So when was the last time I blogged? Um. Yeah. Been awhile. So hello!
There were thoughts I meant to share that ended up in the pages of my journal, incomplete and sometimes incoherent. Best they stay where they are, I think. I’m trying to keep a very firm line between what I feel is appropriate to post and what I need to give vent to. Because really, I don’t believe anyone needs or wants to know about my depression or other aspects of my personal life. Oh, they creep in because they creep into my fiction and poetry. How can they not? But I’m not interested in boring anyone, myself included, with details of how my brain chemistry is just not right. That’s the joy of antidepressants–they don’t prevent depression, but when I get depressed, I can see it for what it is. It’s the difference between swimming naked and being in full scuba gear.
But anyway. My NaPoWriMo is going well. 22 poems now for 17 days. 7 of the poems are part of a slightly different manuscript than the rest because a certain fictional character decided he wanted to participate, too. I haven’t yet decided if I’ll try to end up with two 30 poem manuscripts or just lump them all together. Doesn’t matter much. At least I’m writing.
Fiction is taking a back seat for the time being. Jack’s final story keeps veering out of my reach, and I need to rethink it. Again. Would he really stand for getting anyone else involved in the mess he’s made? No, he really wouldn’t. So the story sits, has been sitting, at a point where two other characters are insisting on going down with him, and it feels wrong. I rationalized him telling these two everything with the thought that he hoped the scant truth would scare them off, but it didn’t. They care about him, and they’re not about to let him do things on his own. He only got away with that in the penultimate story because the one person who could have stopped him was out of town. So, I need to go back a bit, stop relying on the five year old story that started Jack’s saga and take it from his POV. I know how. I just haven’t done it.
Other characters are trying to tell me their stories, too. The boys from With No Announcement have a shit ton of things to say, one of which I plan on actually finishing. So far the rest is random stupid shit and background shit, although I think Ilya’s back story is probably the most interesting and may be worth getting back to at some point. I love these characters.
Also, for no real reason other than perhaps an attempt to further distract myself from the work of writing, I picked up a ukulele last weekend. I could blame (again) Amanda Palmer, but that’s just not fair. Actually, I think I blame her and Eddie Vedder (whose solo album Ukulele Songs will be released May 31st). Anyway. I’m slowly practicing chords. My fingers aren’t as limber as they used to be when I played my guitar regularly. But it’s fun. How can it not me? Just the word ukulele is fun. The sound of strumming the strings is the sound of fun. I’ll eventually teach myself sloppy versions of some songs and maybe even pretend to write my own songs. Because it’s fun.
And fun is anathema to what’s going on in my brain right now. Fighting poison with poison. And feeding it all into what I’m trying to accomplish with my writing.