Chris was kind enough to spend the majority of the day with me. We walked our feet off, having quite the adventure across the city saving people's lost checkbooks, dodging Claire Daines, and just sharing good, old-fashioned conversation. Later in the evening, we went to the Endup--a small club with a dark, quietly excited crowd and a sweaty dancefloor--and made our rounds with Jessie and a couple of his coworkers.

I'm really looking forward to the Nanowrimo party tonight, which holds promise of an interesting crowd, fun conversation, and possibilities. For now, however, it's time, once again to hit the streets. Fortunately, I have my trusty umbrella.

I checked into a youth hostel downtown, rooming with three other guys: an 18-year-old from Wales and a 21-year-old from Denmark--both cute in a little-boyish sort of way, but fortunately not my type. I probably wouldn't have gotten any sleep if they had been. The third was a Japanese student who I never saw, but who came in around 4 this morning, causing a great ruckus and snoring like nobody's business. He kept both Martin and I awake and we joked about it this morning despite the fact that I had been seriously considering leaving and checking into a hotel earlier in the morning. To our luck, he seems to have checked out this morning.

The window in the shower looks out over an alleyway and main thoroughfare, where you can watch pedestrians and traffic. It's private, but still fun to think that someone might look up and see you showering in a small, obscure window on the side of a building. The steam from the shower spills out the window and into the morning air. I took my time getting ready this morning, and it's nice to think that I have absolutely nothing to do today.

I'm writing this entry from a coffee shop on Geary called Seattle Street Coffee that has both java and internet access. Just another great thing about big cities. Later on today, I may meet Jessie and Chris for lunch. Last night, Jessie and Reese were kind enough to show me around the city and take me out to a few bars on the Castro, although not much partying took place as it was a weeknight and, as I said, rather cool. Brian also happened to show up as we were heading home, and it was good to meet him as well. How many more webloggers can I possibly meet on this trip?

The city calls. Time to explore.

The airport is eerily quiet. Only a handful of passengers and airline workers fill my view of an otherwise lifeless terminal. Occasionally, a voice will echo throughout the terminal, booming from the intercoms. Single conversations can be heard and understood. A laugh or the sound of a cash register will sometimes puncture the quiet din. My flight leaves in three and a half hours, so I?ve got a bit of a wait ahead of me and I?m making friends with the calm.

A kid around my age just sat down in the row of seats to my left and I?m attempting to make out his appearance without being too conspicuous. He?s working a crossword and his arms are thin. He?s wearing glasses. These simple, physical details are all I can get down on paper, but my mind races at a thousand images per second, wondering what his story is, who he is, where he comes from, filling in the blanks. Sometimes I look in the mirror and step away from my life to see what blanks about myself my mind might fill in. What would I see or think? Sometimes something interesting will pop into mind, and I can spend a few seconds imagining it to life.

In a way, that?s what this trip is. When Peter and I spoke last, he mentioned sensing I should get out and travel somewhere before Christmas. After writing my book, the Nanowrimo party seemed like a perfect excuse to do so. This trip is also an experiment of sorts, in that I?m going with no real plan besides meeting up with Jessie and attending the party on Saturday night. I haven?t made hotel or lodging reservations. Originally, I had planned to stay with Jessie, but my pesky allergies deemed the decision unwise, so now I?m going with little-to-no plan. It?s sort of exciting to an extent. On top of going without plans, I?ve also managed to pack everything into a backpack so I?d be mobile and not burdened with luggage. These two things go against everything I?ve built up as habit in the past, but as I read in my grad advisor?s office, growth only comes from questioning habits and perceptions.

For some reason, this questioning fills me with a quiet fire, burning with the excitement of change and anticipation of opportunity. This feeling is unfamiliar to many people and I wonder what brings some to consider their life and everything within as paramount. The idea that I may be wrong or have universes left to learn fills me with the thrill of adventure.

Questioning one?s self is the pinnacle of human ability, I am convinced.

Somewhere in the mess of tapes and photographs we keep hidden away underneath the television, dad found an old video he recorded from a trip to Florida the family took back in '86. Derek and I look like little monkeys, jumping around the place, messing things up, making faces. We laughed and laughed. Most of the family members in the video have since passed away. I can't really describe the feeling it gave me to see them joking and laughing and alive. It felt good, but it also made me want to cry.

It's sad to think that those days are gone. I mean, they're all there, burned into my mind and smelling of familiarity. After reflecting on the good times we've had in our lives, I had to stop and recognize the goodness in my life now. It is a conscious effort to do it.

Whoever came up with the idea of Thanksgiving was a wise person.

I went to see a psychic tonight, as hoakie as that may sound. John Palmer said they offer good inspiration and direction. She was good, and got many points right on the nose, such as: my being spiritual, but not religious; my wanting to do something completely opposite, career-wise; my being involved with someone but not in love with them; my love of writing (she pulled that one out of thin air). There may have been others, but those stand out.

As far as direction is concerned, she said I will work in my current career for a few more years and then she sees me going off and "doing my own thing." I'm destined to have two loves before I get married around 30, and I'll have 2 or 4 children--my choice--although, she said I'm not interested in that right now, which I'm not. She said I have an enormous amount of growing and maturing to do. I can agree and attest to this.

She mentioned that I was harboring a lot of negative energy. Actually, she said I have a good flow of positive energy, but for some reason, the negative energy was pooling instead of flowing through. This explains the "tired sprirt" she says I have. Whether by revelation or power of suggestion, this negative energy began to reveal itself. I nodded my head in recognition of what she was saying--that I'm meant to be happy, but am not right now. I feel this to be true.

