So today didn’t go quite as well as yesterday. I was really hoping to get so much writing done I would go on right past midnight and end up having also enough material for tomorrow too – see, it’s not cheating, it’s being exceedingly precise about time. Now despite whatever I may have written in my ramblings yesterday, I did consider trying to get a novel out of that piece. I was ready to set up a whole world around the Imaginarium, with Eskarena and Haikand’s walk in the woods as a prologue. But try as I might, today I just couldn’t delve any deeper in it. I stared at a mostly white with some dark symbols screen for hours at end. Hadn’t been doing that since the days when I was playing KoL. The staring at a mostly white screen, I mean.
Great, now I want to play KoL.
So anyway, after hours of being snubbed by every muse in the area, I just ended up with a writing exercise. Describe an absolutely ordinary situation as if it were extraordinary. And when I read what I wrote I figured out what might be the problem. I’m really, really happy. I know, I know. Woe is she, so happy that she can’t write, some people have real problems yada yada yada. I know that. But for most of my life I had planned an Eleanor Rigby scenario for myself, and in a way my writing drew from it. I don’t write about happiness, it tends to be far too conclusive for my taste, like a Disney spin on folk tales. Now, if I could just direct your attention to that picture in the top left, that’s me when my head is filled with flying ponies and marsh mallows. And writing in those moments can be a bit challenging. It’s not that it’s impossible, I was happy yesterday too. It’s just that it tends to be a lottery, some days I’m having wild ideas erupting from my brain so fast I can barely get them written down on time and others, well, they’re more of the “hearts and arrows” persuasion.
Trust me, I’m not complaining. It’s the type of problem I can live with.
Day 2 of #NotNaNoWriMo
Hearts and arrows
For the whole ride home she couldn’t help smiling. Leaning against the train door, looking out into the underground tunnel, she smiled at the darkness because of all the light that was in her heart. Her hand was stroking her cell phone in her pocket, the temptation to call him so strong, but no, not yet, he’d be working. If at work, emergencies only, that was her personal policy. So she just stared outside the window and let the smile creep up to her lips every so often. The feeling was delicious, like being a little girl again and having a secret you wanted others to know you had without revealing what it was. It kept bubbling up to her mouth and she had to push it down, but only half-heartedly because she liked it being there.
Up on the surface and it looked as if she had just stepped into the ending scene of a family film. The little park she had to cross to get home was bathed in the late afternoon light, and the feeling of balance and harmony was surreal. Elderly people standing or sitting at the benches, chatting and laughing away merrily in their groups of three or four. Middle school children playing football in the opening, shouting happily whenever they managed to score a goal. And further down, at the swing sets, toddlers were crying out with joy as their parents pushed them. She half expected someone to break out in song as she walked smiling towards her house. She almost feared she would. Moreover, she almost feared she’d enjoy it.
As she closed the building’s door behind her, she sighed in relief. Whenever things felt too perfect she would get this irrational fear that something awful was awaiting. Like maybe a car running her over. Or a balcony collapsing on her head. Years of consuming fiction in written or visual form had taught her that moments of perfect bliss were always followed by the darkest night. One of her “quirks”. He’d just laugh, call her crazy and pull her into his arms. And the feeling of perfection would be back, minus the fear. His voice could always soothe her, even when poking fun at her eccentricity. She felt her thumb rubbing against the side of the phone again. Resist, resist. Just by recalling the sound of his voice she had managed to blow those dark clouds away.
She emptied the post box from all the brochures and leaflets and stuffed them in the paper bin, keeping just a couple of pizza delivery menus, like always. She would later compare them with the ones on the fridge, notice they were just the same and throw them out. She started reading the listed pizzas while climbing up the stairs, mentally dismissing the ones she knew she would never try. While unlocking the front door she wondered if perhaps they were going to have pizza for dinner. Well, she would have to call and ask him what he felt like eating. Would this count as an emergency?