First things first, I will sit around for hours looking at a computer screen and not have the balls to just keep typing away aimlessly like I’m doing right now. For me, writing has to have a clear goal and a definite end for myself. I tend to write these scraps around all these different journals and not follow up on them, deciding that the story they’re beginning to tell doesn’t really have enough tension or a real enough character. Whathaveyou. This is not intended to be a serious stab at anything right now: I’m trying to just get into the habit of filling the blank spaces before me with whatever words seem to go right together.
I give you a few images and places that come to mind right now.
Number One: I was sitting in one of those downtown bars that particular night, not particularly paying attention to the people around me; my only reason to be there was to drink and maybe try to summon the mindset I used to have about five years ago when a trip to a bar could end up with a midnight cab ride to the truckstop outside of town or a trip to an empty field to watch the sun rise. Maybe I was getting to old for all that shit, but it was this sense that the world was big and random enough for anything to happen if only I took the step that would motivate me to come out here. I had a feeling, though, that my desire to get through the night unscathed would win out.
The place where I was that night was this place that used its limited physical space well, with well-placed and well-chosen furniture as well as a decent-sized window to the outside. I liked this because I would rather be in a bar that actually had places for people to sit and hold a conversation. I’ve been in the same place during the day when it’s more of a coffeeshop and didn’t have the mood lighting going; I usually sit there for a bit, sip my Cafe Mocha and fill my notebook with whatever I could think of before the room started getting too hot and whatever plotlines I had been able to eke out ended up going into a wall.
Number two: Gerrit and Lucy had taken the elevator seperately to the pool area on the top floor about an hour before it was supposed to close for the night. The building the hotel was in was a relic from the late 1960s, with a circular tower; the floorspace coiled around the elevator shaft and the guest rooms were a ring on the outer side. The pool floor didn’t have the same kind of space; the pool itself awkwardly wrapped around the same shaft for half the floor and left a small amount of floorspace between its edge and the window overlooking the Safeway. The first thing Gerrit saw when he got off the elevator was the outdated store sign already lit up for the night.
Lucy had already brought a stack of white towels up and rested them on the table beside the pool’s deep end. Gerrit dipped his feet over the edge of the pool and whistled weakly; the sound bounced around as Lucy put her head above the water and approached him.
Number three: We finally crossed into New Hampshire at about 7:40 pm the third night of the trip. I was in a car with air-conditioning that didn’t work and a stereo rigged to play the contents of my MP3 player filled to capacity with Joni Mitchell songs, while Rebecca and Jarred were still a few vehicles behind us. We all had decided that we would stop at the first restaurant we came across when we were in the state to discuss plans.
I don’t know where all of these are going. Again, this is just to keep a log of ideas for now, but if something develops, I’ll try to make an ongoing series of posts to develop the story. I think I might also use these posts to try to do character profiles or in-character posts. Whatever. I would like constructive feedback as well.