Hotdog Promises

Tuesday, August 22, 2006

It wasn’t happening. I sat on it—maybe I thought it would stay warm while it waited to hatch. It didn’t. It sat, unmoving, unloved, and withered away. It hangs sickly on the branch. A stiff wind may change that, but then again a stiff wind changes all sorts of things.

Today I decided not to dwell on it. I won’t bore you with what it is. If you know me at all, you’ll guess quickly what it is. Instead, I’ll jot down words with no plan. Shocking, I know: me writing with nothing to say about nothing in particular. Who would have thunk it? But here I think and write and want to post something to pretend accomplishment. I’ve been content lately, happy even. I’ve read and enjoyed time, kept the depression monsters at bay. Something, if you don’t mind me speculating, that is the direct and absolute result of the Doolies moving in with me in Seattle. There are studies that back this up. A person prone to depression actually does quite well when living with someone else. Now, the someone else may not do as well, but you’ll have to ask the Doolies about that.

And so I sit here, thinking of what to say, and wondering why I don’t say something. Wow. I must have repeated that sentence at least a hundred times over the last week of pretend writing. I need to post more of my pretentions (I don’t think that’s the right word, or even a word). I need to get back to the tortured daily hour. It’s not really torture. It’s more that there are too many distractions for me and not enough effort. Post-dinner is when I suppose I will get to it. Give me an hour after dinner and before movies/video games and I’ll show you the world.

Motives and thoughts. What’s going through that empty head of mine? That’s a great question. Write in first-person and think nothing of it. Be the character. Act! I thought you love acting. Create a character and be he. I’ve lost the acting bug. Now I need to find it again. Do you think you’re a better extemporaneous player than those high school students you watched prance around the stage on Sunday? (Doolies and I went to see a young player’s performance of Shakespeare’s A Midsummer Night. I dragged Doolies from the theater after the first act. I know they tried and some of them may be good one day—but, for my money (and for the record, the show was free, something I didn’t understand the reason for until they started to perform), I’d rather wait for that one day instead of sitting through two more acts of one of William’s more blah plays) Prove it. Find a character, give him a personality, and see what happens to him. Put him in first person, if you must. Put them all in first person. Don’t worry about narrative flow, just create and become them. Write their diary entries. Write everything about them—but do it from their perspective. I have so many half-witted plans like these and I never follow through with this stuff. I shouldn’t be shocked or surprised by this.

Doolies is cleaning up after a so-so meal I cooked. As I said, this is the time I will sit and pound. Not sure I’ll find anything worth pounding, but I need to sit here for an hour and see what if anything will come forth. I spent 2,000 words working with a hotdog-stand guy. Nothing worth sharing, but somewhat fun, in that juicy hotdog-kind of way. Maybe he’ll make it into one of my stories. More likely, he won’t. But it’s better than not writing, right?