Count down

Oh crap, crap, crap!!
She looks at the computer clock.
If she doesn't hurry the hell up,  in thirty minutes she will slid into the next day which means she will slid off her goal and does she want to lose this bet of posting an entry every day?
Certainly not.
She writes something quick, something unimportant. It doesn't have to be important. It is just about writing after all. It is for the routine.
There. It is done. At least for today.
She won't fail this.
Oh no, she won't.

The Turgid, the Putrid and the Cupid - Conclusion

So the conclusion to this week intense meditation on the beauty of words speaks for itself.
Words are as beautiful and necessary as a chocolaty cloudy flowery scarf on picture.

I hope it makes perfect sense to all the people that have followed these lessons.
I am thanking you for your time. I bet it was all terribly enlightening for you. And this week lesson was only 2000 euro.
 And how humble that left you, huh?
Pretty humble, I bet. ;-)
On the wallet front.

Words are reflection of us - 6/6

 Balance, pain, humidity, heat, direction and the rest...6/6

Never mind five senses, scientists reckon they’ve found 17 other senses. The number would amount to 22. Balance apparently would be one. The ability to sense pain, humidity, heat or where you are going would be part of the list too.
And I think any of these senses could set against words. Would one not say that words balance us out? Do we not become more peaceful, more balanced when we let things out of our chest? Do we not sense pain out of words? And cry when we hear certain hurtful words? Do we not get hot when we are angry or flushed when we hear a declaration of love?
And don't words lead us to where we are now? Isn't it that capacity to communicate that brings us to that good grade, that will lead us to that good school, to the good career, to the good partner?
Yes we define ourselves through our very words. Words define us, what we do, what we are and what we become. Words are the pictures of ourselves that we get to send out to the universe and guess what?
We can choose our words. So we get to choose whatever we want to be.

Words are like music - 5/6

 Hear - 5/6

Words flows out of us like melody: grave, soft, beautiful, acid, sour and on the end of the scale, music returned to us in either the same pitch or in a lower or higher pitch. 
We exchanged music. Every day.

Our voices are instruments and we are capturing the receivers's attention in the same way an audience gets captivated by music. Both are derived from the same source; rhythm.
Words roll, clash, stumble, whizz, tick, pound,  rise in numbers or fall in fragments but they are alive. They play for us and we are just part of it. We are the players of a wordlwide concerto that never ends.

Words are like flowers - 4/6

Smell. 4/6

Words are like flowers. Some scent like the smell of a rose will easily damn you. Some of their perfume will be so very tempting, hypnotically calling you that your only wish will be to pick them up and help yourself. But you know you will bleed if you are not careful.
Others,  let's just say that the aromas will reek so badly that you will never want to go near them again. But if you are lucky, some flowers fragrances like honey-scented buddleias will leave you ecstatic with bliss and maybe the ‘Black Knight' will even make you go weak at the knees because that is what perception do to you. 
The signs of their hallmarks on you. That's the beauty of it.
Catching a scent or catching a receptor isn't it like catching a word?
It stays with you whether you like it or not.

Words are like clouds - 3/6

Sight. 3/6

Words are like clouds. You can't touch them but they are there. Rolling in front of us every day. With different colours and different shapes, with different intentions and different forces.
Sometimes, you will enjoy them and sometimes, you will simply prefer to ignore them. Oh but it will be really hard at times for some will rain down on you and will create a storm but other times, it will just feel like a caress, a summer breeze and it will leave you to wonder and smile.
They are timeless, omnipresent and always at your reach as long as you extend your mind to them.

Words are like clothes - 2/6

Touch. 2/6

Words are like clothes. I know it doesn't look like a beautiful analogy and that's probably because you never saw clothes as words.
But they are. They carried us or we carried them around. Some clothes we use everyday. They are light, they will feel easy on us and we let them wrap around us for comfort, pleasure or protection.
Some feel awkward, underdressed or overdressed. We don't want to use those but sometimes we just have to and we will do, they will feel like they will itch, sting or burn you. And you will try to take them down or bring them back but their marks will remain on you like a bad rash.
Some you will wear for special occasions. They will feel silky with a delicate woven pattern and you will feel beautiful, other rough with a simplistic structure and they will make you feel terrible and other so outdated or complex, it just confused the hell out of you.
See?
Words are like clothes.

Words are like chocolate - 1/6

Yesterday gave me an idea.
I owe to really find what is beautiful about words.
So this week, my task is going to be how words make me feel.
So for one day, an analogy. For the whole week.

