November 2003 Archives

Instead of risking life, limb or wallet at the malls, I spent Friday writing at Orchard Valley Coffee in historic downtown Campbell. I would welcome a cafe like that close to home. It has late hours, great coffee, free wireless internet and a large open room containing artwork, couches and a fireplace. If only they played Bjork a little softer, it would be perfect.

Cliff finally died, off-page and around the 45,000-word mark. He grew from a cameo into a major character, but inevitably, his words were numbered. The real Cliff conditioned his inclusion in any novel end with the death of his literary incarnation. He wanted at least one of him to fall off a cliff and his wish was easily granted. The last few chapters of my story were already taking place in mountainous regions, so an accidental slip or intentional push was no trouble.

It's Saturday. I'm posting. It's early. I'm up. I'm close to finishing something. There are so many things wrong with this picture.

Thanksgiving was quiet and relaxing. Instead of watching football like most families, we watched Pride & Prejudice (with Colin Firth as the ever-so-serious Mr. Darcy).

It was as though my sister read my mind when she borrowed it from the library. The book has been on my mind a lot recently. If I was prone to paranoia, I might believe the video was part of a sibling conspiracy. For while I was fully engrossed in the miniseries, she was diligently writing and watching. I must also confess that I slipped into a short pre-tryptophan nap at one point, which was either induced by turkey anticipation or a comfortable recliner.

A NaNoWriMo update: I just reached 40,000 words around noon. The finish line is in sight. The time to sprint might be now.

One thing has been on my mind morning, noon and night. If not for my love of coffee and Skittles, I might have given up days ago. Today is a good day to cram.

Because of all the sugar and caffeine I've consumed or are about to consume, my thoughts may be a bit scattered, so please bear with me.

Happiness is sitting outside on a cold sunny day and enjoying a hot bowl of soup.

On rare occasions and for my own amusement, I check my horoscope. Today, mine read: You might have a lot of thoughts buzzing through your head. You could be thinking about how to improve everything ... It's best to concentrate on improving your own situation just now. Sound and timely advice.

I may have accidentally taped An American Idol Christmas. When I got home, I may have inadvertently rewound and watched it, unintentionally skipping through parts without Clay Aiken. The whole incident was an honest mistake. Really.

The other night, I had a yin yang, parenthetically described as coffee and tea with pearls. I could use one right now, plus another bag of Skittles.

Topics I've been meaning to write about:

• Mr. Darcy
• Charlotte Sometimes
• crushes
• rejection
• imagineering
• The Great Good Place
• Urban Tribes

By the way, this entry was not endorsed by any fruit-flavored candy company. Any mention of said candy was purely a product of constant craving.

My perception of the facts...

Me: Guess what?
Sis: ...
Me: Guess what?
Sis: (annoyed) What!
Me: (proudly) I'm doing NaNoWriMo.
Sis: (yawns) Big whoop. So am I.
Me: You are? ... So, when did you start?
Sis: Thirty minutes ago.
Me: Ha! You'll never make it. It took me twenty days to get 25,000 words.
Sis: Whatever. I already have 2,000.
Me: D'oh!

The facts...

• My sister is participating.
• She wrote 2,000 words in 30 minutes.
• Her "What!" can stop a conversation dead in its tracks.
• Sadly, I really say "D'oh!"

Sibling rivalry has raised the stakes. For all I know, she may be done tomorrow.

This computer was once mine. It was the first one I ever bought. Shortly after moving out, I gave it to my parents to replace their old one, which was terribly short on memory. Before I did, I transferred the important files I wanted to keep, like the little scraps of text, photos and songs I had found and saved over the years.

This computer is like an old house. It contains memories of my past. When I left it, I packed away programs and games like they were childhood toys. They didn't complete the trip to my new computer, but exist solely as CDs and manuals stacked in a spare closet.

The only "box" I left behind was a folder labeled "David". There wasn't much in it, just a few songs: Dido's "Here With Me", Weezer's "Dope Nose", U2's "Sunday Bloody Sunday" and The Basics' "O Holy Night". They were something to listen to when I visited my folks.

