Without looking, I forget how many times I’ve seen Clutch live, just like many times I forget my sobriety date. Both, and many other examples, exist nebulously in my mind, imagination, and memories as events that happened that shaped me into who I am. Going outside, even trivially to throw out trash, can shape us, so not everything we do is overly serious. Still, the most noteworthy events tend to exist outside of arbitrary pedantries.
While engaging in my third-favorite-activity, exploring the world as I will at my own pace, [first-favorite-activity: writing, then reading,] when walking by flowers after returning to my Viridi digital flower gardens, I now “get” the idea of having digital – and real – flowers. I’m not yet ready for the responsibility of raising real flowers, but Viridi can teach that sense of daily responsibility, which taps into the same discipline mindset as working toward your dreams daily.
I might read my 50-cent copy of Dune someday, but I’ll certainly rewatch Jodorowsky’s Dune first. Science fiction doesn’t do much for me. Analyzing scientific statistics against a starry backdrop doesn’t excite me. What human element does that story convey where I will have become a better person for experiencing it? I don’t have ten-thousand years to live. I’ve gotta make this whole life thing count. This novel’s purpose might contain elements of that drive.
The main character of this 2019 Novel, covering thirty days at Eville Medical in the Sammohini Arc of “The Story,” will be Sammohini Lanchester who occasionally introduces herself as Sam. If she were a one-dimensional character, she’d be a stock character. If she were two-dimensional, she’d have three traits – two positives, one negative – to define her, based on people I might have met. Since she’s more three-dimensional, that means I’ve had to explore her imaginary psyche.
“Can I help you?” I had just taken a photo of the map of a medical facility when someone that’s worked in an office too long to know how it’s like to mind their own business walked over. “Uhh, yes, I’m looking for [coffee-shop]…” I was pointed over to the elevators. I went downstairs and reviewed my notes. I’d been through the building professionally a few times so it was fun returning to location scout.
The more I think over the thirty short stories I’ll write in thirty days, representing a thirty-day period in the Sammohini Arc of “The Story,” the more I think it’s simultaneously possible and impossible to accomplish. While I was in a float tank, thinking over my plans, my thoughts decluttered and revealed my plan. When I’ve done work like Sammohini, as a corporate computer repair technician goon, I juggled disparate work and small project duties.
How much of this 2019 novel, which will be a 30-day period at Eville Medical in the Sammohini Arc of “The Story,” will be actually nonfiction? How much of it will be fiction? What is fiction’s purpose but to tell an exaggerated version of reality? Distorted sensations coagulating into ethereal realities, where fiction obscures greater truths. For something like this Sammohini Arc, it’s easy to lean into some true events, however, I shouldn’t lean too much.
As I am scoping out the work I’ll be doing for this 2019 Novel – a thirty-day period at Eville Medical in the Sammohini Arc of “The Story” – some of the elements seemed clear. There are Sammohini and her coworkers, building out the set-pieces of Eville Medical, and throwing out pitches for story ideas. There was one missing element. It’s what resonates most with me, rather than cool character aesthetics, interesting set-pieces, or well-written prose: So what?
Although this novel I’m writing will consist of thirty disparate short stories, spread out over a 30-day timeframe in the Sammohini Arc of “The Story,” I could see it happening. When I’ve done that sort of work, both inside and outside of healthcare, I would have a ticket queue of about ten to thirty tickets, and I’d get all sorts of strange technical work orders. It’s been fun brainstorming ideas and tripping down memory lane.
I often think about how, if I had been too concerned over trivialities or thought too much about how each word tied into another to form an overall cohesive whole, I’d still have only written about twenty essays or short stories over the past three years. You have to be a bit of an exhibitionist as a writer. You have to cook up multitudinous ideas, see what sticks, then move onto the next. No hesitation.