The End of Winter -- Will it Ever?

 I must get my act together. Worked a bit on The End of Winter and realized it is practically a finished first draft. More a novella but a full arc for the most part. 

Ok. Time to figure out how to proceed. UGH. 

Planning a Trip

 I settled for organizing an anthology of all the short writings and poetry I've done over the course of 50 years. Yeah. Fifty. They were in a box, just lying around and on my blogs, and in notebooks and files. So, I'm collecting them, putting them together as a personal anthology. The good, the bad, the mediocre. None is really ugly but there are a few that come close. 

The poetry from 1972 is most interesting to me. It is pretty awful, but I was 16 and really had only been writing for a couple of years and none of the previous work was poetry. This was my first attempt, as far as I can tell. 

The title, for now, is Journeys. Writing, all of it, is a process and you move from one stage to the next. The trip is long and arduous, but interesting. And you'll either get better at it and learn, or you'll stagnate. 

This isn't what I really want to be doing. However, it is writing and I'm working. I've nearly shoved it aside a couple of times but I keep coming back. I won't get rich. I probably won't make any money on it but it will be there for my future relatives and maybe a friend or two who wants to remember me.

Impossiblilities

 It isn't that I have nothing to write about. I do. There are days I sit down with my mind full of the story, only to find that I can't focus. My mind is full of a fog that wraps my brain in a soup like mist, an alphabet soup that refuses to form coherent sentences. Thoughts are there in my mind, but I'm unable to structure into any coherence. Random thoughts interrupt every attempt; did I start the laundry or miss my meds? Did I have an appointment? I'm so tired I can't keep my eyes open. 

No matter how many times I try again, the results are almost always the same. On the days I write 200 words, it feels like a weight is lifted. It doesn't last.

So, I've basically given up. I'm running out of time to finish anything. That's an awful feeling. To see the ending but cannot reach it is hell. You don't stop, but the effort exerted is enormous. You walk away, realizing you're a failure.

I don't know where I go from here. I keep trying but it just feels so hopeless. The things that have happened since 2009 have been just unbelievable. Not just Jerry dying and my getting sicker. There is so much else that has happened I don't dare go into here. I'm tired of battling giants. I'm so over everything. 

I won't stop trying to write, to finish at least one of the several stories. In theory, it isn't impossible. Well, nothing is impossible. Is it?

Until It Wasn't

Adventures and laughter set our days glowing

Love built a home and filled it with companions

Life was good and filled with purpose

Until it wasn’t.

Silver wings carried us to exotic lands 

And strange tongues sang in our ears 

Soaring mountains beckoned and

Broad streets whose lights banished the dark

Couples walking together, arms linked and hearts.

Until it wasn’t.

We grew up, moved on, and dreamed of the future

Planning and building and singing our songs

Children, grandchildren, our family expanding

Bright days glowing, banishing the dark,

We walked together, arms linked and hearts.

Until it wasn’t.

Adventures and laughter set our days glowing

Love built a home and filled it with companions

Life was good and filled with purpose

Until it wasn’t. 

 

365 Days to Write or Not

It hasn't been a great writing year. I've written more than I expected to but not as much as I wanted to. I've been sick more and of course, we've all had to deal with Covid in one way or another. 

I had Covid in October 2019 and Sarah's mom just had it this past week. I've been taking care of her. And no, I haven't caught it. But I may have had it several weeks ago when I thought I had a severe cold. Who knows these days. 

Anyway, writing. Today is the first day of a new year and if I can write one page every day for 365 days, that's pretty much a novel. An average page is 250 words! So maybe do 500 words a day for 365 days? 182,500!?? That's two novels. 

I don't do resolutions. They're lies in fancy dress, as I've pointed out in a blog post somewhere. I am going to shoot for 500 words a day. I know I won't get that much done on some days but if I do even half that, it is a lot of words.

Have a happy new year and may the words flow from your brain and out your fingers.