Executive Decision

I’m making an executive decision today. Yesterday, at work, I finished up the end of a very grueling to write 23 page procedure. I didn’t remember until last night – in bed – that I was also supposed to write something a little more interesting. Having made it through the weekend, I was dismayed to think that I would miss Monday. Then I reviewed my rules.

“I will write some words, somewhere, every day for the next year”

“I will consider any plotting, outlining, brainstorming, or other “writerly”
activities as writing, so long as it produces something that can be written
down.”

I don’t see anything in there excluding tech writing (I am so retroactively smart). Did I have to think very carefully about what I was writing, including content, delivery, voice, and arrangement? Hell, yes. Therefore, I wrote.

In the spirit of, um, still making it up as I go along, I’m not going to post the total in my word count (though at a guess, it was somewhere around 3500 words). I am, however, going to allow myself to increment my consecutive day count. It’s an executive decision based on a rule that I made up for my own amusement anyway.

I think we all carry around these little rules in our heads. Some of them are just because they’re habits. Consider: I have a very specific way of eating a plain sandwich. If I get a sandwich that’s not cut in half, I rotate the bread so that the “rounded” side is up, then I take a bite from the upper left corner, followed by a bite from the upper right corner. Then, I eat across the remainder of the top. After I’ve eaten the top of the sandwich, I rotate the sandwich clockwise, so that the previously left side is now up. I eat down that side in rows until the sandwich is gone.

No, really, I’ve studied myself doing it. I can’t figure out why, exactly, I hold this rule as to how a sandwich is eaten. My best guess is that it keeps me from getting mayo or other condiments on my cheeks or the corners of my lips. But there it is. I have a rule about eating a sandwich.

Something less esoteric? Okay, there’s a “rule” that you match the color of your wine to the color of your meat. Red wine with red meat, white wine with poultry and seafood, and blush for particularly light meals. When you work in certain restaurants, they teach you this rule, so that should a patron dare to display ignorance and ask you what wine they should order, you can suggest the appropriate pairing. The first time someone orders a steak with a white wine (particularly a light and fruity white wine), the server’s natural tendency is to ask them if that’s really what they want. Politeness generally makes the server just smile and jot down the customer’s preference, but it throws you. That’s not your rule.

So we’re all carrying around these little rules in our heads, and then we come across someone that doesn’t follow them. Someone who eats down through the middle of their sandwich. Someone who orders a robust red with a chilled pasta salad. Someone who thinks god is a girl. Someone who thinks an SUV is an appropriate car for a “compact” parking space. Someone who walks down the left side of the hallway. It’s a shock. And I think how we deal with it says a lot about how our internal meters are set. There are some things I shrug off. And there are some things – like walking down the “wrong” side of the hallway – that just make me jittery.

Any road. There you have it. We make executive decisions every day, all day. And so does everyone else.

I think I can tie this in to writing. Not grammar rules – I’m not interested in those. But each character is carrying around this matched luggage set full of Rules. And who they are depends on how they handle it when someone else’s Rules clash with theirs.

Also on the writing front, the Muse and I are nearly to speaking terms. We’re going very softly and slowly, she and I. But I noticed today that I’m not avoiding my writing blogs/boards/feeds anymore. And we’ve started asking questions about the Sun project.

What is it about sun/sand that has me interested? How does that relate to sigil magic (the real meaning behind my fixation with Kabbalah)? Maybe there’re some things that can only be done when the light of a specific phases of sun strikes it? Maybe there are people, religions, conflicts, themes embodied in those phases of sun? What are the rules that “everyone” knows? What are the rules that are enforced publicly – and what are the rules that my as yet unknown characters hold in their minds?

Consecutive days of writing: 007
Longest previous streak: 004
Word count since 4/30/09: 3819

Perspective

Only a small thought today, but at least I haven't forgotten:

I was always kind of smug about being able to get out of the house within half an hour after I woke up in the morning. I have reasonably easy to care for hair, and I don't wear makeup.

Then I realized that it takes me between a half an hour and an hour and a half to get ready for bed each night. Hrm. Not so smug anymore.

Consecutive days of writing: 006
Longest previous streak: 004
Word count since 4/30/09: 3002

So I'm sitting in the bathroom, desperately trying to come up with something to write about, because it's an hour past my bedtime, and I just want to go to bed, dammit, but I have this thing I have to do. And ... I've got nothing. Apparently, I don't think well on the toilet. Who knew?

But the point is - I remembered. Right before bed, and with nothing to write about, but still. Maybe tomorrow I'll remember in time to think about it and actually have something worthwhile to say.

Consecutive days of writing: 005
Longest previous streak: 004
Word count since 4/30/09: 2922

The Muse Weighs In

So, Shoryl informed me as we walked that the Egyptians had three solar deities: Amon, Ra, and Horus. And reminded me that the Eye of Horus could indicate either sun or moon depending on the direction it was facing. This dovetails nicely with what my Muse has given me so far (The Rising Sun, the Blazing Sun, the Midnight Sun). I think some research is in order - which should be easy, given Shoryl's love for all things Egyptian.

