15 days ago I woke up just like I woke up every morning - dry throat, thirsty and with a sense of purpose that is best described by Heisenberg's Uncertainty Principle.
I was going to eat a good breakfast, brush my hair and count my freckles before venturing out of my house with the desire and thirst to make a difference and to drink some lemonade, because that is how I was raised if you read way between the lines.
Actually, I decided all of those 15 days ago to write and publish a new piece each day. Some applauded my plan (those dudes will applaud for anything though) while others attempted to rain on my parade and still others sat back and enjoyed a cup of tea with a homemade biscuit that I had baked especially for the occasion.
Yes, some would refer to me as a hero and who was I discourage them or buy them an encyclopedia to show them proper examples of heroes, while others insisted on calling me Martha. Thanks?
I was going to eat a good breakfast, brush my hair and count my freckles before venturing out of my house with the desire and thirst to make a difference and to drink some lemonade, because that is how I was raised if you read way between the lines.
Actually, I decided all of those 15 days ago to write and publish a new piece each day. Some applauded my plan (those dudes will applaud for anything though) while others attempted to rain on my parade and still others sat back and enjoyed a cup of tea with a homemade biscuit that I had baked especially for the occasion.
Yes, some would refer to me as a hero and who was I discourage them or buy them an encyclopedia to show them proper examples of heroes, while others insisted on calling me Martha. Thanks?
As excited as I was, even I wondered at the beginning if this was even possible - could I actually create something new each day for so many days in a row? And that is saying something as I rarely wonder at the beginning of anything.
Questions flooded my brain while the tepid bath water flooded the bathroom - I thought multiple and concurrent floods would be poetic. Was I wrong? In one sense, no, and in a more accurate and bills-to-pay-way, yes.
Questions flooded my brain while the tepid bath water flooded the bathroom - I thought multiple and concurrent floods would be poetic. Was I wrong? In one sense, no, and in a more accurate and bills-to-pay-way, yes.
Would I have enough time to write when I barely have enough time to groom?
Would I be able to generate enough new ideas to maintain the plan or would I fall victim to either recycling ideas or somehow trying to reduce or reuse ideas from my past?
Would I be able to maintain the youthful enthusiasm that I felt at the onset as the days ticked by one by one forcing me to either age prematurely or fight off the inevitable slide into some sort of abyss (for all intents and purposes, I am surrounded by abysses and Oak trees - talk about your urban planning!)?
Would I take the risk of becoming a living and breathing cautionary tale for all future writers of my calibre and shoe size if I failed dramatically and tragically and covered with maple syrup as my co-workers were always suggesting would happen on a daily basis while walking around with large jugs of maple syrup?
Regardless of these quite excellent questions that I mailed away for, I was extremely excited to see where this writing experiment would take me - I, for one, was hoping for a nice walk in the woods followed by a neck massage capped off by a bowl of toasted pecans.
My plan was to force myself to break out of my pattern of long and rambling and often nonsensical bordering on narcolepsy-inducing pieces and focus just on the narcolepsy.
There were new genres to explore and I was the brazen explorer equipped with a flashlight and butterfly net - I was ready for anything - especially dark rooms full of butterflies and/or moths!
I wanted to experience everything! The world was my vertible oyster and I was going to try my hand (or hands depending on whether I was eating or petting my imaginary gryphon at the same time) at poetry and flash fiction and overly-personal, embarrassingly-honest autobiographical short stories.
By day 2 of 15 I came to realize that this task was not going to be that easy. There just wasn't enough time in the day - or was there? There wasn't. Until there was.
I had to find opportunities to write that were not previously known. Like in those few minutes before making the family breakfast (resulting in many metaphors involving burnt toast) and at school during the break between classes (resulting in work dominated by ringing bells) and while brushing my teeth (resulting in stories about the benefits of daily flossing and the wonders of enamel and how to make it work for you).
I became a writing mole just looking and searching for any free moment to take out my phone or sit by my computer and get a few words down and a magical thing happened. Since I knew that I just wouldn't have enough time to edit later on and I had such little time to write in the first place, I became forced to actually create good stuff that wouldn't need heavy editing and or censoring later on like usual.
This pressure led me to write some of my shortest, least rambling and different sort of pieces ever. The very same pressure also caused my skin to break out in a horrible rash that turned out to just be spilled grape juice. The pressure made me spill my grape juice.
I came to love the need to write and publish each day rather than my previous goal of writing something new each 3 or 4 days. Flash fiction and poems, due to their brief and often rhythmic nature, made me value and savour each word as if they were smoked salmon or a fine wine or even a mediocre wine as I savour those as well.
And then, day 15 came and it all ended. Last night as I pressed "publish" for the 15th consecutive day the weight of what I had just finished hit me like an imaginary sack of rocks or an imaginary sack that was empty as the "rock guy" was on vacation.
I felt a sense of accomplishment and something closely resembling pride or glee. I stood up and raised my arms and attempted to look to the sky, but all I saw was the ceiling that needed dusting.
There are so many people to thank.
For all those who doubted I could do this - thank you!
Your doubt helped me in ways that I doubted it ever would.
And to my doubt - I couldn't have done it without you either.
I doubted that my doubt, which was a product of the original doubt, could have any effect at all.
But it did, as did the bag after bag of stale crackers that I was tempted by, but never ate. Where those bags of crackers came from, I'll never know (my wife keeps telling me that I bought them and then neglected them), but I still thank them.
