Introspection

Same old

Writer guy

Spring ended a week after it began, lasting four more days than last year. Maybe global warming skipped my block. Either that or the ozone ditched on its property tax bill again. Can’t say I blame it. Either way, warm weather cometh, putting me at odds the environment.

See, I like it cold–somewhere between nippy and lukewarm. If the thermostat never breached sixty-five, I’d be a happy boy. Beyond ninety degrees, my coherence drops off sharply. At a hundred, I pack it in, or risk being arrested for babbling in a public place again. That’s a slight exaggeration. Officially the charge was loitering. I strongly disagreed. What’s wrong with building an igloo with boxes of ice cream in the freezer section? The aisle badly wanted for a display. Nobody with teeth eats Neopolitan ice cream these days anyway.

On the plus side, NJ summers are far milder than the South, so I have an easier ride than some of my friends. Not sure how they survive.

I have another jump scheduled soon. Because I need a good scaring.

Meantime it’s edits. Oh, how I curse Oriana’s pen.

Kick it to the curb

Writer guy

Clutter is the leading cause of distraction-which can lead to death, because when one fixates on random junk instead of walking, it’s easy to trip down the stairs and die–among the housebound. And perhaps the bored writer, too. I don’t know why this happened but the second I realized the sheer amount of crap in the apartment, I started attacking, pushing those tchotchkes towards the dumpster with no remorse. And I kept attacking, weeknight after weeknight. The blitz rolled into the weekend, and now Monday.

Feel like I’ve been at this for 10 days straight now, and a lot more extrication is still needed.

I am big believer in the notion of the more stuff you own, the more it owns you. Boy, do these articles of dis-use have my number.

Query: how exactly did I come to own a Butt Master?

Patience

Writer guy

For me, there’s a balance of emotional and creative energy, and when overwhelmed with an emotional event, usually the creative output declines. Which is what happened this week, and there’s really nothing tangible I might disclose on the writing front.

Dynamics are shifting in powerful ways, however. I had an extremely intense conversation with someone I never expected about their struggle with letting go of outcome. Very, very profound stuff, and purposeful. The reason I mention the dialog is because what seemed like a chance encounter reaffirmed my sentiment about coincidences. In which this writer disputes such things exist.*

This week I resume the screenplay. The deadline for Nicholl’s approaches fast.

*Yes, Ian, the phrasing is a nod to you. ;)