaps put my name and work out there. 

Think I'll think about that a while. Maybe I'll take a walk.

Maybe I'll just drink coffee and watch the world. It's sort of nice being back here, on a world with people, after imagining the world without people.  That really affects your mood, you know?