I\u2019m in a writing slump.\u00a0 Not really writer\u2019s block, just a slump.\u00a0 Never prepared and out of energy.\u00a0 The end of Daylight Savings time always gets to me.\u00a0 I hate that it gets dark before I\u2019ve even left work.\u00a0 I hate that it leaves me confused about what time it is later in the evening, that my body seems to assume it\u2019s midnight even when it\u2019s only 7:30 and there\u2019s still a lot of routine things to accomplish before going to bed.\u00a0 And I hate the sunrise poking me awake at six in the morning.\u00a0 I\u2019ve been in denial for a week, as the dark circles under my eyes show.\u00a0 In two more weeks I\u2019ll have worked through the grief, but it won\u2019t be until January and the holidays are over that I\u2019ll have fully moved into acceptance of the obnoxious qualities of the time change.
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Of course, that\u2019s just a tiny cog in my excuse machine.\u00a0 There\u2019s also my personal stake and reaction to the recession, problems are creeping up for each member of my immediate family after a long drama-free period, and it\u2019s football season, another colossal temptation to sit and spend hours on the couch.\u00a0 But mostly it\u2019s the onset of the colder weather, the shorter days, and the low hum of shifting priorities.\u00a0 My head has been stuffy, meandering, popping with collapsible thoughts.\u00a0 I believe in seasonal music.\u00a0 Some bands are appropriate for certain months than others, and as I\u2019ve left Sublime, Dr. Dog, Apples in Stereo and other sunny bands behind with the warm weather I\u2019ve turned more to more down-tempo, scuttling leaves and cardigan sweaters types of music.\u00a0 This seasonal change has been more jarring than it usual is, and I find the songs knocking me back into other phases of my life, old memories and timelines.\u00a0 Like opening a box that\u2019s been in the back of your closet: the trapped air escapes and transports you.<\/p>\n
Not all my memories are bad, but I\u2019ve noticed myself becoming more and more vulnerable to \u201cMy god, that was ten whole years ago!\u201d moments.\u00a0 It doesn\u2019t help that they just released a remastered, 20th<\/sup> anniversary edition of Nirvana\u2019s Bleach<\/em>.\u00a0 Getting older doesn\u2019t bother me, but the compiling length of my life seems to.\u00a0 As if at some point there will be too many memories to keep track of, too many chapters of my life to easily flip through.\u00a0 And too many people.\u00a0 Dozens of old friends who seem anomalous now, anachronistic, lost to other parts of the world, so far separated even Facebook can\u2019t find them.\u00a0 I\u2019ve been burdened lately with these kinds of thoughts, poring over the past, searching it for new lessons, coming up with not a whole lot except regret or embarrassment.<\/p>\n Then there\u2019s this story.\u00a0 A story you, gentle reader, have only had the opportunity to read a few pages of, called \u201cOpen Hearted Dogs.\u201d\u00a0 A coming of age story set right after Hurricane Katrina.\u00a0 It\u2019s been assembling itself in my head for at least six months now, which is way to long to allow something to assemble itself because you end up with too many extra pieces.\u00a0 What was going to be a simple short story is now three long stories about the same characters, but so many of these little scenes are interchangeable.\u00a0 Organization and structure, those are the real sappers of energy in writing.\u00a0 For me at least.\u00a0 The rhythm, the length, the order.\u00a0 But beyond that is the unnecessary pressure I put on myself about this particular story.\u00a0 I want it to be great, I want it to convey the neighborhood I live in, some of the people that I know, some of the unknown conflicts and accomplishments that don\u2019t make it into tidy disaster anniversary press releases.\u00a0 But I\u2019ve learned that it\u2019s hard to write about New Orleans, even small, ordinary lives in New Orleans, without seeming overly sympathetic, overly dramatic.\u00a0 And dwelling on the flood, the aftermath, the unique struggle of hundreds of thousands of people causes my mind to\u2014as if in self-defense\u2014veer towards clich\u00e9, towards sensationalism, towards stacking the odds in the favor of pity.\u00a0 Which, to me, has never been real storytelling.<\/p>\n So\u2026be patient.\u00a0 There may be some more forgettable entries like this one on the horizon, but once I get over this slump we\u2019ll be back cracking.\u00a0 Thank god Nacho\u2019s bringing us new material.\u00a0 Go read Finzel!<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" I\u2019m in a writing slump.\u00a0 Not really writer\u2019s block, just a slump.\u00a0 Never prepared and out of energy.\u00a0 The end of Daylight Savings time always gets to me.\u00a0 I hate that it gets dark before I\u2019ve even left work.\u00a0 I …<\/p>\n