The Cher-like Powers of DST

It’s so late. I’ve lived through one a.m. twice now thanks to the Cher-like powers of Daylight Saving’s Time, and I’ve yet to crack my word count for the day. But, here’s the thing. This sixteen hundred words, it’s just about the novel for National Novel Writing Month, and I work on my short stories every day now in the spirit of that, I put out twelve hundred words tonight and finally finished one of them. The sixteen hundred doesn’t include the minimum five hundred for these blog posts, not to mention the time for the podcast. If I don’t hit the goal everyday at first, I’m cool, because over two days I’ve realized that it’s gonna exhaust me to try and keep that schedule.

I fell asleep at six o’clock tonight within minutes of taking my last drink of a caramel macchiato with two shots of blonde espresso. Minutes. Caffeine does nothing to me today, it bounces off my sleepy-boi armour and flies off into the aether. I woke up at ten thirty with the nagging feeling of obligation to the blog, but quickly pushed it aside. I’m not in the business of forcing this out. This is living a living diary, and it has to be authentic, otherwise it misses the point. Instead, I sat down and read what I wrote last night, spurring my time at it tonight. I rearranged a part of the story and realized that I was within sight of the end.

My writing process involves outlining everything, and then picking at random which parts to write. It creates an easy ability to fold elements through a story, and in that spirit, I decided to write the last page of the story. One of the first things I do when I get a new book is read the last page, for no reason at all. It’s not even a spoiler because it usually doesn’t make sense without context, it’s just something to set the scene, I guess. So, I wrote what would intrigue me for the last page, and then backed up and found my way there from where I left off last night.

I feel like I’ve finally found a process that flows well for me. If I get bored with a scene or stuck in place, I just move on to when it’s been resolved, and then drop myself clues on how to figure out the sticking point. I used to write songs like this, all out of order until I arranged things in the most appealing way to myself—so I guess it was natural for me to end up here. It feels good, because now I finally feel able to do the work.

Tomorrow, finally have a day off, and thank lil’ baby Jesus for that. I swapped weekends with a friend at the beginning of October and have been paying for it with sixteen straight days of work with just two Sundays two break it all up. Granted, I did have two four-day work weeks in a row, but I’m not sure I was actually aware of what I was signing up for. I do notice a big change in me while I’m this exhausted though and the medication is responsible for that. I used to get overwhelmed when I get this tired, and while I’ve been a little more stressed than usual, I’m a lot more balanced. That’s a win for me.

Alright, it’s two-thirty as I finish writing this, so I’m going to sign off for now. I know I was talking that we’d get to toxic masculinity, but I have a chance to talk with someone about an interesting little thing happening in Saudi Arabia, amongst all the other stuff going on with the country right now, so that’s going to happen on tomorrow’s podcast, along with the daily post.

Podcasts are fun.

See you tomorrow.

Today I wore what I’m gonna call the burgundy duo with a grey, textured button down, black belt and black shoes. Basset hounds adorned my socks, and my glasses are Pro Design. Forest Whitaker Eye sold separately.

Excuse the undies on the floor.

Excuse the undies on the floor.