Cajun Folk Dreams

I hardly ever dream. My mind at work often wanders between different thoughts and images that fly by like a fast-forward slideshow. Filled with pressures and promises to move forward and achieve my dreams, both short and long-term, I’m never in one place, and as a result, my memory often gets the best of me. Like mountains, they erode over time, and more often than not, I lose much of the sensory details. I’ll forget the colour of the scarf my high school sweetheart wore the day we went to watch The Notebook in theatres for our first date. I’ll forget the taste of my college sweetheart’s lip balm when I kissed her deeply in her dormitory after a day at the amusement park, having told her I loved her for the first time. I’ll forget the orange fragrance of my fiance’s hair if she ever decides to change conditioner brands (not if I have anything to say about it).

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Posted in Music

NaNoWriMo, Punching Keys, and the Beginner

“Punch the keys for Gods sake!”
– William Forrester, Finding Forrester

Any opportunity to both write about NaNoWriMo and/or use a quote from my favourite film of all time will more often than not result in my ability to write at length about writing, especially with regards to the context of National Novel Writing Month. In this case, putting the two together, there’s really no better time to start writing for the first time than in NaNoWriMo, but the biggest obstacle that prevents prospective amateur writers from participating is that dreaded word count goal.

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Posted in NaNoWriMo

Taking Off

The faster I move, the closer I reach a point where I seemingly stay in place while everything else moves around me. It’s almost like sitting down in a moving vehicle, looking out the window and watching the world whiz by in a frantic blur. I feel this the most when I’m on a plane taking off; while it taxis around from the terminal to the runway, it’s the slowest slog ever, but once everything starts taking off as if from nowhere, I realize I’m in the air without even noticing we took off at all.

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Posted in Life

My Mess and Me

I’ve been meaning to clean my 1-bedroom condominium for the longest time, but I can’t seem to let go of the wonders of its mess. Society normalizes tidiness and organization, maintenance of a status quo in which everything is accessible and pleasant to the eye (and I regret to say this given the state of my kitchen sink, nose as well). I understand that I need to get rid of it all, put it back where they belong. Yet, the forces of entropy naturally dictates that my knickknacks won’t stay in their resting places for long; every week is a new random arrangement of belongings, objects that mean something to me as a person.

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Posted in Reflection

Pound the Rock, or at Least, Chip Away at It

See the link at the top of this blog that says “Fiction?” That’s supposed to be a link to a page that lists all of the completed or semi-completed works of fiction that I’ve done over the course of my supposed career as a writer (note: even if one does not make money from doing something, it probably doesn’t count as a career, but what other word can he or she use that doesn’t sound like they’re a complete failure in their craft?), but looking back at my body of work, it’s been mostly drafts that have sit in a pile of manuscripts, unedited. They are merely relics from the past where my taste in fiction were a part of my own identity and personality, shifting from one year to another, like seasons.

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Posted in Writing