Yesterday, I opened the media player and saw a few of the songs still in the recently played list. I clicked on one, but received an error message. I searched the drive, thinking they had been moved, but found nothing. I then scrolled the entire directory listing, but without luck. I realized my folder was gone, finally deleted.

True, it had to happen sooner or later, but I still couldn't believe it at first. I suppose I was hoping something of mine might be left behind, a small reminder I "lived" here once. Yeah, I know, I'm much too sentimental for my own good.

Five lists of five for Friday.

1. List five things you'd like to accomplish by the end of the year.

1. Finish NaNoWriMo
2. Learn how to use my wok
3. Learn how to snowboard
4. Write a song
5. This one is a secret

2. List five people you've lost contact with that you'd like to hear from again.
1. a couple of high school classmates
3. a couple of college classmates
5. and the girl I always used to see on the train (it was only visual contact, but still)

3. List five things you'd like to learn how to do.

1. cooking (above and beyond the wok)
2. play the guitar and ukulele (it gently weeps)
3. rock climbing (without the falling)
4. speak Cantonese
5. backpacking

4. List five things you'd do if you won the lottery (no limit).

1. buy a house for my sister
2. buy a house on the coast
3. open a beachfront cafe
4. travel, a lot
5. buy a baseball team and stadium (tacky corporate name will be removed)

5. List five things you do that help you relax.

1. drink coffee
2. read
3. hike
4. listen to and play music
5. run

Somewhere between my second and third cups of coffee, I passed the 25,000-word mark. The mystical milestone of 33,000 words isn't so far away. Here is a slice...

He couldn't seem to look away. She wore a blue collared shirt, black slacks and a green apron. He conjectured it was a uniform, since the guy next to her wore the exact same outfit, which could have also meant they were having a really embarrassing day or were one of those couples who strangely enjoyed dressing alike.

He glanced down for a second and then back in her direction. He noticed her name tag, which suddenly gave credibility to the whole uniform theory. Her name was Pria.

Tigg said the name silently, allowing his lips to form the word. It sounded pretty in his head. He then realized she was looking at him. Had she seen him say her name? Hadn't he been taught it was rude to read with his mouth open?

This has grown to mean something more than a simple word count. It is now a challenge to my creative will and energy. It has become a confrontation with issues I have long avoided and considered taboo. It threatens my natural tendency to procrastinate, so my procrastination has sought refuge in other areas of my life.

Last night was the first time in more than a year I had a dream. I don't recall the details, but I awoke shivering and feeling unsettled. My mouth was raw and dry, which usually means I was talking in my sleep. The sheets were in complete disarray and bedding was on the floor.

Unresolved worries run rampant through my mind. I've been avoiding them during my waking hours, so they've come to visit me subconsciously. Avoiding them longer will only make things worse. The solution requires more courage, trust, forgiveness and humility than I've ever possessed.

No pressure. It's funny how a plotless story has managed to transform itself into a Pandora's box.

While sitting in my car this morning (after work errands and a write-in are my excuse), Outkast's "Hey Ya" came on the radio. Every time I hear the song, I imagine people around me suddenly stopping, dropping everything and dancing. It gives me a kick and makes me laugh with lines like...

• What's cooler than bein' cool? Ice cold!
• Lend me some suga', I am your neighbor!
• Shake it, shake it like a Polaroid picture!

As I sit here at this unsheltered stop, waiting for the bus, I'm thankful it doesn't really get cold here. Fog and 40-degree weather is nothing.

This stop is located downtown, which is really just one street. Off to my left is a cafe. I'm contemplating going in to grab some coffee, but with my luck, the bus would go by just as I'm adding milk or sugar.

Behind me is a restaurant that claims to serve seafood, spirits and self-esteem. I could go for a little of all three.

I'm suddenly wishing I had worn a jacket with pockets, but I chose this one because it's my favorite. I'm bad at describing clothing, but I know this much, it's burgundy and it looks like the jackets the Beach Boys wore on their first album, Surfin' Safari.

