January 16, 2020
It's Friday afternoon, Day 8. I'm sitting in an empty room, upstairs, in our house. I want to work. It is my time, my time for writing for real. Downstairs the kids are killing each other in the company of one inexperienced babysitter. I've just remembered that I did not document anything about my yesterday, that I have to cover yesterday's deeds now too and write something about Day 7…
Who cares about yesterday, if I don't? But I do. I want to record every single day to see how time slipped away from me, what I paid my attention to instead of my stated dream: writing a novel. This journal is a tool for self-understanding.
I remember doing some writing yesterday, mostly editing. I didn't read at all, went straight to bed at 9 pm because of Wednesday's "drug” consumption. I'm about to write down that I'm failing this challenge... like truly failing, especially the writing part. I use this website as a procrastination tool the way my husband said I would. I keep doing it anyway, just to prove him wrong.
This morning I swam. Great! Except that I couldn't blog while swimming, couldn't document yesterday's deeds.... So much about blogging mornings... also Abraham woke up at 7 am, but hey. What's a challenge without obstacles?
The new plan is to blog during the day whenever the kids are busy with something non-life-threatening.
And since it's Friday already:
January 17, 2010
I'm making this site with all my scribbling live tonight. Today is my deadline, this is it. I'm feeling brave like the Gruffalo's child. I will do it under cover the Brazilian darkness, quietly, so I might gain some time until you discover it. If ever.
My writing is still poor. (My writing in Hungarian, that is.) Just bad.
Back to Dan Brown's building blocks to build a novel:
1/B. THE IDEA
I decided to tell the story of our "living ghosts": the people we had loved the most but who are as distant now as only strangers can be. They are our lost ones but pretty much alive.
I start the process of writing with writing the letters that my heroine writes to her living ghosts. Baby steps… How do athletes start preparing to run a marathon? I should call up Laci. Laci Jozsa. He would know. He made a brilliant documentary on runners called Ultra. I haven't talked to Laci for years. He'd say I'm exaggerating and he'd be right, but it's not a matter of concern, because Laci is someone with whom you pick up the conversation where you left it, no matter how much time has passed.
I wonder why we let this not-talking happen though. When do we let people disappear from our lives? Why? Do we change? Do we really?
Laci is not a living ghost though. It's just that writing a novel is pretty much like running the marathon. Also I should give him a ring. It's time.