It's only day two and I find myself without a clue as to where this post is going. I'd say I'm sorry but I'm not really.
Earlier today I thought about writing about the rain. It rained somewhat magnificently today- the sky was an orange color and the wind was whipping the trees and rain about. There were kids screaming outside as they half-heartedly ran towards "shelter." Shelter in this instance being underneath a tree. They soon found out that it wasn't nearly as effective as they thought it would be. The downpour lasted all of five minutes before everything settled again. Back to a light rain and skies that were more grey than orange. A five minute scene turned into 500 words. Now that I'm writing I realize I should have tried to capture the moment more. Perhaps to work on description. Maybe for a flash fiction scene. Oh well.
Instead all I can think of is packing. It's what I've been doing all day in a manner of speaking. Saturday I take off for Atlanta again. Three weeks this time. And it's funny, because when I pack, it really isn't about the clothes. I spent all of 10 minutes throwing clothes into a suitcase. It wasn't hard. Underwear, shirts, enough pants to make it look like they may not have been worn the day before. A few pairs of socks and done.
When I pack to go on a trip, it really isn't about the clothes at all. It's about the things. What I'm bringing with me. What I'm leaving behind. I spent all day trying to load up my electronics for travel. Not putting them in a bag or anything like that, but making sure they're equipped for an extended trip. I need the proper amount and variety of books, games, music, and videos to cover any possible situation. Enough to keep me occupied if I get stranded in the airport for hours, or if I were simply waiting in a car for a few minutes. Books and games for short bursts. Or for the long haul. You wouldn't believe the amount of effort I put into being prepared for any possible length of boredom.
I've got a variety of choices between any number of devices. I've set it up so that no matter where I go and what I'm travelling with I can always have a game, book, or video for quick sessions or extended ones. All of this is split between six different platforms. Laptop, Kindle, DS, PSP, iPod, and Phone. I've got it all covered. Hypothetically, I should never have a reason to say I'm bored. In practice though, I'm sure I'll find something to complain about. Between these six devices, I have a frightening amount of entertainment choices.
>br>
That's 110+ video games, 50+ books, 80+ hours of video (not including netflix), and 9.2 days of music.
If I complain about being bored. Somebody slap me.
Quote of the Day:
"You're going to travel to Cheydinhal, and find out what sort of imposter is trying to besmirch my good name. And you're going to tell him... *hic*... You're going to tell him I am quite capable of besmirching my good name on my own."
- Reynald Jemane (Oblivion)
28.9.11
90 in 90: Volume II
I wanted to start off my newest attempts at a 90 in 90 with something light. Something easy. Something simple. But I should have known better. My brain isn't wired that way. I can't just sit down and write something easy. My fingers automatically start typing the first thing that comes to mind. And that is rarely something simple.
Today it was something so complex that I didn't even know where to begin. It was fragmented. Filled with half finished sentences that told everything and nothing. Everything because I knew what they meant. Nothing because no one else ever would. It took me ten minutes of this to find out the real starting point. What I really wanted to say.
I have no dreams.
No dreams. No goals. No aspirations.
Nothing.
At least not anything I'm consciously aware of.
And I don't know what to do with that. I'm twenty-one. I'm so terrifyingly young. And I have absolutely no idea what to do with the time I've been given. I went to school to be a writer. I don't even know if I want to do that anymore.
Writing is hard. Writing is terrible. The words get inside you and break you down. Leave you with nothing but them and a lingering sense that you're not even doing that right. I can't tell you how many times a sentence gets edited in my own head before I start typing it. I can't tell you how many times I start a sentence and then erase it anyway. Writing is hard. It's the easiest and the hardest thing I've ever done.
Maybe I should start small. Something "easy" and not too intimidating. Nothing like writing a novel or winning a nobel prize, Maybe I should just start out with finishing this 90 in 90. An obtainable goal. One I've accomplished before. Ninety days of writing. Ninety days of me trying my hardest to get 500 semi-coherent words on a page. Ninety days of sitting down and looking at a blank screen without giving up before I've started. I think I can look out a window for 90 days and find something worth writing about. Something that I can make 500 words from.
Today, 500 words are hard to find. Because there's so much I want to say, so much I tried to write down when I started this post. I wrote too much. I tried too hard. All my thoughts and feelings got jumbled up and dumped out on the page. Anybody can jumble up words and vomit them onto a page. Anybody. But that wasn't what I wanted to do. I set out to write and came out with word-vomit. And now, 450 words later I still haven't said anything that was really worth saying.
But I suppose that was the point of all this. To write until I know what the hell I'm doing. Hopefully at some point in the next 90 days that will happen. If not, there's another 90 days after that to try and figure out.
Quote of the Day:
"Writing gives you the illusion of control, and then you realize it's just an illusion, that people are going to bring their own stuff into it."
- David Sedaris
Today it was something so complex that I didn't even know where to begin. It was fragmented. Filled with half finished sentences that told everything and nothing. Everything because I knew what they meant. Nothing because no one else ever would. It took me ten minutes of this to find out the real starting point. What I really wanted to say.
I have no dreams.
No dreams. No goals. No aspirations.
Nothing.
At least not anything I'm consciously aware of.
And I don't know what to do with that. I'm twenty-one. I'm so terrifyingly young. And I have absolutely no idea what to do with the time I've been given. I went to school to be a writer. I don't even know if I want to do that anymore.
Writing is hard. Writing is terrible. The words get inside you and break you down. Leave you with nothing but them and a lingering sense that you're not even doing that right. I can't tell you how many times a sentence gets edited in my own head before I start typing it. I can't tell you how many times I start a sentence and then erase it anyway. Writing is hard. It's the easiest and the hardest thing I've ever done.
Maybe I should start small. Something "easy" and not too intimidating. Nothing like writing a novel or winning a nobel prize, Maybe I should just start out with finishing this 90 in 90. An obtainable goal. One I've accomplished before. Ninety days of writing. Ninety days of me trying my hardest to get 500 semi-coherent words on a page. Ninety days of sitting down and looking at a blank screen without giving up before I've started. I think I can look out a window for 90 days and find something worth writing about. Something that I can make 500 words from.
Today, 500 words are hard to find. Because there's so much I want to say, so much I tried to write down when I started this post. I wrote too much. I tried too hard. All my thoughts and feelings got jumbled up and dumped out on the page. Anybody can jumble up words and vomit them onto a page. Anybody. But that wasn't what I wanted to do. I set out to write and came out with word-vomit. And now, 450 words later I still haven't said anything that was really worth saying.
But I suppose that was the point of all this. To write until I know what the hell I'm doing. Hopefully at some point in the next 90 days that will happen. If not, there's another 90 days after that to try and figure out.
Quote of the Day:
"Writing gives you the illusion of control, and then you realize it's just an illusion, that people are going to bring their own stuff into it."
- David Sedaris
90 in 90
Starting today. At least 500 words.
Because without that written down, I won't do it.
Because I need it.
Because I have to.
Because without that written down, I won't do it.
Because I need it.
Because I have to.
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