1:50am. The power blinked off and back on a few minutes ago. We were already awakened by the gale blowing harsh music through the eaves. It must be November.
We’re wondering about the pelicans. There are a dozen fishing just offshore. In the past twenty years, we’ve often had pelicans around for months. The confusing bit is that it’s November. Pelicans should be long gone by now. There’s something else too.
I have completed work on the first story in my collection and have begun the second. My word count has gone up too, working on that next one. I am not yet done for the day. [I get an extra virtual “badge” for updating twice in a single day. It’s silly, but I like those little pretend gifts.]
Here’s what I knew for certain about Matt in high school: dreams of soldiering, swimming, a brother who was a lot older, a younger sister, a fireman father, a mother who worked at the chain drugstore, and he hardly ever talked in class. And he was cute. Once when I passed him in the hall, he said, “Hey, Bree.” So he knew who I was and not to call me Brianna.
The Way an Elephant Knows Blind Men
Between saving over the past two years and selling shawls/scarves, I decided to order a new laptop. Not the really fancy new MacBook Pro, but an Air. More working memory and storage than I have. It will arrive next week. I kept one laptop for over nine years and when I went to transfer to this one… there were problems. This one is only five years old but struggling. It had to be repaired twice while under the original warranty. Perhaps there was a lesson in that that I failed to learn. I’ll know soon enough. I’ve used Windows and Mac and prefer Macs. I liked Word very much, but Pages does more these days, enough that I no longer mind not having PageMaker or InDesign, which I was perfectly comfortable using daily for many years. Now I seem to know nothing about new technology. I can barely manage my new phone.
I know enough to get this wrapped and posted while we still have power,
DAY TWO WORD COUNT: 3681 4287
IMPERFECT PATIENCE 
Gorgeous cover!
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Thank you, and may I add that I’m sorry you are awake too.
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You continue to amaze me–all the stuff your life has held, all the energy.
Susy and I have argued about word counting . . . I told her many years ago that I’d read this in a how-to book: A writer is someone who counts words. She said–I’m paraphrasing–word counters don’t go to heaven. I said a writer is someone who gets her writing done. And as we know, showing up is a major component. Bill Kittredge used to say: “Go in your work room for four hours every day. You don’t have to write, but you can’t do anything else.” Anyway, word counting: in order to keep going, you need something, some positive force that keeps you in your chair; reading your own good writing will serve that purpose, but the good writing won’t be there until later; in the meantime, wordcount is a measure of/acknowledgment of the fact that your project is ongoing, becoming bigger–and it makes no difference if you wind up cutting some/all of those words down the road. It’s a process; you can’t write your eleventh story until you’ve written the first ten. You can’t make your story better by cutting stuff out without putting it in first and later understanding that it has to come out–you can’t skip steps [you can expedite them if you’re smart and well-practiced]. So: word count says you’re working.
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As you say, it’s a measure and a goal, and it keeps me moving. Thank you for your comment, Anonymous.
Bill Kitteridge! Oh, my! In the first residency of my MFA, he inspired one of my most successful assignments. “Shelley wants to tell you how to write an essay. I can’t tell you how to write an essay. I don’t know how to do that.” Then he described exactly how (as best I recall): Tell a story about a problem in a paragraph. Then tell a story about how to solve that problem. Then tell a story about why that solution won’t work… Make each paragraph 250 words or 500, depending on how long you want the essay to be.
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it used to cost ten cents to get into the swimming pool
how much does it cost to get out ?
count worms word count cannot be heard with the humane ear
if two trash cans fall in the falling rain–does any one hear it
does anyone care
wilson and heath are gone but the taxmanz go on
one word tells a thousand or sew pitchers
and now and then I sea a cow Anna hen
make a wish-count to three —hold your breath
we are still here. kiitos
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Can my readers tell Gary is a poet. A lapsed poet, but still.
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more like collapsed poet than knot
wood eye wood peck or as grippweed once said sadly
let that be a blessing to ya—happy bonfire night all
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…you again!
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