So, not on the list I made, but I read (out loud) The Bad Beginning and maybe I can get to twenty books by September 1st if I just read middle-grade books I enjoy again and again and again and again.
Picture via https://www.aljazeera.com/news/2020/05/remembering-george-floyd-devoted-father-gentle-giant-200531070908430.html
Walk the same route, no hoodie, no headphones, backpack straps over two shoulders, eye contact, good morning ma’am/sir, step off sidewalk, let them pass, brush teeth, dental hygiene, don’t look like a meth-head, gain weight, don’t look like you’re on crack, on heroin, but not muscles (muscles threaten), good morning ma’am/sir, step on road, smile, deference, don’t grow your hair out, corn-row, afro- fade, don’t wear colours, walk slow, not too slow (casing), not too fast (fleeing), same route so they know you (casing), a different route tomorrow (suspicious), don’t take selfies, don’t hold phone, how would he get a phone like that? don’t wear sneakers (fleeing), but nice shoes, how would he get nice shoes like that? don’t strut, don’t stride, don’t look like you belong too much, don’t stand out either, don’t hum jazz, blues, hip hop, rap, gospel, soul, funk, afro-carib, don’t get lost in thought, don’t be too interested in your surroundings (casing), comment on the weather, yes sir/ma’am, sure is hot, don’t use slang, don’t use cuss words, don’t sound too educated, how would he get an education like that? ma’am/sir, don’t stumble, don’t ask for help, don’t linger, get up on your own, don’t limp though it hurts, how would he get an injury like that? adjust your backpack, don’t let it hang off one shoulder like you’re comfortable, like you belong here, but not out of place either, not a threat, don’t smile at children (leering), don’t say hey I watch that show/sport/team too who’s your fave, how would he know about a show/sport/team like that? don’t hobble (draw attention), don’t jaywalk, don’t loiter, don’t lag at the crosswalk waiting for the light, don’t check out the surroundings while not waiting (casing), don’t look only at your shoes, make eye contact, ma’am/sir, sure is hot, check for cars but not too close (jacking), hands visible, no phone, no pockets, no sagging, no headphones, no hoodie, no cigarettes, where would he get looseys like that? no eye contact, more eye contact, sir/ma’am, step off the sidewalk, no smiling at white women, no reaction to that truck with that flag in the window, no shoulders too far back (ownership), no shoulders hunched forward (trying to be invisible), don’t look smug, don’t stick out, don’t object, don’t walk on lawns (trespassing), don’t pick flowers (theft), don’t brush against foliage (property damage), ma’am/sir, sure is hot out, don’t dawdle (casing), don’t scurry (fleeing), don’t draw attention except enough to mean you aren’t not trying to not draw attention, to not not draw attention, to not not not draw attention, don’t laugh (mocking), don’t scowl (threatening), don’t explain, don’t resist, don’t object, don’t keep your hands where we can’t see them, don’t make eye contact with the witnesses (they can’t help you now), don’t resist, you’re not resisting, you’re not, I’m not resisting, I am not resisting, I am not, my hands, I am not resisting, I am not, I am not
I am
I can’t breathe.
is getting to run spellcheck when they are done being typed.
And now I’m stuck trying to decide whether to explore that corner more fully or back up somehow. The other thing I have to decide is how much effort to put into writing versus finding paid work. For all the words I’ve ever written, I’ve only made about $1200 Canadian. It is an unpleasant truth that for all my writing abilities, it is not a sustainable, long-term, job prospect.
(Of course, idea stolen from Reading In Bed, which, in turn, found it at 746 Books. This should come as no surprise that I am taking ideas from elsewhere, as I have been clear I have no new ideas.)
Can I read twenty books this summer? Let’s say no. Could I have read twenty books a few summers ago: yes. But, like everything else in my life, I am lagging with reading.
The books, chosen from shelves and piles left around my house.
