Rambling

It’s not bedtime yet, I’ve nothing much to read, no concentration for intellectual pursuits, and the connection tonight is much to slow for videos, so I suppose I’ll write something. Actually, I’ve been writing quite a lot these past days. Weeks ago I decided to start in, yet again, on the beginnings of a book (fantasy of course, I’m not cut out for anything else). I’d yet to piece together any solid plot, but I did have some favored images/scenes floating around upstairs. So, I wrote the opening scene to a story that didn’t exist and stopped work, thinking off and on about chapter two, never getting anywhere, until last week. I call this thing “yet another book” because I’ve tried and given up several times over the years.

During high-school, and for much of my time at Whitman, I faced a self imposed moratorium on conventional, un-original ideas which strangled my creative process. No lilting, vowel-filled names allowed! No orphan protagonists! No villages ransacked by a nameless foe! If I noticed elements of another author creeping into my work, or if I felt it to be painfully stupid, I scrapped the entire project. It’s been three years now since it dawned on me— the fact that all of my favorite stories, the very ones I idealized and absolutely refused to emulate, are by no means completely original. And yet, they’re still astounding. The epiphany resurrected my largely abandoned dream of writing a book someday, and I’ve mused over the project ever since.

Narrative baubles are second nature to me, but I struggled to come up with an acceptable plot. I might have mentioned this to you before, depending on who you are, but while I’m technically capable of spewing some Eragon-Sea-of-Swords-esque paperweight, I can’t stomach the thought. My story has to be interesting, and before it can interest anyone else it must interest me. Therefore no “my parents were killed mysteriously/by an evil overlord, now I must, reluctantly, assume the role of master swordsman/wizard and kill somebody” storylines are considered. I insist on penning something based on meaning, not pure adventure or vicarious slaughter. To that end I brainstormed: multiple frameworks were imagined, tweaked, and abandoned, the best parts salvaged and put away later.

It was not until last week that I arrived at something completely unprecedented in my efforts: a story with potential for adventure, a philosophical skeleton, and, most importantly, most difficult of all, an ending. Now I’m trying not to get too carried away, seeing as I’m pretty likely to drop it by the wayside in a few weeks, but I’m excited.

Training Notes: It was quite good today despite downright chilly weather. I almost managed the splits, couldn’t quite make it, but the floor couldn't have been more than an inch or two further down. I also made progress in push hands, and learned the next few movements in the form. Tomorrow I’ll learn even more. I’m excited for them, admittedly in the shallowest of ways, they’re quintessential Tai Chi gestures.