When she said I'm meant to do something completely opposite of what I'm doing, career-wise, I teared up and almost started bawling. I don't know why this affected me so much. Perhaps because it had been weighing on my mind for so long, and it was a relief to finally hear someone acknowledge it.

Oh, back to the negative energy. She said I need to be cleansed, but that it was a very difficult process and would cost $300. I told her I couldn't afford that. Instead, she offered me a crystal, which she said would serve as a "band-aid" in the meantime, absorbing negative energy and giving positive energy in return.

After the reading, I left feeling somewhat nauseated and drained. I simply didn't feel good. So, I decided to call John Palmer and discuss the whole thing, but he was out. I needed to talk to someone, so I called Jeff, but I'm not sure if that was a good idea.

I hold the crystal in my hand, on my cheek, on my chest like a stethascope. I try to imagine it drawing bad energy out of me, but it doesn't seem to help. So, I write because it distracts and comforts me. Perhaps if I go work out, I'll feel better.

     Nanowrimo started today. I had been ignoring it, not really deciding either way about doing it, and this morning I just started writing. I've already got almost 3,000 words down. That's a pretty good count, considering my goal is to write 2,200 words every weekday (I'm taking weekends off). "So, where's the plot going?" you may ask. I have no idea. So far, my characters are:

• Stuyvesant: 27-year-old, gay journalist and playwright. A six-foot-tall, Buddhist/minimalist who is forgetful and looking for something to set on fire.

• Janine: 30-year-old television producer who is helping Stuy with his on-the-side play "Who Killed The Canary?" Outspoken, high-speed, and dirty-mouthed.

• Brad: 35-year-old, senior editor of the local newspaper and Stuy's boss. Also, Stuy's ex-boyfriend. A dapper professional with a passion for lawn darts.

• Gracie: 26-year-old waitress-cum-actress who plays the part of the canary in Stuy's play. Red-head, air-head, gives-good-head.

• Penelope: Female character who has no depth, but appears in the story to convey random, miscellaneous insights to life and other characters.

That's about it. I'm considering posting periodical updates to keep myself motivated and on track, not to mention it will be fun to document the journey since this is my first "novel." If you want to participate (read "help me out"), feel free to send me random thoughts, character and plot ideas, cards, money, flowers, or food (I'm addicted to S.N.A.F.U. by Ben & Jerry's).

Update - November 4, 2001
     Word count: 7504. Plot-twists: 1 (automobile accident). Plot-twist Setups: 7. New characters: 3 (Todd, Todd #2, and Nina). Hours spent: 7. Auditory motivation: Dionne Farris' "Hopeless" (thanks, George). Visual Motivation: FFX wallpapers

Update - November 6, 2001
     Word Count: 10,227. This book is all I can think about, lately. It's with me from the moment I get up in the morning to my dreams at night. I'm not really sure I know where I'm going with the plot and I'd like to read what I've written to get a feel for the direction, but Nanowrimo tips say don't reread. Just write. Although the book is always on my mind, it's difficult to keep the continuity between days. Coffee has really been helping. I nixed Penelope and am focusing mainly on Stuy, Nina, Janine and Brad, in that order. I'm starting to really dislike my main character. He's turning out to be a real ass. Somehow, though, I think he'll find a way to redeem himself. Tip for other writers: Exercise does wonders for your creativity.

Update - November 8, 2001
     Word Count: 20,526. Okay. So, wow. In just two days, I've doubled my word count, which goes against every preconception I had about this activity being a horrible experiment in reviving my age-old writer's block. I had never been able to get past three or four pages in any writing activity (besides my thesis and school papers) and now I'm staring at the tool bar which reads "36/36." Thirty-six, 8" x 11.5" freakin' pages. That's a formidable stack. Probably thick enough to hit someone with and do major damage. The amazing thing is, I'm only about a third through the story I want to tell, and I still have 3/5ths of my limit to go. Amazing.
     I'm a little worried about the direction the plot is going. It's turned rather dark, my characters are starting to reveal their Hyde personalities, and steering the plot back onto the road I had originally intended is--I'm discovering--a delicate process. Almost like trying to control a vehicle speeding at 120 MPH down the freeway. Janine is turning into Fran Drescher, Brad is the good guy, Stuy is a spineless weakling, and Nina is now a pathological liar. Gently insisting that these traits are merely secondary aspects of each character is becoming quickly impossible as they dig themselves deeper into a hole with every chapter.
     Well, they still have 30,000 words in which to redeem themselves. Will it work? Only time will tell.

Update - November 12, 2001
     Word count: 39,589. So tired. Quick update: Woke up midnight, Saturday. Everything fell into place. Characters have redeemed themselves. There is a new love interest. The main theme of the novel has made itself painfully obvious. Got out of bed and wrote the entire rest of the book down in the form of scribbles that I'm still trying to discern. It's almost as if someone else wrote them. I can't stop writing. It has taken over my body and my mind. Must sleep now.

Update - November 14, 2001
     Word count: 48,651. Only two thousand more words, and the worst has happened. I've hit writer's block. I know how I want to end the thing, but I just can't get it out. It keeps turning out the same, dull way. I erase and rewrite, erase and rewrite, but to no avail. I'm sure it will come out. Perhaps I'm just out of creative energy and need to get a little more rest. So close, but it feels so out of reach right now. It's incredibly frustrating.

Update - November 16, 2001
     Word count: 50,201. Finished! Whew. Actually, I finished yesterday, but I've been revising with the help of Dianna and Cale. Thanks guys. I figure since I have 15 days left until it's due, I can afford to go back and polish it up a little. Time to get something to eat!

Older Entries