I have decided to patron the local JavaHut where I am currently observing the local wildlife over a cup of strawberry tea. I was trying to write, but my mind has decided to be stubborn and the words are still not really coming. I wouldn’t want to blame the babbling crowds sipping their drinks and munching their treats, but they do offer a bit more distraction than I might find at – say – the public library or my own apartment. But that’s okay. I’ll take this opportunity to make some pointless observations about the life, the universe, and everything… maybe even before my tea gets cold.
Writing is like distilling the world as you see (or imagine) it into text. The whole point of the exercise is to take a design and put it into a form that can be recreated as it was originally intended – simply by having it read. For all you computer-programmer types out there, this interprets to: text as code, brain as processor, and scenario/story as program. For example, a few minutes ago there was an odd looking man who walked back and forth in front of the cafe window where I am sitting. He did so approximately 5 times before he actually came inside, read the paper for a total of 8 seconds, and then left. I haven’t seen him since. Subsequently I used this as a form of inspiration, and quickly typed the following sentence:
Decker could not help himself: He was pacing the short stretch of sidewalk that ran adjacent to cafe where SHE was.
I was playing around with a character opening for some story – I haven’t actually decided where (or if) this one is going at the moment. I liked the name Decker – don’t ask why – and so that’s where it went.
The point of this ramble: sitting in this cafe, staring out the window, and having spent $1.61 on a really big cup of strawberry tea, I now understand that stories about odd people have no point other than to boost our own already-over-inflated self esteems. Why else would I write them?
The verdict: I am considering some very serious character development (fictional, and maybe some personal to follow at a later date) and I think that my many past ambitions to write tales of people who somehow fall out of the societal norms is the wrong direction to take. I need to focus on characters who – while they will eventually end up somewhere far beyond what would be considered mode – at the very least start as typical human beings living in a typical society. I don’t know if it works, but I think it’s much more relatable than the struggling genius, distant poetic, or confused self-aware…
Hense the following thought – and correct me if I’m out to lunch: a pirate story – see some other entry that I made if this is out of context – is probably not the best ambition to aspire to. Unless. Unless there is something very relevant in a “typical” society that is piratable. and again I am not talking about software or music. There needs to be something much bigger, and I think I know what that something is: what if there was a way to pirate culture? Pause. Think.
Sure, you say: what the heck are you talking about.
culture: (cull – cher) noun 1. the quasi-non-quantifiable state of societal sameness by which we place our existence into the context of those around us. 2. (according to modern neo-plastic thoughts) a marketable identity which is slowly being corroded by long term exposure to homogenized streams of corporate sloganizing.
And yes, I made up most of those words.
But culture: what if it could be pirated: rogue dancers wandering the planet taking back the essence of ourselves from the patterns that have stolen it from us. Perhaps it is something that needs deeper consideration. Besides, I’m finished my big cup of strawberry tea.