Starting now:

Taste. 1/6
Words are like chocolate.They roll under your tongue.
Sometimes they feel sweet, sometimes they feel bitter. Sometimes you appreciate every single one of them and you wish they could last forever or sometimes you wish you could swallow them whole for they hurt so badly.
But every word is a treat and should be savoured long and hard. We should relish their tang, their zest,  their spice and all the subtleties in the middle before we say we are done.

The Turgid, the Putrid and the Cupid - Introduction

I don't feel particularly inspired today, nor do I feel like talking about writing. That is kind of a problem for someone who is supposed to write a blog about writing.
All the heads turning on her ...
Oh err...She clears her throat...hello there...How are you? Waiting for something?
She giggles nervously.
Ah yes! Of course.
Well......let's start...so as you know this course is about words...
She straightens up and tries to take on her most professional voice.
"Well today, Ladies and Gentlemen, you are in luck because that's exactly what we are going to talk about!"
She desperately racks her mind to find a subject. Something emerges. Surprisingly.
"Yes today, we are going to discuss the deep deep meaning of writing, so deep you will never see the bottom of it."
Her voice takes on a more confidence tone.
"From the beauty of the words, to their pronunciation as well as the visual appeal and emotions behind them to the metaphysicality of it all, you will be blown away."
She looks over the window then at her watch. 
"But unfortunately that's all I got for you today folks! The Introduction lesson is over."
Phew...she takes the sweat out of her forehead and congratulates herself.
I think you have fooled them.
Really, you think so?
Yes, yes...look, they are already asleep.
Good.
"So tomorrow folks, we will start the real lesson on the Metaphysicality of words or as I named the course:
"The Turgid, the Putrid and the Cupid."
Someone somewhere snores.
Where did you get that title?
That's all I could come up in so little time!!
How about the " The Verbose and Vernicose"?
That's too pompous...
And this one is not?
Naw...Nobody will notice.
Class dismissed.

Getting there

I am improving, the writing obviously.
I can feel it. As if the connections in my brain were getting the hang of it, as if my brain was finally assimilating what was expected of it. And it makes me feel really good about it.
The rhythm especially is getting better. The dialogues are going to the point, the descriptive parts are getting shorter, the structure better.
It is coming together. I see the mistakes. I see where it is going wrong. More and more. It jumps to my face and I like that it finally comes more naturally to me.
Sure I have re-written this stuff again. Sure it is very slow.
But it is the getting there that I am enjoying today.

The Red Gloves

She said "I'd love to write like you."
The writer said: "Just take off my red gloves,
Put them on and your dream'll come true
With your love and your head
You can dance the dream with your body on
And this curve, is your smile
And this cross, is your heart
And this line, is your path."

Oh it's gonna be the way you always thought it would be
But it's gonna be no illusion
Oh it's gonna be the way you always dreamt about it
But it's gonna be really happening to ya

Oh but the minute I put them on
I knew I had done something wrong
All her gifts for the writing had gone
It's the red gloves, they can't stop writing, writing

"Oh it's gonna be the way you always thought it would be
But it's gonna be no illusion
Oh it's gonna be the way you always dreamt about it
But it's gonna be really happening to ya"

She gotta write, she gotta write
And she can't stop 'till them gloves come off
These gloves do, a kind of voodoo
They're gonna make her write 'till her fingers fall off

Feel your head come tumbling down
Feel your hands start kissing the keys
Feel your back start tightening
And see your eyes are lifted to God
With your voice, with the words,
I'm gonna dance the dream
And make the dream come true
I'm gonna write the dream
And make the dream come true

They're gonna make her write 'till her fingers bleeds
They're gonna make her write 'till her head spins

till her throat is dry
till her eyes do cry 

Call a doctor, call a priest
We think the beast is unleashed

Really happening to ya
Really happening to ya

Words copied and re-adapted from The red Shoes lyrics by Kate Bush

Walking on eggshells

I am going to start this entry by this quote first:

"I have rewritten- often several times- every word I have ever written.  My pencils outlast their erasers." Vladimir Nabokov.Well if I was using erasers, I will probably be buying an eraser company. It would be the most logical approach considering my case.

All the actions that could be employed about writing: Think, add, delete, hesitate, re-write, contemplate, edit, remove, think and add all over again, I do.The company will never get out of jobs. 

I could also quote Isaac Singer "The wastebasket is the writer's best friend." In that case, I think my bedroom would be a wastebasket where no one could get in and out, never even see through the window.

The point is clear. I would be ruining myself in erasers and papers. Thank God that we don't use those anymore.

Before I started on this great adventure, I would have never thought writing was about rewriting but I know now.

