If one will notice, I've been maintaining a pace of four posts a day for pretty much the whole of this year. In the last six months or so the four posts have consisted of one daily journal post, one 'personal observation/rambling' post, a prompted piece including the prompt, and a 'structural experiment', where I'll choose from 19 interesting structures of creating fiction/non-fiction and work with that.
I figured when I started out that the fiction pieces were going to be difficult. New world to come up with, characters, scenes, whatever. Even with prompt it has to be at least 'believable' and coherent, make some sort of sense grammatically. I need to want to keep writing five hundred eight hundred words, it cannot be total piece of utter revolting garbage so bad I don't want to write. You as a reader may find it offensive disgusting boring dross droll whatever but for me it's something I shat out with great effort if not passion. I was able to keep my eyes and fingers and brain moving for twenty/thirty minutes without collapsing. It sounds strange when put into words, but that's actually an achievement.
Originally that was the fear, that getting there would be not so...easy. As things have turned out, that has not been the case. The fiction waits for 'inspiration' or 'activation energy' or whatever, but when it comes it flows in, it comes rushing in sometimes with great passion, shaking even. Even the bad ones go through clearly like shitting a clean piece of log if you get my gist. It's not diarrhea for me as it may be for you. It always goes out comfortably. Yeah I'll be not very proud of pieces here and there sometimes for weeks but that's because they stink not because I barfed them out.
What has been difficult lately is the non fiction pieces. The observational one, 'slice of life' kind of posts. It's possible it feels that way because I don't read much news anymore. Or that I completely avoid the rest of the internet to my best abilities.
More likely is the fact that not much in happening. In the world, in my life, in our personal lives. Nobody is really traveling, interacting with one another, making cool human observations. We're all hidden in our spaceships in this long interstellar journey avoiding the deadly viral infection that's taking the other astronauts out. We can't be careless, we can't let go because we need human interest pieces to write.
A few things are happening. I've written here a bit about meditation. And the other projects I work on. Waking. Meeting friends once in a few weeks. The limited vacation travels I've done. Haymarket trips. Grocery store journeys. All of that. But when it becomes a routine it's not interesting anymore. You need new things. Routine's great I love routine, but often one will have things that go beyond the routine. An interesting adventure. A wild ride. A cool piece. There's not happening as of late. Only so much to write about, express, muse. If you want to go into the wildlands of the internet, twitter and other crapfests yeah you could dig up some interesting crap. But it's all that, all of it. Crap. It doesn't get any better than that. It hurts my brain, gives me anxiety, I don't like doing it. That's where we're stuck.
When I began this piece, it was going to be about me limiting my grocery trips because I'm afraid of the virus and want to limit social contact. It's turned out to become an exposition of how there's very few inspiring things happening. It's the winter, people spent their days sleeping and basically hibernating okay. Perhaps we should adapt our societies to do the same.
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