- The Sea, The Sea by Iris Murdoch, 502 pages
- Selected Stories of Franz Kafka by Franz Kafka, 328 pages
- Warlight by Michael Ondaatje, 290 pages
- Middle England by Jonathan Coe, 424 pages
- Vox by Christina Dalcher 388 pages
- 13 Ways of Looking at a Fat Girl by Mona Awad, 214 pages
- The Spirit of Science Fiction by Roberto Bolaño, 196 pages
- I Love You, Beth Cooper by Larry Doyle, 290 pages
- Bec & Call by Jenna Lyn Albert, 94 pages
- The Spy and the Traitor by Ben Macintyre, 364 pages
- The Pursuit of William Abbey by Claire North, 453 pages
- The Magicians by Lev Grossman, 402 pages
- Swimming in the Congo by Margaret Meyers, 261 pages
- The Madrigal by Dian Day, 370 pages
- Floating City by Kerri Sakamoto, 246 pages
- Heartbreaker by Claudia Dey, 260 pages
- Memento by Christy Ann Conlin, 375 pages
- Africville by Jeffrey Colvin, 371 pages
- this is not my life by Diane Shoemperlen, 354 pages
- ¡No Pasarán! Writings from the Spanish Civil War by Various, 393 pages
Now laugh, laugh laugh laugh at me considering I think I’ve read twelve pages in the past week, and also, that I am still making my way through Ducks, Newberryport, which I can only read in short bursts because it stresses me out too much.
Firstly, I think the word broken should be broken somehow, like broeken. I also think that confused, as a word, should be confuzzed. Words should somehow match what they are trying to say.
Now that that’s out of the way: Why am I a broeken lawnmower? Because I start up just fine, cut one thousand blades or so of grass, then putter out. The next day, another, disjoint, patch of one thousand blades is cut. The next day, yet again another disjoint patch. By this point, the first patch has regrown completely.
I have settings with no plot (time travel). I have characters with no conflict (shout-out to my imaginary peoples, Molly and April in particular), But I don’t even have enough of anything to mash it all together, à la Wolf Children style, which we know how well that is going.
Also, I have bought, in the past year, twelve pairs of scissors (two packs of six; the specificity has a reason). I can find, right now, one pair. Is that a story idea? Faeries that steal my goddamn scissors so I’m stabbing at my milk bag with a serrated knife like a maniac? This aside is to let you know I just found one of the pairs of scissors underneath a pile of category theory notes.
I am rambling now. I just want words the same way I want money, to wrap myself up in them like blankets and then swim through them like Scrooge McDuck.
There’s more time to read and reject things. Another story rejected!
Send it out. Geoff says the story is mean, but maybe I am in a mean place right now. I do feel emotionally mean, like in the parsimonious way, but with feelings instead of money. I will keep all my thoughts and feelings for myself.
Yesterday Tesfa spilled milk on the notebook I’ve been writing in for the past few weeks. Not just the notebook, but the whole table to be accurate, and she missed my iPad so there’s that (although perhaps having an iPad with horrendous cracks all across the screen having milk spilt upon it wouldn’t be horrible).
Yes I know that Hemingway’s wife left his stories at a train station. There is no need to tell me this is a step on my way to becoming Hemingway.
The notebook is rinsed off and sitting under a rock in the sun in my yard. Nothing in the book was meaningful. Nothing in it was even complete. Anyone want to read a variety of scenes about people doing nothing, because, if so, do I have a milk-stained notebook ready for you?
The main conclusion: I don’t know whether to keep writing as a main career, put it as secondary to find another career, or some other option that has yet to occur to me. My writing has spiraled into repeating nothingness. There are no math jobs for at least a year. Geoff says to see a career counselor, but I don’t know if I want a new job as much as I want to be excited about writing again, like I was ten years ago.
I could play video games forever. And really, would anyone other than me really notice?
Picture: Wolf_Kolmården.jpg: Daniel Mott from Stockholm, Swedenderivative work: Mariomassone – Wolf_Kolmården.jpg, CC BY-SA 2.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=12423176
My odd Wolf Children story (11 423 words) was rejected twice in the past two days. Not even simultaneous submission rejected, but rejected within twenty-four hours of submission each time. I have some mad props for these journals’ response time, but also, great sadness because I write weird things that speak to very few people other than myself.