My Muse has been throwing up a tantalizing string of images for me to remember: Xenosaga, Kabalah mythos, Ronin (or whatever that book was called that I'm faintly remembering) ... some other things that now that I go to write them down, I can't capture. Of course. But she's definitely working on something back there.

Now what I really need is some history, some political conflict, a good handful of characters with inner turmoil, and a secret. Throw in some ruins for good measure, and I'm all there. Whenever you're ready, Muse.

Consecutive days of writing: 004
Longest previous streak: 004
Word count since 4/30/09: 2831

The Oldest Profession

I’ve just begun reading The Oldest Profession. I meant to bring it to work for some light reading when I need to get away from my desk. (Hush, you. Yes, I consider reading the history of prostitution to be “light reading.”) Unfortunately, it’s going straight back into my bag to be read at home. It’s not that the work itself is weighty, it’s actually delightful. But it was also copyrighted in 1968, so it’s a bit … unique. After reading just the prologue and the first few pages of Chapter 1, I have laughed out loud at least twice, exclaimed a few more times, and had the urge to take a good pen to the book.

Like Misquoting Jesus, then, I’ve put a blank piece of paper into the book to jot down my thoughts as I go. I’m not sure one piece of paper is enough, but we’ll start there. I think that I’ll try to post my thoughts as I finish each chapter, as, even if I’m speaking into a void, this should be highly entertaining stuff. Who knows, maybe I’ll get a book idea or three out of it.

I did write yesterday, over at Ravelry, though I didn’t get a word count. Something else to do this evening while the roast is cooking. (Word count updated.)

Consecutive days of writing: 003
Longest previous streak: 004
Word count since 4/30/09: 2660

In or Out?

So, it's true. Missing one day of writing does make skipping each succeeding day easier. But I persevere; buoyed by the fact that 2070 plus words into this little experiment, I have not failed. But, brain, that solution about the weekend could come any time now.

I've felt very inwardly focused lately. I've wanted to be alone with my thoughts, a good book, or my knitting. I've been staying away from my computer (which means staying away from WoW - a very outwardly focused activity). Writing feels somewhat like an intrusion on that. So it makes me wonder: is writing an inherently outwardly focused activity? Even outside of this blog (which, as internet content, is definitely outward bound), writers write to be read ... right? I know the act of writing in and of itself is worthy, and entertaining. There have been some things I've written that I have no intention of letting people read. And many people write in journals for emotional or therapeutic reasons. But I wonder - isn't even journal writing to get your thoughts out of yourself? To put on paper what's in your head or heart?

Regardless, just as I did not make allowances for major life events, I didn't make allowances for "changes of mood," which Gurney Hallack would remind me are only suitable for cattle, making love, or playing the balliset. (Cattle, Gurney, really?) So here I am. Trying to break my previous streak of 4 days.

I finished Abraham today. More thoughts may be forthcoming, but I hate to analyze a book that's so fresh in my mind. I'm thinking that perhaps writing my thoughts as I'm reading whatever it is I'm reading at the time would be a good exercise as well.

Consecutive days of writing: 001
Longest previous streak: 004
Word count since 4/30/09: 2361

To Boldly Stay Home

Okay, so I knew that Star Trek 11 was coming out ... eventually. I didn't know it was this weekend, though. I had put off looking it up or finding anything else out because, well, I'm not sure. Some of the shine had worn off, possibly. Additionally, it's hard to go to the movies with Shoryl because we never know what's going to be a problem for her. For that matter, directors seem to like to put in creepy guaranteed-to-give-me-nightmares critters wherever they can, so even the most benign movie contains some risk for me. (For instance, I knew there was going to be a problem with Return of the King. I'd read the book - the big evil critter was not going to surprise me. But that scene in Fellowship of the Ring where they're hiding from the Black Riders and there's a spider on one of the hobbits? What was up with that? Completely unnecessary.)

I think the lack of interest the new Star Trek movie is generating in me is not so much a product of the movie itself, but of the theatre. Movie theatres are generally noisy, sticky, cramped, and dark. It's just not the environment I would choose for a quality evening. While the theatre still holds some undeniable appeal - the best popcorn in the known universe; crowd zeitgeist; an environment free of distractions and lamp glare - it's just not, at this stage, where I want to spend my $16.00. I'd rather spend my $7.00 on renting it from Netflix, and just let it go at that. Make myself some popcorn, curl up in a comfy chair, maybe (maybe) turn the lights off ... it's all good. Besides, boring movies at home can be turned off and returned. And if I just must watch it the whole way through (or at least have it running that long), well. Let's just say that my chairs at home are much more conducive to your traditional "back row" theatre entertainments than movie theatre chairs, m'kay?

Does this qualify me for my official "cranky and old" membership card, or do I need to complain about malls, too?

Consecutive days of writing: 004
Longest previous streak: 002
Word count since 4/30/09: 2070

Not One of my Better Days

Feeling half-dead at the moment, which is no fun at all. Gave blood today at the office. Please insert appropriate rant on how lesbians can give blood and gay men can't. Have apparently also forgone sentences with actual subjects in them. Admitting to self that several straight hours of cleaning and moving after giving blood may not have been best idea ever.

