My Fascination With Chess

Since I was very young, I have been fascinated with chess. This is not to say that I have mastered the game, know all the offenses and defenses, or even read books on it. My fascination has to do more with the fact that I always have this underlying yearning to play the game, to know the game, to rule the game. However, I never take the initiative toeducate myself or even play too often. In fact, I am a pretty bad chess player. I have no patience to think three or four moves ahead, as one is supposed to do. I have started to play correspondence chess with a friend in North Carolina. We have given ourselves a one-week time limit per move. Only this way can I hope to succeed at chess.

I guess I mention all this because I think my impatience with chess carries over into my writing (and perhaps in other facets of my life). I rarely have the patience to sit down and revise. I really have to work at it. I have unbelievable revelations in my head during the day. I have taken to writing these down and thank God because when I sit down at my keyboard thoughts I have had tend to fall out of my head and get lost. I think with my writing I do think 3 or 4 moves ahead, however. I definitely have a master plan. It is just the execution that I have to fine tune. I need to be able to sit there and think over my next move before I make it.

Cue Beethoven's 5th

I had my first writing workshop today. The whole day leading up to it, my extreme anxiety manifested itself physically. The actual process was agonizing to me in the moment. By the time I got home and read everyone's written comments I was in better shape. It is odd how most of the criticisms came out in the classroom, but the written comments exuded positivity. It was actually very helpful in terms of my novel. I'm sorry. I'm tired. I'm rambling in spits and sputters. Tomorrow: More on chess!

Crash and Burn

I had a literature class last night where we discussed Chekhov stories, and I am not comforted by the fact that it is hard for me to read critically. I am still reading for entertainment and get lost in the story. I am not reading as a writer and I need to break out of that.

Tonight, the first twenty pages of my novel are going to be critiqued by the class. For some reason, my stomach is not churning as much as it was yesterday, so that's good. I have much more confidence in my writing that my critical reading, and I already know exactly what I am willing to change and what comments I will secretly thumb my nose at. But, I don't know, maybe I should have more of an open mind . . .

A Gallant Gesture

I did not do much writing yesterday. I only scribbled down some scraps of random scenes and dialogue that came into my head. These were not meant for my novel, but can hopefully be incorporated into other projects one day. I am not taking any chances; I am writing down every idea that comes into my head to matter how miniscule, inane, or insane.

The bulk of my time yesterday was taken up by reading. I finished Three Years by Chekhov. In the story, he captures the essence of life's one true struggle: wanting to be "there" instead of "here" and if you have the will and get "there," then wanting to be somewhere else. It is so true that no matter where we are in life, no matter how well we have it, there is always so struggle, strife, or at least an mild aching dissatisfaction.

I then began reading some stories by Canadian author Mavis Gallant. They come from her collection Varieties of Exile. She is a very concise writer. Not a word is wasted, and she tells great stories. More much later tonight, at the stroke of midnight or thereafter . . .

Getting Technical

I have some good news and some bad news. The good news is that I changed the commenting system so that a comment requires less clicks. Also, one can add his or her e-mail and URL if desired. Further, if one clicks on the little question mark in the comment box, he or she can add an emoticon or bold or italic text to his or her comment.

The bad news is that in changing the commenting system, I inadvertently deleted everyone's comments to date . I am very sorry about this. I promise to do less tinkering and more writing in the future.

Sleep is for Losers

I fell asleep early last night and did not get any writing done. This is probably due to me getting less than five hours the night before. It is infuriating to me that the human body needs sleep. When I lay my head on the pillow, it upsets me that I am about to crap away five to nine hours that could be put to better use. Further, I have fantasize that one day science will find a way for us to avoid sleep altogether, or maybe just reduce the need to twenty minutes of sleep per day. I could give up twenty minutes. I am very satisfied after a nap, but after a full night's sleep I have this overwhelming feeling of waste.

Back on the Horse, but Found It's a Donkey

I wrote 569 words tonight. Despite not meeting my goal of 1,000-infinity per night, I am glad that I have started to write consistently again.

Once again, I must give props to classical music. I was listening to one piece on 96.3 in New York. It was kind of a combined regal and foreboding piece with lots of climatic flashes of brass. If I had to describe it in somewhat modern terms, I would say that it is the type of music one would hear as Godzilla rises out of the water and starts to destroy Tokyo. Anyway, as I was listening to this piece, I began to think of a chess game, specifically the power struggle involved. I imagined the king pieces commanding all the others and this led to a story idea. (For the uninitiated, I rarely reveal my actual story ideas, due to a vague paranoia that they will be stolen or more likely a morphed version of them unintentionally usurped.)

Once again, classical music saves the day. I was lucky enough to remember the idea when I got home and write it down. However, I think from know on I will keep a cassette recorder in my car, to record these ideas as they come, then write them in my journal when I get home.

Which leads me to my next topic: journaling. My writing professor, James Lasdun, reminded me and the rest of my class of the importance of keeping a journal. Thus, I have started to keep one once again. I at first intended it to just be a repository of story ideas, but I have found myself writing any weird philosophical thoughts that spring forth from a wrinkle in my brain. I am also trying to write down the details of my dreams because I think they are a great source for story ideas.

I will leave you all with a topic that my girlfriend and I were discussing yesterday. We had gone to visit Duke Gardens in Hillsborough. J.B. Duke a tobacco king and hydroelectric tycoon, among other things, purchased 2,700 acres of farmland and built it into his own natural Xanadu. He had over 100 species of trees imported, along with lichen-covered boulders. He had hillsides and lakes created and his favorite European statues reproduced. He basically reshaped and repopulated the whole tract of land. My girlfriend and I were kind of jabbing at ol' J.B., saying that he most have had quite an inferiority complex to go to such lengths to mold his creation and to control every facet of it. He designed a whole world. I then commented that myself and other writers do the same thing in our writing. So now I am stuck with the looming question: Do I have an inferiority complex? Am I a control freak to J.B. levels? Hmmm . . . it might explain the whole chess idea.