Thoughts over a pot
I’ll start with what I didn’t do while the tea was brewing. I have not changed out of my work clothes because for one they’ll be in the wash later so I can get dinner down them and secondly because I did not get the chance to drink enough tea at work today so that was the first thing to happen when I got in through the door. The kettle was on before the shoes were off. I even buttered some malt loaf before the kettle had chance to boil, this is something I’d normally do whilst the teas was brewing but instead I have a large pot on the go accompanying me now.
The fact that I’m settled with some malt loaf and a pot next to me left me time to daydream. So I’m left thinking about writing more of the cycling journal and good characters to insert into a story or situation to thus generate a story. So I was thinking of gleaning interesting character traits from the people I know and tessellating them into some mosaics to form a character, perhaps including ones of myself. The single mum who struggles to find love because of the commitments of past choices. The guy who tries too hard to do things but just ends up messing them up through haste, like trying to type too quickly but litters the page with typos thus making the process last longer. The person who slaves away in menial work because of the decisions made in youth that have closed the doors of opportunity to other ways of life. The answer I suppose is that there is no one true occupation, way of life or speed of typing; there is only what you have and what you make of it. Take what you have and treat it as though it is the absolutely true and best way of life and then fit other things like a career, a love life or what you could be doing instead of typing slowly around it. Don’t do a Gauguin and leave your family because you believe your calling is the arts. However, don’t accept a life that is ill suited to you but don’t think that another is better because it probably won’t be. Just refine yours but stick to the commitments and thoughts and feelings of others because there is no higher truth. Maybe, who am I to say?
I think this is what I think. Perhaps I cannot be sure but just want to explore it, this may be the best starting point for any story, well I know it can yield some high word count because Dostoevsky notes that the questions that trouble him he is a t a loss to resolve and so is “resolved to leave them without any resolution.” If it helped him write so much perhaps it can help me write something, something that hopefully id not quite so verbose and rambling but I I’m not one to denigrate him.
Anyway, this could turn into a while the tea stewed if I don’t pour the last cup from this pot now.