Get moose and squirrel. Stop.

Consecutive days of writing: 003
Longest previous streak: 002
Word count since 4/30/09: 1710

Cure-Alls

Do you remember hearing - maybe in school between giggles, or as a pick-up line that spectacularly failed - hearing that sex was a cure for the common cold? (Regionally, I suspect, this might differ. I've also hear that sex is the great cure-all, and that it's, ahem, "good for what ails ya.")

When I was in high school, a very nice young man that I failed to date (somewhat to my sorrow - it certainly would have been interesting) fumbled the line when he mistakenly told me that he knew "a great cure-all for sex." I don't think that he would have had many takers.

A very dear friend from roughly the same time period and I hypothesized that the "great cure-all" was, in fact, a half gallon of orange juice and a really hot bath. Over the years, I've found this to be a very useful outlook on life. Not only does it actually help if what ails me is a cold or congestion, it's also a less anti-social solution to when life itself ails me. Much better than, say, telling my coworker precisely and in great detail what I think of her.

I went home early today in one of those life-is-ailing-me moments, coupled with some stiffness and soreness from a car accident last night. Unfortunately, my bathtub is suffering an overabundance of ants, and there was no orange juice in the house. I substituted a handful of ibuprofen and a two hour nap. It might not have worked as well as the other would have, but it'll do in a pinch.

Consecutive days of writing: 002
Longest previous streak: 002
Word count since 4/30/09: 1643

Not failure, but ...

Was it anti-failure clause #6? I'm typing in a hurry before I leave work for the day, and can't be bothered to look it up. This was almost a very short experiment, as I completely blew off writing for the weekend. In my defense, I was moving at the time. However, my rules don't account for major life happenings (on purpose - else I'd never get anything done).

So now I need to find some way to keep doing this even when I'm not, quite frankly, goofing off at work. I'd feel bad, but I'm invoking anti-failure clause #6 (pretty sure it was 6). Instead, I'm calling this a learning experience: brain, we need to write even while not trying to waste time at work. Please get thinking about ways to do that. kthx.

Consecutive days of writing: 001
Longest previous streak: 002
Word count since 4/30/09: 1378

Good afternoon, Muse, may I get you something?

My Muse is talking. Mumbling, really. She's playing with something shiny, but she's not prepared yet to tell me what it is. It's like the scene in The Neverending Story where the Empress is holding the one grain of glowing sand that contains innumerable possibilities. I'm not pressing her on it, not yet. There may be innumerable possibilites there, but they still need darkness and quiet to determine what they'll be.

Here's what she seems to be playing with, from the glimpses I've been given.




Many interesting bits there, though I've no idea what to make of them. I'm logging this post under "Sun" until a better project title comes to me. (If this is a project. No pressure, Muse.) Somewhat related: what is it that I have this obsession with divinely-appointed prostitutes?

Consecutive days of writing: 002
Word count since 4/30/09: 1244

A Matter of 10 Years

It occurs to me how much my life would have been affected if I were either 10 years older or 10 years younger. It doesn’t really seem like much – Shoryl is 8 years older than I am, after all, and we only encounter teasing examples of an understanding gap. I squeal in glee over a song on the radio that I remember hearing in high school, and she remarks that she remembers that song from a job she worked. She was getting divorced before I graduated from high school. She recently saw a picture with a barely-waist high me in a cute dress – taken the year she graduated from high school. But really, it’s not a terribly large gap.

But let’s say that I was 10 years older than I am. I would have graduated high school in 1985. I would have been old enough to remember Reagan as more than just a distantly seen figure of my childhood. AIDS would have been a new and terrifying new force in the world. Amusingly, New Coke would have been released the day before my 18th birthday, probably leading me to drink Diet soda even earlier. The Challenger disaster would happen one year later, and it would probably shape more of my life than the memories of a nine-year-old. I would have been “in the closet,” most likely, and there’s a chance that I may have been part of the “bar scene” of the queer lifestyle. If I were entering the workforce immediately, it would be the beginning of pc-tech oriented jobs. It would have been an exciting time to begin working on a career – or even a less painful time to go completely off the deep end and endure an identity crisis for 10 years (which is what the non-alternative universe me was doing. Oy.)

10 years younger, and my entire world would have changed. I would now be only 22 years old, just starting out. The end of my adolescence would have been shaped by a world that was marked by being able to just recite a date as a marker of national terror. I would be trying to enter the workforce at one of the most difficult times in (my) recent history. Would I still be in school, continuing on to graduate work after deciding that getting a job wasn’t the best thing to do right now? This last election would have been my first – how exciting would that be? I wouldn’t really understand a world without cell phones or internet. Same-sex marriage would have been legalized in Canada the year I graduated, and I would have been just figuring out the whole queer thing as various states here try to figure out what to do about it. I would, almost certainly, NOT have ended up working in a bank as an accountant. It would be intriguing, I think, to go from a twenty-something to a thirty-something in the coming decade.

And, the most important thing of course, is that I would be too young for Shoryl, which would be the real shame.

Consecutive days of writing: 002
Word count since 4/30/09: 1105