I thank my family, especially my wife, for motivating me using ancient Indonesian methods that should probably be declared illegal except when someone is truly possessed (I wasn't).
My kids didn't really help at all and they pretty much just walked past me when I was writing shaking their cute little heads which made their pretty faces slightly out-of-focus and they always would say "stop writing and make our lunch" which gave me the energy to forge on and continue to stall making their lunch.
I also want to thank everyone who either viewed, read, read and then immediately remembered they had to go wash their hair, and those who watched other people read for a more indirect and less rigorous experience for your eye brows. Your role is harder to pin down, but you exist, and for that, I thank you. If nothing else, keep existing.
You may be wondering if I learned my lesson and I would counter that not only was this not a lesson, but it was also freshly waxed and pine-scented for your smelling pleasure. But rest assured as less-assured resting is not resting at all and more exhausted and stressful only leading you to want to rest later on - just seems like a waste of time to me. Rest now.
Would I do this all again? Absolutely! Maybe I'll change up the challenge to keep it fresh or just change my shirt more often. I felt inspired and excited and ideas literally percolated in my brain causing me to have strange daydreams where I was a giant coffee maker providing freshly brewed dark roast java for the masses.
The past 15 days were as enjoyable a 15 day period could be aside from May 7th - May 21st, 1994 which were amazing. All of my life has been trying to recapture those days of glory. This past 15 day period was close - nice try, days.
My plan was to force myself to break out of my pattern of long and rambling and often nonsensical bordering on narcolepsy-inducing pieces and focus just on the narcolepsy.
There were new genres to explore and I was the brazen explorer equipped with a flashlight and butterfly net - I was ready for anything - especially dark rooms full of butterflies and/or moths!
I wanted to experience everything! The world was my vertible oyster and I was going to try my hand (or hands depending on whether I was eating or petting my imaginary gryphon at the same time) at poetry and flash fiction and overly-personal, embarrassingly-honest autobiographical short stories.
By day 2 of 15 I came to realize that this task was not going to be that easy. There just wasn't enough time in the day - or was there? There wasn't. Until there was.
I had to find opportunities to write that were not previously known. Like in those few minutes before making the family breakfast (resulting in many metaphors involving burnt toast) and at school during the break between classes (resulting in work dominated by ringing bells) and while brushing my teeth (resulting in stories about the benefits of daily flossing and the wonders of enamel and how to make it work for you).
I became a writing mole just looking and searching for any free moment to take out my phone or sit by my computer and get a few words down and a magical thing happened. Since I knew that I just wouldn't have enough time to edit later on and I had such little time to write in the first place, I became forced to actually create good stuff that wouldn't need heavy editing and or censoring later on like usual.
This pressure led me to write some of my shortest, least rambling and different sort of pieces ever. The very same pressure also caused my skin to break out in a horrible rash that turned out to just be spilled grape juice. The pressure made me spill my grape juice.
I came to love the need to write and publish each day rather than my previous goal of writing something new each 3 or 4 days. Flash fiction and poems, due to their brief and often rhythmic nature, made me value and savour each word as if they were smoked salmon or a fine wine or even a mediocre wine as I savour those as well.
And then, day 15 came and it all ended. Last night as I pressed "publish" for the 15th consecutive day the weight of what I had just finished hit me like an imaginary sack of rocks or an imaginary sack that was empty as the "rock guy" was on vacation.
I felt a sense of accomplishment and something closely resembling pride or glee. I stood up and raised my arms and attempted to look to the sky, but all I saw was the ceiling that needed dusting.
There are so many people to thank.
For all those who doubted I could do this - thank you!
Your doubt helped me in ways that I doubted it ever would.
And to my doubt - I couldn't have done it without you either.
I doubted that my doubt, which was a product of the original doubt, could have any effect at all.
But it did, as did the bag after bag of stale crackers that I was tempted by, but never ate. Where those bags of crackers came from, I'll never know (my wife keeps telling me that I bought them and then neglected them), but I still thank them.
I thank my family, especially my wife, for motivating me using ancient Indonesian methods that should probably be declared illegal except when someone is truly possessed (I wasn't).
My kids didn't really help at all and they pretty much just walked past me when I was writing shaking their cute little heads which made their pretty faces slightly out-of-focus and they always would say "stop writing and make our lunch" which gave me the energy to forge on and continue to stall making their lunch.
I also want to thank everyone who either viewed, read, read and then immediately remembered they had to go wash their hair, and those who watched other people read for a more indirect and less rigorous experience for your eye brows. Your role is harder to pin down, but you exist, and for that, I thank you. If nothing else, keep existing.
You may be wondering if I learned my lesson and I would counter that not only was this not a lesson, but it was also freshly waxed and pine-scented for your smelling pleasure. But rest assured as less-assured resting is not resting at all and more exhausted and stressful only leading you to want to rest later on - just seems like a waste of time to me. Rest now.
Would I do this all again? Absolutely! Maybe I'll change up the challenge to keep it fresh or just change my shirt more often. I felt inspired and excited and ideas literally percolated in my brain causing me to have strange daydreams where I was a giant coffee maker providing freshly brewed dark roast java for the masses.
The past 15 days were as enjoyable a 15 day period could be aside from May 7th - May 21st, 1994 which were amazing. All of my life has been trying to recapture those days of glory. This past 15 day period was close - nice try, days.
