PRECURSORS

31^st October 2020

Writing. Will get better at it. I've enjoyed doing it since I started school as a seven-year-old kid with a runny nose, but I never consciously tried to become a better writer. I never thought about it the way I did yesterday. But when I did decide, it seemed like an obvious decision – I suppose the seeds were always there. It seems to me, that not many people -- especially teenagers like myself -- invest time in reading. I always did, though. I’m not very disciplined at all, never thought of it as an investment. It was fun, so I did.

And yesterday, as I was leaving my toilet -- I reached for the handle to get out -- it struck me. It struck me so powerfully that I paused with my hand on the chrome handle and thought about it for five minutes. Which, in bathroom time, turned out to be enough to warrant uncomfortable questioning by my mother.

I thought about all those books I read. I could write one of those. I could make worlds of my own. I thought about how I always scored well on my writing assignments. I always thought of my life as a story. But what if it’s not my story? What if it’s about me writing stories? Living many lives? I’ve decided to give it a shot. Hence, this notebook. I’ll practice keeping a diary/log here and write stories on my laptop.

1^st November 2020

I’m making some radical changes. For some innovative action, I did a Google search today to procure advice for beginner writers. Read some articles, saw two or three videos, then shut it up. I need an edge. I figured reading a book would help me more; not everyone would read a book. It’s a Sunday today, so I started reading Stephen King’s Memoir: On Writing in the morning. Started at eight, finished around five in the evening. Beautifully written. I chose the book because I’ve read a lot of his work. Some of the big ones like IT, too.

Core point: Read a lot, write a lot. Keeping this log seems to be a wise decision. I’m practicing some form of writing at least. Soon, I’ll start with short stories too. It’s 10 P.M. as I’m writing this. Writers must be readers, or if you are a writer, you must have been a reader once. Inspiring. Reinforces my belief that this was always meant to be. 

Being a seventeen-year-old high school senior in a science focused stream makes incorporating this habit much tougher. Even though it’s easier now, with exams far off in March. I’ve created a general routine:

5 A.M. – Wake up, read till 7.

8 A.M. – 3 P.M. – School.

4 P.M. – 6 P.M. – Cram School.

6:30 P.M. – 7 P.M. – Run.

7:30 P.M. – 9 P.M. – Read.

9 P.M. – 11 P.M. – Write.

The above is for the worse days. I’ve Cram School Monday, Wednesday, Friday. And school holidays on Saturday and Sunday. Will replace those time slots with reading/writing.

2^nd November 2020

If waking up at 5 in the morning to do something you enjoy is so hard, I wonder how those CEOs do it. I tried; I really did. But my eyes were shut tight like someone had lined my eyelids with treacle.

Ended up awaking at seven, like usual. Rest of the day went well, though. Started writing a short story about witches. Excited. Started reading Shirley Jackson’s The Haunting of Hill House.

3^rd November 2020

Good news, bad news. Was able to wake up on time. Wrote 700 words.

Approached Ms. Camilla regarding short story submissions for the school magazine. She asked me to submit one by Mid-November. Will do. Saw a few regular online contests, should start writing for those.

Butch saw me reading the book today. Haunting of Hill House. It’s a new book. It no longer looks like one. Definitely doesn’t smell like one. I am fairly certain the ape is averse to language.

Told Todd about my new routine. He said I won’t be able to keep it up. He might be right, but I’m pissed off now. I’ll make it work.

6^th November 2020

It’s not working. Am loving the writing process, but if I write a lot, I don’t get time to read and vice-versa. Radical Changes? If they weren’t, they will be now. I spoke to my parents about dropping Cram School today. It’ll save me a lot of time, and I can learn on my own later on, before exams. Mum rejected the idea, but Dad said it’s my decision. But he asked me to consider it seriously. I looked into his eyes and said I’m sure. I’ve always known in some way, I said.

He snapped his newspaper stiff, smiled at me, and told me to go all in, champ.

That’s it. I’m dropping Cram School.

Just need to remember not to read in school. Especially around Butch’s gang.

7^th November 2020

Thank god for Saturdays. I’m almost done with my witch story. It reads well to me for now, though I suspect it’ll reveal its problems if I read it a few days, or maybe weeks, later. It’s about three witches who try to poison a town through the waterworks and turn the citizens into witches and warlocks. I don’t think it’s very original, but what the hell. Hemingway wasn’t born Hemingway. Did I just compare myself to him? Should sleep.

9^th November 2020

I finished S.J.’s book. I wonder if I could ever write something like this. Writing seems so easy when reading. It’s like you expect beautifully written prose but when you sit down to write some of your own, you understand how hard it is. And how appreciative you should be. Those are some hard, calculated words if they capture you. 

Today was the first day I didn’t go to Cram School. I replaced the time with writing. I’ve started another story, it’s about two birds trapped in a thunderstorm. A vignette. 