The bus is still not here. Let's see. Directly across the street, is a music school that only accepts children as students. To its left is an art supply store, while on its right is a furniture store.

If I had gotten coffee when I first thought about it, there would have been plenty of time. But now I see the bus coming down the street, so coffee will have to wait until I get to work.

P.S. - So after a little research, the jacket is similar to the Pendleton plaid shirt.

Last night, as I was walking out the door, fully prepared to catch the bus home, somebody told me about the tree lighting ceremony at Santana Row. On an impulse, I decided to attend.

The tree, which stood in front of the Hotel Valencia, was at least twenty-five feet tall and was beautifully decorated, but lacked originality. I was expecting it to have some character, perhaps with Tiffany ornaments and gold-trimmed ribbons by Burberry. Instead, it was outfitted in the tree chic of white lights and dull decorations.

Commendably, the event organizers truly created a sense of community for the neighborhood. Residents and visitors milled around the plaza. It was a family-friendly celebration with roaming carolers and magicians. Eggnog, apple cider and desserts were served at the street corners and waiters carrying large trays of sushi rolls wondered through the crowd. The San Jose Youth Symphony's Flute Choir performed in front of the tree. While a block away, in the food pavilion, a jazz ensemble played a medley of Christmas tunes. It felt like December in November.

After the tree had been lit, I ventured into Borders Books, ordered a large Moose Munch Mocha and wrote for a little while. As I left the bookstore, I paused for a minute, gazed up at the lofts overlooking the plaza and then closed my eyes to imagine what life would be like living there. I sighed deeply before walking briskly to the bus stop for the long journey home.

For the last week or so, I have been unable to get home at a reasonable hour. It's so late by the time I do, I'm too tired to get things done. Strongly believing in accountability, I blame my place.

If it had any sense, it would locate itself closer to everywhere I want to be or, at the very least, wherever I happen to be. But like me, it's shy, so it remains rooted to the ground and secluded in a tiny town far away from everything and everyone.

Of course, it has the audacity to blame me for my exhausted state as I arrive at its doorstep. It claims I've been slacking on diet, sleep and exercise, which may or may not be true. It's really a case of he said, it said.

This is much too early in the morning and I’m not fully awake yet.

I was alone. After they left. At home. On the drive down. On the trail. When I walked ahead. The time I fell behind. On the drive back. In the evening. Writing and reading. In thought.

We were together. Before they left. Around the campfire. In the drizzle. On the trail. In a cave. For a photograph or two. While we ate. In the darkness. In silence. In laughter.

I was lonely. When I first awoke. At the end of the day.

Heaven bend to take my hand
I've nowhere left to turn
I'm lost to these I thought were friends
To everyone I know
Oh they turn their heads embarrassed
Pretend that they don't see
That it's one wrong step one slip before you know it
And there doesn't seem a way to be revealed

The song has a beautiful melody and Sarah McLachlan has such a soothing voice. She says what I've wanted to say for a while now, but she expresses it so well. Her new album is a gentle escape.

While hanging out with T in Seattle, he said some of the funniest things. At first, I didn't notice it, but a pattern slowly emerged over the three days I spent with him.

• "I think that's our bus. We better run for it."
• "Have you seen my camera?"
• "Have you seen the paper?"
• "Have you seen my phone?"
• "The station is a minute away and we have five. Don't rush."
• "Oops. There's the bus. Run for it!"
• "I have an awful whispering voice."
• "It was free acupuncture. He offered to put needles in my ear."
• "Can you find some gloves?"
• "Can you find some knives?"
• "Here. Can you put these knives in your bag?"
• "Hey! Can you pick up that ear?"
• "There's the bus. Run for it!"

The bus quote became our "Geronimo!" and our bus chases are now some of my fondest memories of Seattle.

