It’s been very hard to try to write, lately. That’s okay. Every life has its disasters and upheavals. It’s no different when you share that disaster with the whole world.
I picked up an old fanfic to get myself to write something I wasn’t going to stress out about getting right. Ha ha. No. I stressed out about getting it right and spent most of an evening reading transcripts from the TV show in question.
So I revised a chapter of “Quixote Ugly” this week and that… I actually got done. Revision is easier for me than cold writing. It’s probably easier for most people. Yet I have three stories that have been workshopped that I haven’t bothered to revise yet and those marked-up copies are burning a hole in my soul every time I see them.
So I moved them into an “In” tray on the wine rack where I won’t have to look at them until I’m ready.
I signed up for an online Lit Cleveland short story class that meets Thursday nights and I’m hoping that’ll force me to produce something. At least it’s an hour a week set aside to THINK about writing.
It can feel self-indulgent, spoiled, a little prissy, to think about creating art while the world burns. I’m consumed with the constant wonder: is there more I could do to help? I’m signing too many online petitions. Sending donations everywhere I can. Buying things I don’t really need from local retailers who are still open to online orders. I got Mac’s Backs and AppleTree Books. May just get a gift card from Loganberry Books because Jesus I don’t need more unread books.
I’m also not reading much. Reading requires isolation I can’t get in a house full of five people who are home all the time. So, ok, the “to read” shelves which I had been whittling down steadily are growing again. That’s not terrible.
Where IS all my time going? Well, I’ve watched TV I think three nights out of five. Again, with everyone home, someone is going to want to watch TV and we are a family that watches communally. So that’s three hours accounted for.
Of course I’m still working 40 hours a week, but you’d think the lack of commute would give me more time? Somehow it isn’t. My insomnia keeps me up and I sleep in until the last possible minute. So there’s that. I suppose I should read while I’m insomniac-ing instead of just lying there saying “Ok now I am really really going to sleep. Right now.”
I’m doing DuoLingo again and watching YouTube videos. Yeah that’s the biggest time sink. I’ve developed an unreasonable fondness for re-watching old Browns games on YouTube. I can cherry pick the ones they win. It’s surprisingly calming. Look at the poor Jets kicker trying to punt from the end zone with the Dawg Pound at his back! They’re throwing dog treats at him and no one’s stopping it because it’s 1986.
Are sports really meaningless if they bring so much joy to so many people? If sports aren’t meaningless, is writing fiction not meaningless, too? Maybe everything is meaningless, but it matters to pretend it isn’t.
I hope some day soon to get back to expressing what matters in fiction. Until then, y’all know where I’ll be. I’m hugely grateful for having already written a lot recently. I have ten sold stories waiting to come out. I think that means it’s okay to take a break and relive the 1986 and 1987 seasons of Browns Football. OMG Webster Slaughter was a rookie in 86! He looks so young!
