I’m flat again. I need to raise my register a few frequencies. I did make it to coffee this morning, but I didn’t get much writing done. This rut is lasting longer than I thought possible. I’m thinking of all different strategies, but I know the one that will work: suck it up and stop consternating, which is easy to say, hard to do. Enjoy today’s bullshit.
The shoe store was empty when Walter entered. He walked along the walls examining the displays, cursing himself for forgetting to bring dress socks to try on the shoes.
Walter was a small man with a full beard. People say his beard looked unkempt, but he trimmed it daily, looking for the rugged mountain look that his father achieved honestly and without effort. His father, who grew up near the Tennessee Appalachians, moved to New York City after marrying to raise his family. While his father loved his upbringing, he felt in the modern world people from those parts, as he called them, were at a disadvantage, and he wanted to give his children the same advantages as the more cultured city folk.
After years of scowling, Walter permanently wrinkled his forehead, which hunched over his eyes, giving them a deep-set and dark appearance. When people looked close, Walter’s bright grayish eyes amazed them. Walter was wearing a brown ski cap with no top, like a tube for his head. His close shorn hair spiked through the top.
Walter wore a thick gray sweater with a high collar, and black corduroy pants; he enjoyed the swishing sound his pants made when he walked. He wore thick socks and big shoes. The shoes in the store were more formal, wingtips and tuxedo shoes.
After walking around the store for a few minutes, he found a few that might be acceptable.
Finding emotion after coldness. It’s not an every man story. Look for distractions to hide behind. Stop thinking about failure. Thinking about it will only bring it about faster. I have nothing.
What if I construct a story and think about all the parts of it? It won’t work. Constructed stories never work. Write it and then look at the pieces and put them together at the end.
Am I wasting my time putting these thoughts down? There’s conflict between talking and writing. Return to that simple story about writing words. Conflict? Combine that story with the chair story? No. Refer it to a blog? Why not. What about your aborted shoe story. Leave it and accept my inability to write a story that involves more than one day of writing. That’s not completely true. It’s true for my current mindset. When did I get away from concentrating for long times on writing? When I began to force myself to write every day. That’s BS: my life has gotten more anxious and I need to return to simpler and edit and think. I keep saying this as if it’ll mean something. I need to return my focus. Caffeine can’t be my only problem. I know work is more complicated and requires more concentration; I have to accept that and get beyond it. I don’t have original thoughts. One of these days I might.
Angst and emotion. Find the connection and write. Nothing occurs and there is no release.