Keeping the Head Above Water

[scribblemyname]

This entry is part 37 of 37 in the series 365 Challenge

It's been a while since I started the 365 Challenge, wherein I write a piece of fiction or poetry for each day of the year. You will note on the challenge page that longer works of fiction/poetry count as multiple pieces. This was to preserve my sanity and keep life realistic.

Then I got a job. At first that was too hectic and crazy to write at all. Then there was the story from inferno, a short that went long and is now threatening book status. The muse and I are in negotiations. Then there were seven or so finished stories that I marked "unfinished" because I wasn't happy with them yet. And needless to say, the story count does not reflect the number of days that have passed.

But on the bright note, I foresee catching up. If I write 2 count every workday, I'll be caught up by the end of the year and can even keep my weekends free. In a manner of speaking. I tend to write more than I can post during the week, so on weekends, I tend to post all the stories hanging around waiting.

And I'm writing a novel. An AU novel. An experimental novel. One I shouldn't be touching with a ten-foot pole. The muse and I are still negotiating.

Have a snippet:

Teaching autumn gave way at last to winter and blew me with a snowy gale back into my favorite coffee shop where ice melt dripped from coats thrown over the backs of wooden chairs onto the coffee-brown matte floor. Three weeks ago from those crisp autumn days and slowly but surely, my open books on the lower counter gradually shifted to thick, already damp rags on the upper bar.

The day you stepped inside the glass was fogged and bitter cold. Black coffee burbled in the makers on the back wall, and girls’ laughter tumbled about with the rich aroma of roasting grounds.

I wiped down the long counter, wet with coffee drips and damp jackets, as I watched your group of young men gather around table five. You lay down your netbook computers, notebooks, and pencils with a small, talkative clatter, filled the chairs with your presence, the shop with the friendly ambience of your laughter.

You were the blonde one, clearly a brother in arms or fact to the dark-haired one at the head of the table. A few glances around at the others, your friends—questions, answers—and then you came up to the counter and leaned against it, tall enough to bring you closer to me than I liked.

“What can I get for you?” I asked, keeping my voice pleasant and laying aside the rag.

Most people would have smiled, but you didn’t. Something intense burned behind your eyes but all you said was, “You’re the barista?”

Coffee beans became rich, black beverage behind me where the other girls poured out cups of espresso, macchiato, latte; yet, you asked. Crazy you, I raised an eyebrow at the question.

Then you smiled, dimpling on one side and not the other. You rattled off a list of eight drinks and then said, “And one for me. Got any suggestions?”

How about you? Any illicit projects thrown in by the muse?

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Originally published at Liana Mir. You can comment here or there.

Comments

[pygmymuse.livejournal.com]

So the AU thing is the issue, not necessarily the experimental part? Is it because you're putting the characters in another universe when the universe was already related to the other one?

I admit, I didn't get much out of Normal in Coffee Grounds when I read it, so it might be good to see more of it fleshed out in prose. Still, I read the snippet trying to understand where you might take it, but it wasn't enough to get much sense of it. I had to ask what it was about because I'm still wondering what you'd do with it, where it would lead because it's short and could potentially go a lot of ways after where you left off.

Yeah, pressure... It was making it hard for me to finish the stuff I had started. I am trying not to put too much on for the stuff I'm doing now, just keeping momentum as I can and having fun again and not trying to worry too much about what others think (serials can lead to bad habits, I think) and just doing something silly, even.

[scribblemyname]

Nope. Both. I'm mucking with canon and I'm writing from I to you. Seriously. And it did occur to me, you might not realize it was an interlined poem. I used punctuation/capitalization to signal it, but the lines flush left can be read before the lines flush right in each stanza. They're written separately. I read it both ways myself.

It's Justus/Rachelle, and as far as what it's about, the best I can say is Justus/Rachelle. Sorry.

I hope you do just start having fun again and maybe instead of posting, publish? That might help remove some of the bad habits as well.

[pygmymuse.livejournal.com]

Both can be intimidating. From I to You is a form I'd never go for, personally, but then I have an irrational hatred for second person, and I can only do first person in certain cases. I've got issues.

It's not the format of the poem. I can read the poem fine. I can't comprehend poetry to save my life. I do better with lyrics because they're usually simple and/or have music to lend to their understanding, but poetry fries my brain every single time. I have accepted that poetry and I will never get along. I'm okay with that. Prose and I get along, so that's good.

Well, I hope you have fun writing it. And maybe they'll be happier in this AU.

I am not sure publishing would help with anything. It turns me into a nutcase more than anything else. There's still a part of me that thinks I shouldn't let that massive backlog I've acquired out into the world and should keep them locked away on hard drives rather than show them to anyone. I'm still trying to get one out this week, but we'll see if I have another meltdown before then.

[scribblemyname]

I don't know though. When I first posted it, you'd really hit on the core idea in your comment. And you totally got "The Perfect Woman," and technically most lyrics are poetry, so I think it depends. I don't know.

Happier in the end? No. Happier on the journey? Probably a whole lot.

Point. Well, let me know if I can help at all.

[pygmymuse.livejournal.com]

I did? Strange. That's not like me. Most of the time, poetry gives me a headache and ends up upsetting me. I read it and reread it and don't get anything but frustration. Like I said, I do better with lyrics because they have music. Music I get. I used to play the violin (not very well) and could do some piano because of it, and I have that "musical" ear that helps in learning languages, or so I'm told. I try harder to make sense of what I read when it's something you wrote for a prompt I gave, but it's still hard, and I did have to have you explain that one poem you prompted me with. I can get a few poems on the first try, but most of them I don't.

Is that saying that this story doesn't end happily or that it ends with the equal amount of happiness?

I can't think of anything right now, but thanks.

[scribblemyname]

ends with the equal amount of happiness

[pygmymuse.livejournal.com]

Oh, okay. Good for them.

I was wrong. It's not just the music. It's the singer's voice. Sometimes the music goes against the lyrics. And I don't always get lyrics right away, either, but the singer's tone of voice can carry a lot with it, and that helps, too.