11^th November 2020

Todd came over to my desk today when I was finishing up the last scene of my story. I’ve titled it ‘Chirps’. He came from behind me, while I was hunched over the notebook on my lap under the desk. I didn’t realize he was there until he said: “That’s good…that’s pretty good.”

I whipped around, shut the notebook.

“Hey!”

He laughed. Todd can make bird noises by fluttering his lips somehow. He made them. We both laughed.

“Did you like it?” I asked.

“Yeah, ending’s a little abrupt, I think. But it’s good overall,” he said.

And I think he’s right. I went over the witch story I had written earlier and this one. I’ve focused too much on character development, which just isn’t possible within 2000-3000 words. At least for a beginner writer like me.

A Short story is more like the ‘plop’ of a water drop falling in a pail of water. Melodious, sweet, because of its simplicity not complexity.

16^th November 2020

I pressed submit. Today was the day for submitting a story for the Christmas Edition of the school magazine. My story clocked in at 4537 words. It’s about Santa Claus. I’ve replaced the reindeers with Saber-toothed Tigers, the protagonist is a small girl named Susie, and Susie is a bully. It’s horror suspense. The magazine is usually roughly forty pages, and if I win, more than a couple would be dedicated for my contribution; it would be my first publication.

Patricia Cheeks also submitted a story. I overheard her today, ranting about it to her patrons. Now that I think about it, I saw her name in the magazine last year. And not just in the Christmas edition, in the big one they release at the end of the school year.

Her father has a piece in the Times every week, on Health and Wellness. And her mother is an English professor, or so I’ve heard.

She’s got the background, all right.

18^th November 2020

I was on a fairly good run. But dropping Cram School has affected me more than I thought. Math sizes me up, Physics dwarfs me, and Chemistry chokes me. We were quizzed the past week; results came in today. I have subpar grades in all – Math, Physics, Chemistry, decreasing.

And so, another decision presents itself. Next year, we have to decide our university, our major. Before I began writing here, I was certain I would get into a decent university with a strong Engineering program. If it continues like this, that won’t happen. And more importantly, I should go into Literature if I’m serious about this.

“If you're going to try, go all the way. Otherwise, don't even start.”

That’s Bukowski.

20^th November 2020

So, I’ve been reading a lot. Writing; but reading more. Last night I woke up with sweat lining my collar, and a mosquito whizzing about my ear. I went to the bathroom, came back, lay down. And I couldn’t sleep for I don’t know how long.

Two lines from McCarthy’s Blood Meridian were jouncing about in my head. “The Leonids they were called. God how the stars did fall.”

I wasn’t conscious of it, but I seem to have memorized them while reading the book. I’m only up to the third chapter so far, the lines are from the first chapter.

My eyes closed, darkness around me, I was adding sentences above, below and around these lines in my head. I couldn’t stop. The sentences were gushing out feverishly, and I was turning in the bed. I slept extremely late and I was tired in the morning and almost messed up the routine.

I suppose looking at text for hours messes you up. But I like being messed up like this.

23^rd November 2020

I think Patricia’s going to win. Ms. Camilla called her to her office today when leaving the class after lecture.

“Patricia, come with me. I want to discuss your submission,” she said, beaming.

Patricia pattered out with a toothy grin.

Makes me wonder why I’m doing this. Leave Patricia, there is an enormity of great literature out there. I suppose that is why I didn’t start earlier. Who would read my shit?

But it is classless, cowardly to stop because I might not be good. And really, if I’m not, I’m still not going to stop writing. It makes me feel clear, natural, connected like nothing else. Just the presence of words all around me is enough reason to continue.

25^th November 2020

Today was tough. I have been writing every day since the beginning of this month. I usually start writing about whatever I want without thinking too much about the story – if the plot makes sense, will it be interesting, so forth. I simply put in characters and let it flow.

But I wasn’t able to, today. No good setting, characters came to mind. I’ve lost my writer’s block virginity.

27^th November 2020

When I started writing here, I wasn’t good at all. I’m still not good, but much better than before. I used to read some book by an author that I like, then I would start working. It was a warm-up, getting my mind ready to use smooth dialogue and expressive adjectives. 

I think that’s changing for me now.

I’ve read seven novels and written five short stories since I started filling this diary. Lost sleep, lost grades. But it has paid off. I don’t need warmups like before now. I have words jumping about inside my head all the time. I can just start writing now.

30^th November 2020

She called me over today, Ms. Camilla did. I went to her office, confirmed her nameplate, knocked, entered on being prompted.

“Congratulations, Daniel,” she said.

I gave her a puzzled look, shook my head like I didn’t understand. I felt very smug.

“Well…it isn’t final yet, we need you to edit it a bit, umm…to clean it up a little,” she said. She wanted me to remove the bad words, I figured. Use ‘stool’ instead of ‘shit’, that kind of thing.

“But your story will be featured. It’s brilliant, Daniel.”

It happened, it happened for me, it did! I can do this, this was correct.

Things are looking up.