An Author's Day

Time Unmeasured
         Through the haze, he could see it was a small town situated in the hills. Roads and houses snaked up hillsides like serpents made from Lego bricks. The houses’ colors were muted, as though no one wanted to stand out. There were many browns, off-whites, pale yellows, and tans. In the valley, where all the hills converged, was the town square. There were four roads around the square, one leading in each cardinal direction. At the center of the square stood a large marble fountain. Once gleaming white, time and pigeons turned it to a dull mix of brown and gray. Every activity in town centered on the square; it was the main meeting place for everyone in town. Or, it would be if anyone was in town. It was abandoned, but not dilapidated. It was a sunny day, but everything was hazy. An angry buzzing split the air, deafening in its intensity.

Early Morning – 5:30 A.M.
      The author slapped at his alarm clock until the offending noise stopped. He’d been having that dream again, the one about the town that seemed familiar, but didn’t exist. The one in which no one lived. Rolling out of bed, he thrust off the covers. The cold air hit his naked body causing all the hairs to stand on end.
         Yawning, he padded across the hardwood floor. Somewhere in the darkness, a cat squeaked at him. He ignored it and made his way to the bathroom. Flipping on the lights was like shining a spotlight in a drunk’s eyes. Blinking away the pain, he got into the shower.

Morning – 6:15 A.M.
      Showers.
      Water, refreshing, warm.
      Wake the sleepy.
      Droplets without form.
      Clean the dirty.

Morning – 7:30 A.M.
      The author flipped on the TV to provide background noise while he fixed breakfast. A movie was playing: Cool Runnings; the movie about the Jamaican bobsled team that participated in the winter Olympics. Taking a last bite of his bagel, the author glanced at the TV and smiled wistfully at the image of John Candy. He clicked off the TV; it was time to get to work.

      He sat down in front of his computer and looked at his bookshelf while his PC booted up. The green leatherette binding of The Hobbit stuck out against the red leatherette cover of The Lord of the Rings. Amidst all the paperbacks and generic-looking hard covers, these two staples of fantasy literature looked like priceless tomes of arcane knowledge. His mind went to the opening line of The Hobbit, “In a hole in the ground, there lived a hobbit.” It was so simple; it was hard to believe that it helped spawn an entire genre.

      The operating system flashed on and he opened the word processor. What should he work on first? Sci-fi or fantasy? The author wondered if it was unusual for him to have two novels in the works at one time. Did other authors do that to provide themselves with some variety? He stared at the stark, white screen and his mind drifted…

Morning – 8:15 A.M.
      Traffic.
      Honking, swerving and dangerous.
      Rude people cut you off.
      You swear, they gesture.
      Primal communication tells all.
      A necessary evil. The workers’ purgatory.
      All must survive to fulfill the call
      of the workplace.
      But no more than an unpleasant memory now.

Mid-Morning – 9:45 A.M.
         The author’s daydream was broken by the harsh ring of his phone. Hello? No, I don’t have that one. I probably should get it, huh? OK, I’ll look online. Bye. He opened his browser and navigated to Amazon.com. Looking through his choices, he pondered if it was worth spending $45 for the deluxe edition of a book, rather than $17 for the regular version. The content was identical. He chose the cheaper one and congratulated himself on having the discipline to not have the flashiest version available when the plain-Jane version would work fine.

Mid-Morning – 10:30 A.M.
Clickity-clack. Words appear on a screen. Snap-hiss. All is lost. Pop! Power returns. Damn. Start over. Save often.

Mid-Morning – 11:45 A.M.
         The author was back in the groove. His fingers flew on the keys, like a hummingbird on speed. He could see what he typed:

         It is a world of magic and high adventure. The nation of Hyrn is still recovering from a war with an evil sorceress known as the Witch Queen. Widely believed to have been slain in the final battle nearly twenty years ago, her undying shadow lurks still in Tornluck Tower, waiting for the right moment for revenge. Prince Byron Blackthorne, heir to the throne of Hyrn also fell in that battle. His mother, Queen Lisa Blackthorne, died of a plague that the Witch Queen cursed the country with as she breathed her last. The King, Liam Blackthorne was devastated by this double loss and has sunken into depression and a growing madness. The remaining son of King Liam, Seth, is an irresponsible womanizer. His father has pushed him away, feeling Seth is worthless and not worthy to succeed him.

