The first content drop hit chadabshire.com last week, which was a good, good feeling. One, that I was still producing content; two, that I was maintaining my own deadlines; and three, that folks were looking forward to it and giving some nice feedback. Also got some more coffees too. Thanks for those. A bunch.
The “off-weeks” between content drops are a fun time for me creatively. It gives me time to keyboard doodle and get thoughts out of my head in an almost stream-of-consciousness style of writing that is sometimes fun and more often dreadful to read through, but it’s good that the thoughts hit the paper in a stress-free mood.
So for this week, I’m just exploring. Loading up new documents and just going with whatever strikes me and I’ll clean it up later. For adventures, that means looking at the ideas I’ve got scribbled down and trying to remember it as it comes to me. Sometimes that’s easy – sometimes those memories are vivid and clean and clear and under control. Often, I remember even more details once I get into reliving them, kind of like that Vegas omelet encounter. Fun fact: I stressed way harder than I should have about which spelling of the word “omelet” I should go with. Ultimately, I decided that version worked and that I was likely the only one who cared.
That’s true for a lot of the details and worries I have when it comes to writing, I think. Very often I agonize over every minute detail, which is a good thing, but sometimes it comes back to bite me. During the editing process I can get so bogged down in a detail that only I will likely care about. But I want to get it right. If I’m happy with it, I think others can be too. But sometimes you just have to shrug and say, that’s pretty good. It’s not not good. I don’t love it, but I could work on this forever and not reach that point. And I’m probably the only one who cares about this particular detail. So, let’s continue and see what else is in this mess of a first draft.
You know, stuff like that! Fun, fun times.
Off-weeks also allow me to get deeper into other forms of media, still mostly video games, to get ganked by their stories. I finished one, uh, yesterday I think it was, and I forgot just how good of a story it had. It’s an untraditional one, well, at least in how it’s presented. It was my second playthrough of it and I remember not really caring much for my first. Definitely glad I went back and gave it another try though. It really resonated with me this time around. Hit me right there, you know? Not ashamed to say I was kind of glisteny in the eye region near the end.
Kind of like how Toy Story 3 ended. You remember that? Oh, man. I do. Summer 2010. I was an RA at EKU. That right there? What I just did? A big no-no. It’s called alphabet soup in newsrooms. I was a resident assistant at Eastern Kentucky University. A pair of friends had traveled down to stay with me for a week. Good times. We went and saw Toy Story 3.
In the parking lot afterward, I looked at one friend and admitted I had teared up. I had that shuffly sound in my throat, where you’re trying to catch your breath but you mouth won’t let you draw in one big gulp of it and instead you kind of stumble it into your lungs. I didn’t cry, but boy was I close to it. He reciprocated that feeling. Said he felt it too. How could you not? Toy Story 3 was a story about growing up. I had toys like that. They didn’t come to life, but they had sentimental value. And leaving them behind is leaving childhood behind. It was a wonderful story that I could feel immense nostalgia for. The real kind. Not the kind like, oh, remember this and that. No. Nostalgia that you know, no matter how hard you try, it’s never, ever coming back.
Memories like that are important. It’s important to know where you’ve come from. It’s good to know where you are now versus where you were then.
But the other friend was all “you guys seriously were welling up? I wasn’t.”
Get that mess out of here. That’s a lie. Admit it. We’re all friends here. It’s OK to say you were getting emotional. He never did. Still, we went to the pub – the one I frequented with other folks, classmates and coworkers, one time with a professor, actually. His wife was having a baby. Their second. I can’t remember how, but I remember going out to, I guess, celebrate it with him? Myself and another guy with our professor. We were classmates. It was either that, or he was leaving. Or that and he was leaving. One of those two. That’s a major tangent, wow. I can’t believe I just remembered that.
Anyway, we were there to drown the sorrows after the movie. We talked about the details and growing up and stuff like that. Nostalgia. Splitting the dues each time the server came by. We stayed huddled in this little area at a table for four. Just enjoying the company, even if one of our trio wouldn’t admit his own feelings of nostalgia. The real kind.
That’s the same night I learned the ending to Pearl Jam’s “Black.” I knew I knew it, but I didn’t know it, you know? The ending dododo-do-dododo part. Some cover band was playing it. At the end, I went up and was like “hey I know that was Pearl Jam but like, what song was it? The last one. The ‘dododo-do-dododo’ one?
It’s funny how memories work. Just start typing about one thing and several more pop up. You just read the writing process, for first drafts at least. How the sausage is made. Like super-early, ultra-rough first draft sausage.
Anyway, schedule for the next content drop is May 29 for the Storygank and probably May 30 for the Adventure. A little earlier than usual, but it’ll be there nonetheless.
Oh, and one more thing. Some people were confused about the title of the last blog. Wasn’t intended to be a real story in its own right, but here’s what it is. The last blog, which you’re welcome to, and should, read, opened with the idea of two friends just talking back and forth about a random scenario. Nothing of consequence, just bouncing nonsensical ideas off each other in an involuntary effort to make something out of nothing. It’s the best. I love when that happens. It’s always natural. You can’t force that kind of interaction between two friends. The following came from a very, very brief discussion about drinking coffee black. Maybe two words have been changed for legibility’s sake.
-I’ll take it black like my heart. And the barista is like, OK?
-No, that’s when they SHOULD say, “ah a man after my own non-existent black soulless heart.” I think that’s how normal conversations go.
-That’s how you know she’s the one.
-Then you bust out the twine from your back pocket and marry on the spot.
-And the coffee shop is now our home. We live here. All you people have to go.
-You move into the attic. You make friends with the squirrels. They bring you coffee beans from competing shops.
-Me, Black Heart Suzy and the Squirrels.
-Yeah that’s either a band name or a super hipster coffee shop.
Thanks for reading.