It’s warmer this morning than it has been in days. Rain is pelting the city and covering it in a thick layer of pneumonia inducing wet. As I walked to my car just under an hour ago, thoughts of trench foot swirled in my head and I wondered how quickly I’d die if I were in WWI; almost instantly, I’ll bet. I hate wet feet. I moved my car around the building and snuck back in the side door that I jammed open with a rock (don’t tell anyone). I came back upstairs and cooked a few eggs; I forgot to eat dinner last night and I went to bed at nine-thirty, so needless to say, I was weak with hunger. As soon as the protein hit my stomach, I began to feel alive again. So here I am, writing.
I’m doing a ton of writing these days. I’m ninety-three hundred words into a short story in front of me now, and six thousand into another. I’m working on a collection of short stories that I’m going to self-publish like I did with End of Side One. I’m not sure why I choose to do these projects, I think I sold fourteen copies of my first book, but this one is much clearer in its vision, I can actually explain what it is. I guess I’m just experimenting with different entrances to the writing world, flicking matches into a dense, wet forest—hoping something will catch.
Throughout my life, I’ve been guided by an invisible hand. As I’ve previously mentioned, my job has endowed me with a greater sense of empathy and a real ability to connect with people. As my writing goes deeper and deeper, I find myself reflecting on these experiences the most, but unable to shape the material properly. I’ve used the play-doh fun factory as a metaphor in the past, but it keeps coming back to me as the most appropriate comparison. It’s like I have the raw doh—stories sit around in my head, plot twists, characters and their backstories—they all just kind of pile up on each other in a brain-shaped container.
As is sits in wait, I watch a lot of TV. My stories brew as I take in other stories; This is Us, Neon Genesis Evangelion, Big Mouth—a lot of TV that is completely unrelated in theme, character, medium and story. Somehow, though, these three shows have taught me how to tell a story. At the moment, these three are the pinnacle of character development to me and, somehow, in my lazy absorption of all of this, I’ve learned how to tell a story. The play-doh has been loaded and squeezed through a story shaped hole, giving me something the looks real now.
I think I’m doing the best writing I’ve ever done these days, and it’s a relief. If I didn’t feel this way, I wouldn’t be moving forward. I’m excited to get this stuff finished and to show it to more than just one person. I’m excited for the day where I look back on these stories and think, “oh man, I thought this was good!?” like I do with a lot of my older stuff. That’ll be nice.
See you tomorrow, or possibly later on today.