i have been feeling pretty restless the last few nights, and tonight i tried to kill that with a little world of warcraft, but kept getting kicked from the server. so after a dinner of black beans and vegetables, i poured myself a cup of black tea mixed with fresh ginger and milk, opened up a new document in bean (the word processing application i usually use) and started typing, courier new 12 point (old school typewriter style). i have some pages of notes from the last year or so living here that i referenced a couple of times for ideas, but otherwise i just plowed into the writing. i started in a different world, in a ramada inn in the midwest. eventually the story is coming here, but for now i am going to try working without an etched in stone concept of where the story goes.
of course, this all assumes that this will not just have been a one-off night of passionate scribbling, to be followed by weeks and months, perhaps years of silent fingers. the idea of being a writer is more appealing to me than the writing process, or at least i think that’s what i have told myself in the past. but tonight it felt alright, it felt like something i could do, and the work felt like something that could be enjoyable for itself. i have a little headache after all that mental exertion though, or maybe it’s a side effect of the surge of manic energy that i usually get whenever i start a project.
my life has seen its share of unfinished projects, so i guess we shouldn’t hold our collective breath on this one. but if it continues to be fun, who knows.