Rewriting feels some days like I am walking on eggshells. Every word I use, I hope they will hold me long enough for the daily journey and maybe for an hour they do or for a day or a week until I see a flaw, a mistake, an incoherent idea and they crash under me.
Therefore there were hours where all I could make was an omelet.

And I will finish quoting this last one which I really like from Oscar Wilde.
"This morning I took out a comma, and this afternoon I put it back again." 

Jig of Life

Never let us go. They said.
Never let me go. I replied.

Let us come alive.
Let us live
Through you,
For as long as we are with you, you are with us. They said.

Round and round.
Like a jig of life.


In my heart.
In my blood.
They beat, they boil,
They jost and jolt,
Those characters in my head.

Words have won.

Mental note.
When you start trying to rewrite the same passage for more than two hours then take a break.
I so wish I could follow this advice.

But I take it as a personal insult.
Mad?
Well...maybe I should explain. The problem is that they escape my control. And really they do. They slip out of the purpose I want out of them. The little tiny buggers.
And I know my brain can handle many things, and least of all ridiculous words. I am not asking it to re-create the equation of the Big Bang here, or re-invent the wheel.


You see my problem.
I am thinking why can't I get it right?
They are only words. 
I just need to put them in the right order.
Granted that the possibilities in orders are many and multiple but mind won't be beaten over matter.
It is just not right
Yet there it is.
I am giving up.
At least for today.
Words have won.

Black is dark

Another day has passed. Daylight appeared. Birds probably flew out of their nest. Cars drove out of their driveway, clouds have rolled in the sky, then daylight decreased, cars returned and night settled in and I haven't seen any of it.
No, I haven't.
Writing. Writing. Writing. Still at the love part. Still improving.
Lots to improve.
Grips of excitement running through my veins.
I will not cease, will not rest until I am done, until it is complete, until I am complete.

The Trojan Horse

This creepy slime is starting to get on my nerves!! The crawler has a nasty way of coming back in on my fondly electronic creature. Just when I have thinking that my buddy was saved, an horse came and trampled on Quelcher, a Trojan Horse that is. All over again. And cryptic in top of it.
Quelcher is at a stand still. Its red eye is constantly on, dodging its way out of the evil hooves of the native Horse with much much difficulty.
I am not blind. It doesn't look good for Quelcher. Even with AVG on and the installation of a mighty malware remover.
8 hours, 8 seconds.
That's how much it took for Malwarebytes Anti-malware to do the scan and remove 59 detected objects.
I don't know what it bites but it certainly did bit my time.
And after all this, Quelcher still takes ten very long, very long minutes to open one simple internet window. Ten minutes. A life time.
I cringe.
No respite. No relief. No ease will I get from that damn sticky slippery virus.
Quelcher is a wreck. Yet I can't abandon it, nor do I want to reload it. But Quelcher is old and maybe, maybe I should...no.
Buy...
Don't.
It is for the best.
It is unthinkable.
Yet you must do something. 
No.
Don't look back. Look forward.
I close my eyes and I see a white sleek beautiful laptop. An Apple one. The one that states how serious you are about your stuff.
That's it.  Give in...Any valid writer has one. Just one touch, one wish and I will get rid of this old garbage for you. You will never have heard of Quelcher.
I open my eyes.
I...
Yes?
Validity or fashion? I snap back
The voice shuts.
My missing puzzle piece. What am I going to do without you?

Loving it.

I have been writing seven hours yesterday non-stop. NON-STOP! I could hardly believe it although my body did. That's always what betrayed me first. Always. One way or another.
I don't do it often but this time I couldn't stop myself. This part is the love part and I get so excited thinking how the characters talk to one another, how they react to one another that I just keep at it until I turned my neck to check the clock and realized that I couldn't. Damn thing! What do people need a neck for any way?
I think of the lines they are supposed to say and I laughed, I raged, I roared
The dialogues to myself would be something like : "Yes! That's it! No, no, no. How can he say that?  That's just too cheesy. No, NO, he is horrified not frozen. And she...she can't be doing that! She is just....Crap. crap. Double crap. Can't find that word. Killing me..ah yes, got it!"

All in all, loving it.

Diplodocus

I can't mention Quetcher without mentioning Diplodocus. That's my laptop. A dinosaur. Yes.
Only 11 gb of harddrive in total. 382 mb of memory. Not even an ethernet connection built with it. You had to have a cardbus adapter. That is how old it is.

For all these reasons, I don't have connectivity and yet it is fine with me.That way, I don't get distracted with evil applications such as hotmail, facebook and other terrible socializing tools.
I can use word, excel and paint. I can put music on and the quality is pretty terrible. The melody tends to wobble.

