366. Epilogue.

366.

Epilogue.

The idea, neither artistically unique nor dramatically divergent, was to write somewhere North of 500 words per day, every day. Unlike my daily blog postings of a few years back; The Ten Thousand Things, ramblings, itself a digital variation of the Julia Cameron inspired 'Morning Pages' discipline, this one was going to be, I boldly envisioned, one continuous story. Each day of the year representing one page. On January 1, 2020 I typed the opening sentence, "Something was different." Yesterday, despite frustrating interruptions like a pandemic, my loss of employment, subsequent work with the USPS in response, a major move and the painful first-person witnessing of my astonishing loss of muscle mass, I wrote the final sentence of the saga using the phrase that had become thematic on both the screen and in my life: 'Continue Your Practice.' The words between them, like a peanut-butter and jelly sandwich, created the narrative, sometimes bland and sometimes beautiful. I did try to avoid adverbs as much as possible and stay in the first person using the active voice. Other than that, it was a free for all.

The ground rules were straightforward: Just write. No editing, no rewriting, no revisions and nothing other than spell check, which I even managed to foil on several embarrassing occasions. In what is now called Flash Fiction, the effort was tremendously rewarding, as I am sure the Stream of Consciousness pioneers, Kerouac, Joyce, Dostoevesky and Virginia Woolf must have likewise experienced. My goal wasn't to attain the celebrity or artistic magnificence they earned, but more to strive for simply ONE GOOD SENTENCE with every page. Just one. One would think that humble premise to be a walk in the park. Try it. See for yourself. Send me the link.

The key I stumbled upon to doing this as a discipline rather than a chore, subtle difference I know, is in allowing the mysterious creative powers of the universe to play a part. There were days that frankly I didn't feel much like writing, "You should be looking for a job deadbeat," I would self admonish, but other days I would be absolutely amazed at what took place when I sat down, logged in and grammered up (oops there I go again making up words). Seriously, I would often consider when a deliciously devious idea popped up - where did THAT come from? That voice? From where doest thou sing?

I will confess, being the Stephen King fan I am, his tome 'On Writing' was of considerable utility in the process. His advice of tossing plot outlines and instead 'creating situations' for his characters to experience, was both empowering and inspiring. I would literally put my characters; Bogart, Julie, Davis, TOM, Drysdale, The Queen, Mustang and all the bad dudes in a room, toss in a prop and report what developed. From day one I had no idea of what was to come. How that effort yielded a somewhat cohesive 'tale' remains a mystery to me of great magnitude and considerable joy.

By way of apology, the reason it took me a year and a half to write a years worth of copy, owed its length to the aforementioned global virus. Literally I woke one day last March with zero cash flow. Lost were my jobs as an indoor cycling instructor, my business, as owner of a indoor cycling studio, my passion, creating indoor cycling videos and my side gigs, house and dog sitting. All gone, dried up like the raisins in your hand-painted porcelain cereal bowl. I did manage to land a job with the USPS and that turned into a 70 hour work weeks ordeal (not to mention a severe bout of carpal tunnel). I reveal this in self defense. It was simply impossible (for me) to work a 16 hour day and then write. Something had to give and as I needed the cabbage, this was that. Right before I quit Postal, or perhaps because of it, I concocted the idea that the passage of  'down time' could be juxtaposed into the story as Bogart's six-month induced coma. And just like that we were back at it. And thank you for asking, I am now working two jobs, one delivering the Seattle and NY Times from Midnight to Six and working in our Island's boutique movie theater, build in 1936 and seating 226 cinema lovers, a few nights a week as well. Like having two lovers, I need to pick one and give the selected one my singular best. But I will admit that the challenge of getting by sometimes on two hours sleep creates a situation that even Mr. King might appreciate.

Therefore, as Porky Pig used to squeal, "That's All Folks." It has been my special pleasure to participate in this grand adventure and I thank you sincerely (I should know you by name) for your participation on the read end. Hope you had some fun too.

I am taking a few weeks off to tend to other matters. I have some ideas for Book Two. I might even break the rules and go back and clean up my grammatical errors, punctuation gaffes and maybe even rewrite those pesky dangling participles out of existence - you know -edit. Or maybe not. Getting started on a new adventure - spoiler alert - I am toying with the idea of Bogart retiring and working his screenplay - fills my imagination with the winds of possibility.

That effort, should it come to fruition, will be moved to another location. And you, dear reader, will be the first to know where. Until then, please continue your practice as I continue mine.

Peace and Love.

KML, out.