Sigur Rós and the Bathing Birds

It is done. The first draft of my novel is complete. I worked on it all night, and once I reached within 2,000 words of the goal, it seemed impossible to allow myself to go to sleep without first getting it all out. So, in between brief video game breaks and trips to the kitchen to boil more water for tea, I wrote 4,600 words over the course of the night, bringing me to a grand total of 50,012 words written between November 2nd and this morning.
As it fueled so much of the novel throughout the month, I closed out my writing to the music of Sigur Rós. I wonder how many authors, in their books, acknowledge musicians and teas and so on in their Thank-Yous right alongside all the living, breathing people? I would imagine that most of them do. After all, do not these things play just as much a part in the process as any person, if not more?
Now the sun is up, and it is a glorious day out. Birds splash in giant puddles, shaking the water off their feathers spastically, before diving back under for one more rinse. I am in love with them, and with everything else as well.
I am so fucking happy. So relieved to be done. So ready to take a break from writing.
And so proud. I cannot even begin to describe it.

Sigur Rós and the First Kiss

I just finished one of my longest stretches of writing yet, managing to get down 4,001 words over the course of the night. It began slowly and painfully, as usual. It's frustrating when I feel I have no choice but to write pretty much straight autobiography, with only the names and a few other minor details changed. I hate doing this; it's always been my goal to move away from my own life and into the greater world of fiction. In my future revisions, I certainly plan to make it far less "about me" than it is now. But I accept it as inevitable from a beginner's standpoint.
I kept writing, and eventually came to the scene where my character and the woman he loves have their first kiss. I wrote it only slightly differently from how it occurred in real life. I lived those moments again in my head as the words came out of me and onto the page, and as I described it I felt my heartrate increase and my blood warm. The sounds of Sigur Rós filling me up with memories, just as they had acted as the score to that scene in reality. I went through it, with the guitars and drums crashing, wavelike, over me; the scene took on a momentum that would not let me stop. I had long since passed my goal for the day, but I felt the need to complete the scene, to let it exist in all its messiness and detail. The songs lifted me up and held me tightly as I wrote.
When it was over, I stared at the screen, shaking ever so slightly. I did not cry; but somewhere inside there was this sadness and joy at remembering the feeling so vividly. I felt overwhelmed. It has been a long time since writing had this effect on me; certainly the first since I began this novel.
I know that when I go back to re-write the book, the details will change. The scene itself will likely change. But the emotions will remain. The heart of the story is there. The moment when the dream seemed real enough to taste.
I am tired and happy; it feels to me now that the end is in sight. I can put the rest of the pieces down easily, and then rest my feet and hands as this crazy and amazing process comes to its conclusion.
It may turn out to be awful, and it may not, but I cannot deny that the act of simply doing this has given me the permission I have always needed: to believe, in my heart, that I am a writer. Doing it, good or bad, has allowed me to believe it, for the first time. This is magical. This is worth any price. It will never leave me.
I'll drink to that, and let sleep take me anywhere it likes.

