Apologies in advance for missing my self-imposed deadline on Open Slay. The damned thing is that I have this week’s part ready in my head and am slowly leaking it out onto the page, but it’s nowhere near the point where I would present it to you. I’m hoping to have it by the weekend, but don’t hold your breath on that. Next week will be even more difficult with being holed up in training for five days, but I will do my best.
Health problem has been looked at and the verdict is…overwork. Well, specifically a heart murmur caused by stress and too much caffeine. Rhythm is normal, EKG “could be used as a model for normalcy”, and no signs of any damage or anything like that, so no need to freak out. As I said yesterday, just a sign that I’m no longer 25 and can’t burn the candle at both ends and then pour gasoline on the middle. Doctor’s orders are to take it easy for a few days, and I’m doing just that. Even the act of doing so has opened my mind back up and my concentration is slowly returning, so…we have this.
This entry came about with the release of the deluxe version of The Smashing Pumpkins’ Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness (it’s currently WAY overpriced, but if you’re interested it’s on Amazon and all other fine retailers). I hadn’t listened to the album in quite some time, and had never heard some of the nuances that have been brought out in the reissue. I’m not here for a review, though I could certainly fill space with that, but it grabbed me by the throat all over again.
Side note, favorite track on the album? Hint hint:
But again, not here for the music. Not entirely. No, it’s more a matter of what the music itself evoked in me, some long-dormant, half-forgotten emotions. Moments that form so much of my emotional identity, a sort of DNA for the moments that you see in my fiction, but which have faded into the wallpaper of my life.
March, 1996, and I sat in a cold (and I do mean cold) motel room in Saint Paul, Minnesota. This trip had been the only logical outcome of an online flirtation and engagement, the story of which could serve as its own book. This was the bad old days of the Internet, where you interacted via IRC and not much else. If you don’t know IRC, look it up, and maybe give it a shot, it’s still out there. I had met Jill (name changed to protect the innocent) through an IRC channel and…well, hadn’t exactly fallen in love so much as fallen in a situation of mutual convenience. Oh, I believed I was in love, enough to propose when she pressured me to do it a month into the “relationship”, but…well, what can I say? I was 19 and had never had a real girlfriend before. I figured this would be my only chance at love.
Despite that, just as I’m not here to talk about the music per se, I’m also not here to bury that relationship. I’ve done that many times over and you can only go to the well of self-pity so many times, especially when you’re pulling up nothing but sand these days. I’m here to talk about distilled emotion, since it’s so much the stock-in-trade of a writer. Continue reading