Day 53: Oct. 27, 2013
My motivation to write is so non-existent right now, its as if its a human being who just left the house to walk about the woods. Its enjoying the night air and the smell of decaying leaves. Its mocking me as I sit here looking at the computer screen wondering it I should just go to bed. Which is perfectly legitimate. But somehow, I'm still here writing.
So, is writing fiction really just writing a story about yourself with made up names and happenings? Maybe the story doesn't represent exactly a series of events you've experienced, but still, every character is some part of you and every plot twist leads the characters to some emotional place where you've been or are? I'm just wondering what kind of writing this is. Personal writing? Stream of consciousness writing? I know, therapy writing. I like that. Its like my mind just deposits all of its garbage right here on the screen and then I press the publish button. Nothing like a good novel which is organized, developed, written with careful and skilled language. I think if I tried to write a novel, I would end up wandering out into the woods like old Eskimos who know when its their time to go. I know, morbid, and pretty much nonsensical, but I like this sentence, so I'm going to keep it.
Coffee: It turns out that whenever I make coffee at home, I use the pour over method. The grinds are sitting in a filter holder, which is sitting on your cup, and you pour the water over the grinds and the coffee drips into your cup. I was using my fabulous Aero Press contraption, but a mandatory piece is hiding somewhere in my kitchen, so that's not happening anymore. Nonetheless, I had two homemade cups of coffee today.
Cups and Bags Challenge:We're at $50 today again. Tomorrow is a new day! If you use a reusable cup to buy a drink, email me here: firstname.lastname@example.org and I'll send a dollar to Bring Recycling.