The Holy Writing Hour

750 posts since I started. That’s 250 days of writing in a row since I renewed my pledge. Which means I’m simultaneously 75% and 50% of the way to 1000 days of writing. At an anecdotal average of 200 words per post I’ve written as many words as a bloated fantasy epic—too bad I can’t string those posts together to make some sort of sense.

I’ve been thinking about how I write here lately. I’ve concluded that I’ve gone a long way to training myself not to string work together coherently. I used to think coming up with a fresh new scene each morning was the challenge, but now I’m quite certain sustaining a single topic through multiple scenes is the better challenge. I think this should be my new goal.

Along with that non-revelation comes another realization: I’ve generally focused on writing in the 8-9 o’clock hour, but I’ve not ever maintained that I must write for the entire hour. Without fail I’m content to write till I’m done writing. More often than not that’s twenty minutes or less. I think it’s fair to say that some my short writing attention owes to my less than secure writing space. This one morning hour finds me shuttling dogs and cats both ways across my office threshold; feeding, watering, and weeing the dog; and lightly monitoring children on occasion or even outright supervision.

I think I need to re-up at this 750 post mark and make the 6-7 hour the holy writing whole hour.

252 words on day 750

Brother Taig’s Maquette

Brother Taig had a knack for being both happy and lop-sided. When circled in casual conversation with his fellow brothers they would swear his left leg was at least an inch shorter than the right, but gathered again later in the day—maybe just prior to Nones—the same gathered group would swear the opposite: that his right leg was now the shorter of the two. His moustache would—depending on the time of the year—favor one side or the other as well. His fellows imagined him at the glass with his razor carefully matching one side with the other but always just a little uneven. They assumed he attended to one half till he realized the other was too long then switched sides to bring them up even only to discover he’d taken to wide a whack again. These same moustache appraisers then concluded that he eventually just stopped as to avoid a moustache breadth no longer in style. Asymmetrical being preferable to arcane. When he moved it was like bales being dumped out of the back of a hay truck. Presumably his leg length switched sides uncontrollably during locomotion.

He never once acknowledged his incongruity. He never said ‘I should just shave this whole blasted thing off’ or ‘Sorry for bumping into you. I’ve got two extra knees and elbows, you know?’ He just smiled, bobbed his whole upper half like a bow, and drew you in with a hello that made you wish you were as comfortable in your own misshapen body…your own imperfect life as he was in his.

260 words on day 747

Tension at the Surface

I’m afraid if I don’t get some stream of conciousness junk out on this page I’ll not get anything at all. THough I’d rather impress you with the creative stuff I can feel just below the surface of my psyche the tense film holding that stuff down is difficult to pierce today.

Today? Hah! It’s hard to pierce each day. Every day.

I’ve been feeling like jumping off Song on the Benhá in favor of Partly Cloudy Sky. Or maybe going back to my first quarter promise to focus on that subset of plots I’d cobbled early in the year. I don’t even recall what those plots are at this point. I’m nearly certain neither Partly nor Charming were a part of the block.

Speaking of plots: I’m reading a book now where I’ve paid closer attention to the structure than I usually do. So far the author has hit both Plot Point 1 and Pinch 1 according to the Storyfixer’s definition. More interesting to me than those however is the bulk of story which cam before and between and after those events. I think those plots I did earlier might not have enough room to fit that much story in between as this one has done.

In the story I’m reading, I don’t know that I could have guessed the first plot point after having only read the first chapter. I would guessed an entirely different timeline.

Related only to the book and not what has proceded here, I’m finding the protagonist to be a bit of a reluctant anti-hero at this point in the story. I don’t understand how or why an author does that nor how they pull it off well enough to keep me reading. When you set up your character as a loner seeking a home and companionship then give it to him, I would expect him to be a bit more grateful and enthusiastic.

320 words on day 746