Holy moly, so much for records. No posts since February? Pathetic! To kick us off, here are some ramblings from another recent journal:
The Fresno summer makes me hate California. Until it's 90 degrees in July and feels like rain. Then I love it but am a little weirded out. It's not
supposed to be 90 degrees in July.
Travis is moving to North Carolina as we speak. He should arrive in Chapel Hill this evening. Now all the kids are spread across the country.
(Using the computer at the library can be so interesting, especially in the early morning. There is an older gentleman sitting next to me grumbling under his breath about who knows what, but it's entertaining. A few moments ago, his phone rang and his version of "Quiet Computer Lab" was waiting to answer its catchy ringtone until he got to the lab door then speaking loudly in another language -- Armenian? Russian? Greek? I wasn't listening closely. I love the library.)
A friend of mine wants to write a book about his worldview and has asked me to read his current 100 pages of brain dump then edit and organize it into possible chapters to start the book-process. We met a few weeks ago to talk about his worldview, his thesis, his goals for the end result. I haven't found time yet to get through all of the material (it's a lot of brain dump), and I'm not sure how far along in the process I want to be involved in, but it's a miniscule launch into the world of editing. And he'll pay me something. We'll see.
Also speaking of career goals, I am not a writer. I suppose, I am not a writer of fiction. I hate writing fiction. There are no stories, no characters bumbling about in my head, clamoring to find their ways to a page. The worst writing assignment I ever had was in my college Ancient Literature class with Dr. Wall: Write a 3-5 page version of Purgatorio, with you as the protagonist led by Virgil through the underworld and meeting at least three characters from other literary works studied during the semester. Oh, the agony! I hated it. Still do.
Anyway, my point: I am not a fiction writer. At most, someday I might hope to be a rather uncreative creative nonfiction writer, if enough more interesting experiences happen to me. But one thing I know, I need more writing practice. When I used to write every day, I would see the beauty in the small goings-on of life. I would look for the interesting in the ordinary so that I could pen it later. Therefore, goal: To write something every day because practice makes permanence.