It's fine to create a hero who seeks the One. It's cruel to create a world for said hero and populate it with only the wrong ones. It's something I'm toying with as my story slowly progresses. I finally broke the 10,000-word mark yesterday. It's amazing (and scary) how much I can write without a real plot.

I have been unusually cruel to my characters, placing them in awkward situations, making them uncomfortable and causing them to squirm. It's similar to the way people mistreat their Sims by removing all of the toilets.

My main character, who remains unnamed and known only as MC (main character), has suffered the most. I almost wish I hadn't placed so much of myself in him. Almost. Anyway, here is another snippet from "Huh?"...

MC walked into the cafe, surveyed the room from the door and immediately spotted SK (sidekick), who was sitting on the plastic-covered sofa and browsing a magazine. He glanced over at the corner table where She normally sat, but was disappointed to see she wasn't there. An unknown man, who would be too much trouble to describe, occupied her chair instead.

He gave a nod to Fred, who was sporting a blue goatee and orange dreadlocks. Fred nodded in return and casually served up a cup of steaming hot coffee like it was a shuffleboard weight. The brown cup and saucer slowly rotated as it slid smoothly across the waxed counter and onto the floor, shattering upon impact. Nobody looked up.

Fred smiled sheepishly and gingerly carried the next cup over to the coffee table, taking great pains to place it on a coaster. MC thanked him and flopped himself down on the sofa beside SK.

Gazing thoughtfully out the large picture window, he asked, "Don't you wish the writer would give us more meaningful lines of dialogue?"

SK took a sip of his chai soy latte and reluctantly looked up from his magazine, which he read strictly for the articles. He lazily stared out the window, paused for effect and replied, "Nah. Who wants to hear us pontificate or go on about our angst? I say, give us more action! Give us more smut!"

Yesterday, the weather was so beautiful in Carmel, we never made it to Monterey. We drove the scenic 17-Mile Drive. When we first visited, my sister and I were very young, so we probably didn't appreciate the spectacular views, multimillion dollar estates or the breathtaking golf courses (created at the expense of a sensitive environment, as my sister kindly reminded me).

On a couple of occasions, my dad has mentioned taking up golf, but he's never really pursued it. It probably requires a gentle nudge to get him going. Maybe it's as simple as renting a few clubs and setting up a tee time at one of the local courses. If he truly liked it, it might eventually lead to a round at Spyglass Hill or Pebble Beach and how cool would that be?

This is the fourth and final day of my wickedly long weekend. My folks will be coming down to pick up my houseguest for breakfast and a visit to Carmel and Monterey. I should be working on some voluntary writing project that shall not be named, but family comes first, so I'll probably end up spending the day with them. A day in Carmel? Oh, the sacrifice! Before everybody shows up, here is a quick and dirty dozen or so to recap the weekend.

1. Had dinner at P.F. Chang's and tried the Dragon Eye Oolong Tea (oolong with ginger and peach flavoring).
2. Went to Sunnyvale's Rooster T. Feathers for the first time.
3. The headliner was Andy Campbell, but it was Kevin Avery, who rocked.
4. Sunnyvale is apparently an easy target for comics.
5. Watched Gosford Park for the umpteenth time and I'm still not sick of it.
6. Also watched Finding Nemo on DVD... righteous!
7. Intended to run on Sunday, but got to San Francisco too late.
8. Spent the morning writing at Caffe Mono instead.
9. Hiked the Land's End Coastal Trail in beautiful weather.
10. Had a late lunch or early dinner, depending on your preference, at Naan n' Curry on Irving.
11. Had a latte bowl at The Canvas Gallery, which has the coolest combination of food, coffee, art and music I've ever experienced.
12. Got back just in time to open David's Unofficial Bed & Breakfast for my first official houseguest.

It seems to require dedication, discipline and sense of purpose bordering on obsession. As you search for the words to describe the most mundane activities, you find yourself at a loss. The perception of your own observant nature is shattered as you try to create or re-create realistic dialogue or descriptions of people and places.