In Which I Dig In My Heels

Following suit from my Nano friend Lindsey, I thought a post beginning with "In Which" was in order.
This past morning I cranked out another 2,000 words on my novel, which finally brought me up to speed on the whole thing. No more being a few days behind, I was now On Schedule. I left work feeling great, and went to bed quite satisfied and ready to coast down the hill of the next week and half with ease.
Naturally, this prompted the universe to throw my plans into total disarray.
When I awoke today, I found, upon waking up my compy, that it was snow crashing and freezing and generally not functioning too well at all. I could barely look at it without panicking. This exact problem has occurred before, something to do with faulty interface design in a certain series of iBooks. I had had to send it off to Mac the time past. All I knew in that instant was that I was in no shape to deal with it, having just woken up. I hastened to the kitchen in my bathrobe to make some coffee, and talked to my roommate about the problem. With his calming advice and the coffee to kick my defenses up a bit, I was able to relax relatively quickly, and begin to think constructively about it all. First, the all-important thing: I had backed up my entire novel thus-far only the night before, so none of it was lost.
The next step was to call Apple and see what could be done. The tech on the phone was wonderfully patient as i ineptly tried to remove the keyboard with my nonexistant fingernails, so I could tell him the computer's serial number; I simply couldn't manage it. We began talking about my taking it to a Mac shop in town, but it was at this point that my housemate again saved the day by popping the keyboard loose through the MacGyveresque use of a bobby pin. Able to proceed with the necessary information, we established that my computer had a 3-year warranty coverage for such problems. But how long had it been since it was purchased? I was not sure, I bought it used from a friend. He clicked a few buttons, and then told me.
Three years and two days.
After a bit more discussion he agreed to try and slip me into the coverage despite it technically having expired. We worked out that they would send DHL by with a box, and I could simply mail the computer off to be fixed.
The tech support at Apple is truly some of the most wondrous and helpful I have ever encountered. Honestly.
And now that all is set in motion, I am left only with this obstacle: to continue to work on the novel without my computer for at least the next week. I have limited access to my roommate's Powerbook, but for the most part it is going to mean handwriting the fucker. Not something I look forward to; but I've come this far, I'm not going to let something like this slow me down.
Which brings me to my current feeling of satisfaction. It was a shitty day, yes, and the timing is simply awful; but I held together far better than I might've and did not lose my shit and got real proactive real quick.
This is good.
This is progress.
There may be hope for me yet.

Bad Dreams, Part Two

In my other blog, I recently wrote an entry describing a dream I had which was particularly clear and nightmarish. It was one of those rare dreams where I wonder if it might not be a dream, and ask if it's so. I had found myself sitting in the apartment of a girl I loved, who had told me we couldn't be together, and there we were, embracing. Maybe it was anxiety, but for whatever reason I felt that it was too good to be true, so in the dream I asked her if she were sure I wasn't just dreaming this happy ending. She looked at me and assured me I wasn't. And that was that. I gave in to happiness and then promptly woke up.
I have seen better mornings.
I looked at the dream with an almost amused sense of horror. My subconscious, or unconscious, or whichever part of me conspires nightly to fuck with my head, seems to keep finding new ways to push the envelope on what's possible. I laughed that it had gotten so blatant in its attempts.
Oh, little did I know it was just getting started.
Last night - perhaps an hour ago, really - the dream returned, a sequel to the first. Forgive me for attempting to transcribe this, I will try to make sense out of the dream logic so this will be somewhat readable. I think it was pretty straightforward.
This time around, she and I were both at work (for we used to work together), and one of my favorite customers (a driver for Radio Cab) offered to give us a ride around town while on our lunches. We got in his car and were off. The trip itself is sort of a blur, but when we returned to her place we again spoke of our feelings for one another, while Ghazi (the cabbie) hung around waiting to take us back to work. I told her I was sad; I wanted to be with her, she didn't feel the same. I'd dreamt it once, after all. She said again, but I do want to be with you....
And I swear to you, I asked for her to put it in writing this time. Ghazi laughed and I explained to her about the last time we'd had this conversation in dreams. So she deferred and put it in writing, signed, and handed me the paper. I took it, considered it, and then we embraced.
Then my alarm clock chimed.

Knocking the Bastard Off

Last night I wrote roughly 2,800 words on my Nano and then proceeded to drink Smoking Loon cabernet and dance around in my bathrobe to Opeth's "The Drapery Falls" while waving a lit stick of nag champa in the other hand. It's moments like this that make life seem all right.
Today I am stuck again, and the novel-writing again feels like pulling teeth. Add to it that I just stupidly sliced a gash in my thumb while trying to open a bag of chicken with which to make quesadillas. I know when the universe is trying to give me hints. It will be macaroni and cheese tonight.
I have been thinking a lot lately about how every time some crisis arises, my first instinct/reaction is to fall apart/cry/panic, and then collect myself and look at the situation more calmly and rationally, outline a plan, and move on. I don't know what it will take to learn to bypass that awful first stage. Honestly. I just go to pieces.
And now, my thumb properly cleaned and bandaged, I will return to the writing of the shitty first draft of my novel.
As the kiwis say, "Chuck me a beer and I'll go knock off another thousand words, ski down a mountain, catch a dozen fish for dinner, kill a wild boar, and I'll see you before the sun sets."