Writing Life

I started keeping journals and spinning fiction out of things that happened to me when I was still in high school. It was a simple process. At the end of each day I would record a snapshot of the highlight of my day. Usually not more than 400 words; a feeling, a thought, a joke, an explosive moment, a person…

After a while, I could go back to my snapshots. Those snapshots would more than likely elicit memories of much more than that actual moment. I would find myself mulling over options, choices, decisions, see things I didn’t see at the moment.

The whatif aspect of the mulling over would spring up ideas for fiction. I would twist fact and create different outcomes for episodes that passed through my life.

It occurred to me recently, that I sometimes wish I could rewrite my life in much the same way I would spin those short stories.

In the past year, I might have kept my life simple, listened to my gut instinct, trusted less, believed more, feared less, dared much more…

Life is a very complicated script to carve out. You can’t sit down and build characters, carve out plotlines, try out a few paragraphs and see if it works. Life only has to be lived with the benefit of hope and the hindsight of experience. Life can only be lived in the moment.

I am writing this, even as I mull over a short story that I developed over the past week, and realised just how deeply dark my thoughts have been lately. I finally dared to carve out this story courtesy of a prodding twitter friend. I wanted the piece to be light and fun, but I’ve ended up with a surpringly noir piece of street ‘shit’.

Maybe someday I’ll have the guts to roll the balls out on the court. Right now, I am going to chill and pretend that that story is really not what has been in my subconscious, maybe I’ll pop a few more pills and go out and play with Guillermo.

Not that Guillermo is particularly interested in playing with anyone other than his stuffed animal with a bloody music box.

Not that Guillermo is particularly interested in playing with anyone other than his stuffed animals.


3 thoughts on “Writing Life

  1. Roll the bloody dice! I want to sink my teeth into that “noir piece of street ‘shit’”


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