You are more grateful than ever for all of the colorful and quirky people you've encountered. You find yourself searching through your own personal closet of experiences, fears and weaknesses in the hope the main character can overcome what you have not. You gain a whole new appreciation for the authors you've admired and even those you've dismissed.

You promise to notice the smallest of details and look at everything with a more critical eye from this point on. You promise to read more and pay closer attention when reading. You promise to improve your grammar, technique and vocabulary so future self-expression will flow with greater ease and eloquence.

You can observe a lot by watching. - Yogi Berra

During college, I grew accustomed to studying with music on in the background. It began with generic and mellow melodies, like the ones piped into grocery stores and elevators. Eventually, it progressed to the sounds of live indie bands and singer/songwriters who performed weekly on the small stage in the basement of our student center. Studying in silence soon felt foreign.

Today, I'm almost always listening to music while I work, read or write. Quiet time is good, but living life on a bed of music is sometimes better. I believe it can boost productivity and creativity, so here is my Top 5 types of music for getting the creative juices flowing:

1. classical (typical, but effective)
2. trance (like Digitally Imported)
3. house (Terence Patrick mixes work really well)
4. surf instrumentals (Dick Dale, for example)
5. Hawaiian (slack key!)

We had been hiking for good length of time, trudging along a steep and narrow trail in the Pinnacles. As we came over this one crest, we spotted a single bench standing off in the distance, in the middle of nowhere and unprotected from the bright sunlight. It was like it had been patiently waiting for us to stop by and sit a while.

Yesterday was the first real day of writing for me. I'm behind, but there is no need to panic right now. There will be plenty of time for that later.

In search of a little encouragement, I went to the Mountain View Write-In. I met some cool new people who are also struggling with this month-long challenge. It was also a pleasant surprise to see Elke there. Her writing game is on and she even has a NaNoWriMo blog with links to her novel-in-progress. I'm not so brave, but will share a smidgen of what I pass off as writing...

Simultaneous existence has always been problematic. Patience is a virtue, but one that most people lack. If humans had been more patient, they would have existed one at a time and lived very peaceful lives. There wouldn't be traffic congestion or mass hysteria or fights over who got the larger half of the cookie.

But instead of waiting their turn, groups of people decided to exist simultaneously. These groups would later be known as generations. Almost like clockwork, a new generation would come into existence every twenty years or so. This would go on for ages.

It's November. I don't know how it arrived so quickly, but I wish it had knocked first. The weather has been cold, wet and wonderful.

At the last minute, I went to a Halloween gathering in San Mateo on Friday. We had the aural pleasure of not one, but two people belting out karaoke renditions of Creed's "One Last Breath". It was also the only night where one could witness and readily accept a bearded nun shooting pool against a horned demon.

On Saturday, I watched Florida State demolish Notre Dame. Two names I want to remember, but will mean nothing to me in another week: Chris Rix and Craphonso Thorpe.

Later in the day, I was doing housework and listening to Norah Jones, when I decided to check the temperature outside. As I opened the front door, I was greeted with a gust of cold air and was overcome with a feeling of... Christmas. I'm not sure what triggered it, but it was a strange sensation.

Later, I watched Jane Austen's Mansfield Park. The movie is based on her book of the same name as well as material from her letters and journals. There is something about her characters and the way they interact that draws me to them.

I was thinking about how much I like her writing, when I suddenly remembered NaNoWriMo. My novel's working title is "Huh?" and that's all I can honestly tell you. So far, nothing has been written, which means there is still hope it won't suck. If November hadn't snuck up on me like it did, I might have been better prepared to procrastinate.

On Sunday, we went hiking in Purisima Creek Redwoods Open Space Preserve. We made a ten-mile loop around the northern portion of the preserve. The weather was good, but tended to be on the cooler side most of the day.

Afterwards, our weary group had dinner at the Half Moon Bay Brewing Company. From our table on the patio, we had a view of the bay and could hear the music of the jazz band inside. I had mahi mahi and tried a pint of Smuggler's Stout, a tasty microbrew with chocolate and coffee flavoring.

All in all, it was a good November weekend.