Look Out the Window

It's been a while since my last post. Truth is, I haven't been well enough for this outward projection of personality, mentally or physically. Of course, looking back on it, it's hard to piece together what was happening and why. Today I've felt like I exited it a little, at least for a day, so I've tried to make the most of that momentum because, as I've been graphing my emotions (something my therapist has me doing, to determine if there's any pathology to it all), the probable outcome is I won't feel as great in a day or two.

One of the things that went down is we recently had to put down one of our beloved rats, Dorothea. It was a relatively unexpected event, such that I woke up last Saturday expecting a relatively chill day, then next thing I knew, I had to call the vet and turned up to have her euthanized an hour later. She'd been sick for a long while, but her condition deteriorated rapidly overnight -- that's sometimes how rats are. But, the night before, she'd cuddled me for an hour while I watched a movie, puddling under my touch. It's a high compliment from a rat who wouldn't let any humans touch her when we got her. She knew she was reaching the end of her rope before I did.

Here's a picture of her from when she was well, looking out the window of my writing shed.

Perhaps I am merely projecting, but I think she liked windows. When we first got her, we set her cage by the window and she'd often sleep facing it. Because she had a minor case of bumblefoot, I had to apply Blu Kote to her feet twice a day and sit with her in the bath tub -- partially so she wouldn't stain the carpet, but also because she actually deigned to cuddle with me so long as we were there. This is how I have spent the past six months with her, with the window open just above us. I hope she liked listening to the birds and passing cars in the day and the crickets and clicking katydids at night. 

Writing Progress and Some Thoughts on Editing

So I've spent most of this time editing short stories I've already written. I'm having trouble gaining any foothold on writing any short story ideas, even though they're there. Surely it'll come eventually.

In July or so (who knows what time is any more?), I spent an exorbitant amount of time -- like two days' worth of just sitting there for hours -- fine-combing through one story. It started out as an effort to pick out filler words then just evolved from there. I totally messed up my back doing it but I suppose I learned  and speculated over some valuable things, eg.

• Weak language is often marked by equivocating. Imagery is more vivid if you just decide what on earth you are trying to say and edit out any wishy-washiness.
• I abuse the word "that" and it's so often a junk word that means nothing. Also, doing a word search for "that" will ruin "that" for you forever. It sounds so awful and weird and...brown?
• So many words are junk and trash and can be avoided.
• All that being said, I began to speculate about whether filler words could be used with impact. Like, if you reserve them, hold them back, then use them in the right place, they could have their own special effect, like any word. I'm not sure -- I was a bit delirious at that point.
• Hours deep into this process, I began to seriously question things like why "light bulb" isn't one word -- please, for the sake of my word count? Also, what if "maybe" were a verb? 
• Language melted and I had a sort of Tetris effect where I tried to talk with utmost verbal efficiency. Hyperfocus is a necessity sometimes, one of those ADHD super powers, but it definitely comes with a toll afterwards.
• Drafting is just the awkward process of trying to fumble thoughts into words and editing is how you make it seem effortless.

All this editing couldn't produce a story that I felt fine with it, for reasons I don't want to get into. I'm honestly considering trunking it. I put a lot of work into that particular story so it's been something of a blow. I got a diversity read on it and everything, because I was drawing from Chinese history and don't want to do anything wrong. I'm still glad I got the diversity read because I learned a lot -- it's just a bummer, I guess. That story feels un-wrangle-able anymore. Perhaps it's just a problem of my perception, but I currently can't imagine anyone wanting to publish it.

That's okay, though. Writing pieces that you trunk is all part of the process.

I turned my attention to another short story, but couldn't produce the same hyperfocused editing. To be fair, I didn't try drinking gingko tea, which generally casts that spell for me, but I was afraid to. I couldn't engage for long out of fear of myself. Then a bunch of stuff happened and I was forced to let myself take a break.

That's the actually tough part: letting myself stop, letting myself put aside some ideas indefinitely.

Books

Since I was feeling well today, I finally got around to doing some Goodreads reviews, which are mostly fun as practices in expression. A good excuse to get some words out in a low stakes situation.

Since I last discussed books, I've finished two of the ones on my list. One of them was Investigating Farscape. I'm so glad I got that book. It's made re-watching Farscape with Tim even more fun, even though the chapter on linguistics mostly went over my head. Still, there was some cool stuff I managed to vaguely get from it, like language as the only true shared and created experience which in turn shapes perceptions of reality...or something. It's a book I'll definitely revisit, maybe next time I re-watch Farscape...which might be sooner than I'd re-watch any other show. We've just started season 4 and I'm already trying to comprehend the notion that I won't be watching Farscape at some point in the future. I truly am a hopeless case.

The other book I finished is Emma. I honestly hated it up right until the end, then hated it even more after the end. The long and short of it is that I don't know much how of the silliness of these ridiculous rich people was actually intended as a joke -- I don't think much of it. That just rubs me the wrong way. I have yet to be sold on Austen qua progressive or revolutionary figure. At the end of the day, it seems to me she was pretty status quo. Viewed from the present, she is extremely status quo.

This leaves me feeling skeptical of at least portions of the Jane Austen fandom. Of course, no fandom is a monolith, and I definitely heard a good episode of something (Rough Translation?) about Pakistani Janeites. Sometimes, however, it feels like the obsession centers on the idyllic and uninterrupted whiteness of it all, as well as the fantasy of wealth and propriety. I can see the draw of her humor, the subtle social navigating, the happy endings -- but I personally struggle with the rest of the baggage.

That's all a nice segue into the book I recently started: Settlers: Mythology of the White Proletariat by J. Sakai. Tim's parents got it for him for his birthday, at his request, but he wanted to start on a different book (George Clinton's autobiography) so I snatched up this one. It feels like a good time to read this.

My understanding of it thus far is that it as book investigating the mythology and hidden motivations of white/American-European society. In the introduction, Sakai describes the book as "a reconnaissance into enemy territory." I am enjoying it so far, even if it tends towards dense (a bit difficult with my fogginess as of late). The book boasts such titles as "The Heart of Whiteness" and "'Klass, Kulture & Kommunity.'" Honestly, I am here for it and I hope it tears my face off.