Lunchtime – 12:30 P.M.
White blossoms bloom in the spring.
Red globes grow in the summer.
Harvested in fall. Enjoyed all year.
Fruit of the Garden. Downfall of man.

Early Afternoon – 1:30 P.M.
         Returning to his computer, and the work that awaited him, the author pondered what to write next. He closed the file he was working on and opened his sci-fi story notes. He was creating a sci-fi universe with a fully-fleshed out history. Smiling, he wrote about the protagonist:

         Hallic Kayne is from a planet called Devorus, a planet covered by vast oceans and many small island chains. Colonized thousands of years ago by humans, Devorus developed no sentient life on its own. Devorans are still basically humans, though they tend to live a bit longer (200+ years). Hallic is a lieutenant in the Sector Ranger (Forge sector) division of the Devoran Defense Force. The Sector Rangers the basic unit of law enforcement in the galaxy. Hallic is a distant descendant of Emperor Kayne I, and is 20th in line for the throne (though he has no political ambitions). He currently serves as navigator and weapons officer of RV-327 (Ranger Vessel 327, a Remora-class scout ship). His specialties are Security, Diplomacy & Race Relations, and Vehicle Weaponry.

Early Afternoon – 2:15 P.M.
Ideas.
Pressing against your skull.
They cry out for attention.
Get them out! Get them out!
Your head will explode.

Mid-Afternoon – 3:30 P.M.
         The room was quiet. Silence was broken only by the tapping of fingers on the keyboard. Tap. Tap. Tap. The author could stand it no longer and retrieved a CD from his collection. Waiting patiently for the music to start, he rested his finger on the volume control. Adjusting it to his liking, the author returned to work. He closed his eyes. The music spoke to him in ways that only his mind could see. He let it take him on a journey of wind and strings.

Mid-Afternoon – 4:15 P.M.
         What about plot? Revolution has been done in a lot of stories, but how often is it seen from the losing side? What if, the protagonists fought for the losing side, yet the winning side was not cast as a villain. Could such a story work? The author considered this possibility.

Late Afternoon – 5:30 P.M.
Taking a Break.
Stop working. Grab a DVD. Just a thirty-minute show. Insert disc. Press “PLAY”. Narration: “Space…it seems to go on and on forever. Then you get to the end and a gorilla starts to throw barrels at you.” Laugh.

Early Evening – 6:15 P.M.
         The author sat back down at his computer. Something made him look back to his days in high school. They made the class read To the Lighthouse, by Virginia Woolf. He hated that book.

Early Evening – 7:00 P.M.
         Working again, the author started a new chapter in his sci-fi novel. He was just writing bits and pieces now. Probably, some of the pieces would be thrown out and the bits would be combined. He could hear the voice booming over loudspeakers in his head:

         “It is a red-letter day! A day that will be remembered for all time! After thousands of years of being lorded over by those who are born no better than us, but believe themselves superior, we are finally free! It is…” Hallic turned off the holo-projector in disgust. These Republicans were endlessly pontificating about what a great victory they had won against their “oppressors.” The trouble was, it had been several generations since the last oppressive Emperor had set on the throne.

Evening – 8:00 P.M.
         Politicians.
         Pontificating. Self-important.
         Unimportant rhetoric.
         Speaking endlessly.
         Smarter than The People.

Evening – 9:30 P.M.
         The author sighed as his finished up his work for the day. Would writing out histories and background help? He hoped so. It was a lot of work, and got him nowhere closer to having a completed manuscript. Shutting down his computer, he stretched and got ready for bed.

Time Unmeasured
Sleep.
Drift away into darkness.
Relax your body.
Your mind journeys without you.
But you don’t remember.