A Stylistic Hint

I don’t really understand my writing style. Rarely can I sit down and think: now I will write something. If I can, in that situation, actually put real words on virtual paper, they usually just go right into the virtual recycle bin.

Most of the time, I start with a title. Some people may say that’s backwards, but they just have not visited my brain. I start with a title, like- “Cave Dwellers”, “Holly’s Haida Trick”, or “An Ordinary Moment”. I suppose that gives me the scope, the thesis or at least the hook. A jump-off, so it’s not a blank page I’m staring at, but a page filled! (with 3 words…)

Sometimes it’s not even a title, but just a phrase. A coincidental group of words, thrown together and haphazardly arranged, that lodges itself in my head. And until I write it down, this phrase, and all the words that should come on either side of it, it is loud and raucous- a party animal in the mind, a total instigator. All other thoughts are distracted on their commute, and most succumb, join the party, call in sick.

And so I write. And sometimes I like what I write, and sometimes I post what I like that I write. And sometimes you like what I post. And-

Anyway…

When I’m really lucky, the writing of one blog inspires the next by providing that coincidental word group. I write a phrase and read it back, feeling good about myself. Next thing I know, it has made itself at home in the middle of my mind, ordered a keg, and sent out the invitations. That’s when I know I should boil some water for tea and get comfy, it’s gonna be a two-story night.

That’s what happened last May, when I finally tackled the “Long Awaited Water Tank Blog” (I know the name doesn’t sound too inspired, but it did come first- and gave me just the motivation I needed to start writing). I was clicking away, purposefully listing off supplies and painfully recalling the epoxy mess, when I got a bit too excited talking about baffles.

Step Seven- Make Baffles.    Baffles are blockades inside water tanks to baffle the water so the molecules can’t band together and plan an escape, using momentum to throw themselves violently from one side of the tank to the other. In our case, they are 2 pieces of fiberglass cut to trisect the tank, with several holes to allow the passive water through.

Do you know yet?

I perfect as I write. If I don’t like it at the end of the night, I will likely never like it. While I am great at editing and proofreading other people’s work, I loathe returning to a piece I have written a week later and trying to make it better. Perhaps that’s why I’m in such an argument with my resume right now…

I wrote this last blog in May, immediately upon completing the water tank blog, with the steady rain on the cabin top as company. I read it, satisfied, and put it away. One epic blog post in a night is plenty. When I pulled it back out yesterday, I read it again. Satisfied, still, I posted it without changing a word. I like raw writing. I like the sound of rain when I’m warm and cozy writing on the boat. I like riddles.

How about now?

The Journey

Plunging, falling, faster and faster. I spread out to slow the acceleration, but it doesn’t do any good. The ground grows closer and closer, faster and faster. I brace myself, shut out the world, hold my breath. And it’s over. Mental check- everything still in tact, no pain, full movement. Wow, I really thought that would hurt.

The cacophony sounds far away. I turn my attention to it- and it’s right in my face. Must remember not to be so self-absorbed. I turn and take in the situation. I’m completely surrounded by others, a rally or convention of some sort. They push me, suspend me, drive me forward. Forward- we’re moving fast, faster than I thought. I observe some sort of frenzy. I want to stop and watch, but can’t slow down, there’s too much pressure. Then it’s behind me and we roll on.

It’s loud, and getting louder. Everyone around me seems anxious, excited, nervous, animated, agitated, energized. There’s yelling and jumping, laughing and diving. I notice a few others, timid like myself, obviously new to this process, and try to stick with them. Others look bored, perhaps weary from the mundane routine. I watch them closely. But most are high-energy and it worries me.

Falling, again. This time all of us, all at once, thrown over the edge, no choice, no alternative. A shorter fall, not as far, not as scary. Then the weight of the crowd, the momentum carrying me down, down. A pause, and I’m tugged along again.

The cacophony subsides; the mood is lighter, more tranquil. We flow effortlessly, simply. I relax and drown out the surroundings, trying to make sense of this journey. Why me? Why now? Why here? Hours drift by, days maybe. It’s very quiet. I resolve to accept the journey and the outcome. I’m safe and comfortable now, no use worrying what already transpired or what might happen next.

I feel lighter, more buoyant. There’s a strange aura around me. I drag myself out of my thoughts and into the world. There are more of us now, in every direction, and some that look different. I notice groups, mingling with each other, but I’m shy; I keep to myself and drift along above them.

Maybe I should join a group, maybe that’s the next step. I half-heartedly work my way down, but the sun is warm and I’m feeling so light and sleepy. Maybe in a little while. I doze and dream of flying.

When I awake I feel tingly all over. I search for the merging groups and spot them, far below me. Odd, how did they get so far—I glance around for an explanation but it’s just me. Where did they all go? The world is below me, and falling away, farther and farther. I don’t feel panicked, simply confused. I know I’m not dreaming, but it still feels like flying.

Rest. Peaceful, sincere rest. I realize I’ve made the journey, the complete cycle, and smile knowing the next time will be easier. I will be more excited, more aware, and less timid. I’ve learned to trust the journey, it will always carry me where I’m supposed to be.