failures

Strange hours. I’ve been writing so much, I’ve practically forgotten how. Relearning now, how to put one foot in front of the other – is this appropriate? Spell out in a whole sentence how freakin’ late at night it is. Send in then no phone calls. Expect no answer.

I’m drinking a tall glass of water. I don’t wonder what their beer tastes like. I wonder what life is like somewhere else, and read books, classics, try to educate myself, but still practically have no one to talk to, read out loud to – these sentences that catch me.

I see in everyone occasional failures. A mature man let’s hatred die down and does not seek revenge, somehow controls his anger. He may feel wronged, but he doesn’t act immediately. I keep saying this, because I want to become him. Even as Mother Nature troths over, or they perchance tear themselves down, he feels saddened that it has to come to that. Beginnings and endings appear so different, but I wonder if we can’t see the outcome from the first day, if by giving someone the benefit of the doubt, we deliberately blind ourselves of the inevitable. If this is so, we’re taking the long way around, wasting time, failing to avoid the disasters that keep us annoying.

How differently should we speak to one another? Should we fear our honesty? How effective is our politeness? Like forgetting how to write, I also forget what it’s like to have friends close by – physical. I suppose I’m bitter, but have no one to blame. What a relief.

In the books I’m reading, I see an ongoing theme. Fear, hatred, and guilt – prevent us from having solid friendships. They can love us with blue faces, but it won’t matter. We start the ball rolling with these things and the abuse can end it. It’ll wear everything out until it’s too late, until it’s ruined. This man becomes a flooded old room of tears.

The hardest part about writing fiction in this case, is coming up with the actual story, and being able to tell it effectively, skillfully. The original idea, though, was not to worry about any of this, but only to crank out a quota of words each day. Reaching the grand total at the end of the month, then I could check it all out and edit it, if I decided it was worth it. I did not expect to have a good day in any of this. If I have a good day, where I actually like my stuff, and break through in the plot, or one of my characters surprises me, then my expectations are up. Those expectations can be hard to meet the very next day, especially when, everyday, I don’t feel exactly the same. Some days are worse than others.

I am meant to learn the value.