And yet I still use it every day. I even developped a feeling towards it, close to a fondness. Maybe because it is so old and I have been raised to respect any type of antiques, whether they have two legs or four or 382 mb of memory.
So Diploducus it is because he is slow, gentle and mostly reliable, like an herbivor.
It makes complete sense of course. 

Quetcher is Alive!

Yesterday, big sigh of relief, I got my main connection to the outside world fixed.
The bug went splat. The nasty little bugger (aren't they getting intelligent?) was increasingly slowing down my machine. Ten minutes to open the control panel section.
I felt I should add a crank hand at my pc to give it a boost.
The hard drive madly kept on flashing at me with its angry red eye.
I felt watched. And guilty.
Yes I didn't watch my computer's back, the way it watched all my precious data.
I failed him or it.
Sorry, buddy. I won't do it again, I promise.
I was thinking of giving my pc a name. Why not?
After all, people name boats and cars and pets.
He is a bit of a pet to me. (Sad I know)
So I should give it a name like ...I don't know...Quetcher or something like that because it does feel like it complains a lot whether I boot him or open too many windows at a time. He is old, I sympathise.
Yes Quetcher is a good name.
And fortunately I saved him or it from an inevitable doom ( Give me 5, Quetcher! ) which is just as well because I didn't feel like formating it, nor did i feel like re-installing windows XP along with all the applications.
So  thank you AVG for saving the life of Quetcher.
Amen.

Why "Beat It?"

I realized that I forgot to explain why the Blog is called "Beat it."

One Sunday evening, not long ago ( 3 days ago to be exact) on a particular gloomy night, I was checking my emails and I had replied to everyone (more or less) and I didn't particularly want to work on the project I am working on because I was at the point of saturation but I still felt restless.

My hands were tingling. And my heart was unhappy. A low murmur came. It was inaudible at first but it became louder and it wringled within me. And then deep beneath the skin, it screamed to me.  
Write. It says. Write for God's sake. Write something. Write anything.
Really? I said. Anything?
Yes anything. It said.
Can't you see this is what you are supposed to do, what you are supposed to be. So Be IT. Beat it.
Be the writer. Be what you owe to be.


And so begun the idea, my journey to writing this blog. Every day.

Bip Bip

I never said I was going to write something great every day. I won't be writing something as beautiful as William Shakespeare or as different as Roald Dahl, as sarcastic as Douglas Noel Adams or as classic as John Ronald Reuel Tolkien.
No.  
Wait.  
A thought is stricking me. 
Tolkien had an awful lot of surnames and so did Adams.
Taking my coat. Going to the Register Office. I will just be a minute. I will make a few changes.

Freezing and slowly putting back my coat on the chair.
You are really being silly.
You will keep your name as it is and that is the end of the discussion. 


And then you will write that blog. To sink that routine into you until it becomes so ingrained that you don't even think of it any more. It will be an automated process.
Bip. Bip.
End of message. The robot is going to shut down for today.

The Deal

So what is the purpose of this blog?
To write. ( Very original. It took me years to be this original)

What is the big deal?
I have no discipline.

What is the goal?
Become a writer. A writer needs discipline. Discipline which as I say, I lack profoundly. So this is my true bet with myself. Writing every day and on that day. And yes, that means I can't write nothing for ten days and then write ten posts to catch up. That will be cheating and would go against my purpose.

How will I do it?
I will set a routine. Oh god.  The simple notion of it gives me the shivers.
365 posts.
I must be mad or sadistic. Because let's be honest here, I know there might be times where I will be away from a pc. On holidays maybe ( I hope) or tired, hungry, or deprived of a working pc because of a virus. Then how can I possibly follow my own bet?
I don't know. I will try my very best. It sounds drastic though. I should give myself some leeway. Week ends won't count. No, no. They must count.
But out of a whole year, I should be allowed for a margin of error. Otherwise I will stress myself out. Just in case there were real reasons where I couldn't write on that day. I don't know, like the world collapsing on itself, no electricity. A meteorite. 5 days. 10? 
Okay 10 days. That's 2.79% margin of error. That's nothing. Let's shake on it!

That should do.

Show me the Backdoor

The first time I decide to go serious with blogging (ever) and I mean this night of all other nights and I realize that a virus is persistently reappearing on my screen. I have already tried to get rid of it.
The little creepy bug crawls back in the weaves of my computer chip.
I thought I had smacked the bug.
Obviously not.
And the signs of intrusion are increasing.
The name of the intruder is called Cyber Backdoor or something similar to that.
I wonder: is my computer talking to me?
Is it giving me the boot already?
A subtle way to take the backdoor to this lunatic idea of blogging?
Already?
Come on! I haven't started it.Give me a chance, will you?