Doomsday Heart

It's been 50 days since I lost my mojo, and I cannot say I've found it, but last week I had a decent run, knocking out a few chapters.  For six weeks, I had bouts of writing; I might write a chapter over a few nights, and then not write for three days. I had one great weekend when a fresh idea sparked two chapters, then I didn't write for five days. My writing output is far off my usual pace. This is not necessarily a terrible thing. Obviously, my brain told me to take a break.

When I'm writing manically, and I do when inspiration strikes, I can write two chapters in a weekend, 12k words, and then clean it up later. I do a half chapter on a weeknight, easily. I average four chapters per week when I'm at my most productive; that's roughly 24k words per week.

For me, this is the time of year to write. When it's 116' in Phoenix, we hibernate. People in snow country hibernate in winter. In the Sonoran Desert, you don't go out if you don't have to during the summer. Last night we had a haboob, a massive wall of dust like in Mad Max: Fury Road. Stay indoors! Summer is usually when I write the most, not this year.

At the moment, Wattpad is on chapter 55 of 70 in Adventures in Anxiety.  At four chapters per week, AA will wrap up in late September, a vital moment in Joe and Tina's dysfunctional romance. The good news is, the next book is nearly finished, first draft writing. Even with this writing slump, I've managed to move the ball forward, but there's still editing and polishing to be done.

Lit Punks ended in February of 1998, chapter 37. When the next book, VIP Rewards, reaches 1998, it will be chapter 100. That's how much new writing was added to the old punk timeline. Overall, that endpoint is chapter 208 in the Punk Universe.

I have learned many things in my writing journey. I've stated that I can put out decent first draft writing, fully formed ideas, and scenes just rolling off my fingers. The conversation of my characters is in my head, and I can't type it fast enough. That said, I know some of the first draft writing I do feels good when I type it, but does not age well when I go back and read it days, or even hours, later.

Maybe my first draft writing isn't as good as it feels in the moment. Maybe slowing down is a good idea, intentional or not. 

--- MORTALITY ---

Last week, after having a productive several days, I thought I'd keep that going through the weekend. Late Friday night, I got sidelined by bad news. My baby brother died of a heart attack at age 50. This is a hard loss and another reminder of the garbage genes we have. My dad passed at 52, one heart attack. Mom died at 76, one heart attack. A cousin died at 47, one heart attack. Now my brother is gone far too soon.

I have a doomsday heart. My mortality has been stalking me for years. When I turned 50, I was convinced that my number was coming up soon. I went through a period of dread, not daily anxiety, but just an underlying sense that any day could be my last. On the day I turned 53, a birthday my father never saw, I went out and celebrated my birthday for the first time in many years.

Now, at 64, I feel like I'm playing with the house's money. I take a pile of meds every day, eat healthy, and exercise... but not enough. Maybe I can hold off the Grim Reaper, but like my doctor said a few years back, "It's not a matter of if ... it's a matter of when you'll have a heart attack, unless something else gets you first."

My brother is a heavy loss, and the doom of mortality that haunted me years ago is back. If one day the chapters stop coming and there are no replies to emails, you'll know why.