My iPhone tells me I took 5,906 steps on Wednesday, the first time in a very long time that I reached my informal goal of putting one foot in front of the other 5,000 times a day. It’s a modest goal indeed, as apparently a healthy goal is double that, but even then I am averaging fewer than 4,000 steps, for shame for shame.
The work of recovering from the big snowstorm continues, and it wasn’t until 10 p.m. that I could pause long enough to scribble in my journal and consider what to leave in this space for Thursday morning. I labored over my words for awhile, trying to be profound and encouraging and the like.
But then I looked at the Ray Bradbury quote I saved off a meme a few days ago: “The only good writing is intuitive writing. It would be a big bore if you knew where it was going. It has to be exciting, instantaneous, and it has to be a surprise. Then it all comes blurting out and it’s beautiful.”
And so I said to myself, “Self, set the journal aside, pick up the laptop and see where it takes us.” And here we are.
Bradbury was talking about fiction, of course, of letting your imagination take the wheel and plunging into the story to make it up as you go. Maybe that’s why my novels have all stalled halfway through — I have a pretty good idea where they are going, and I’m trying to fit the story to reach those endpoints.
What if — what if — I just jettisoned the ending I have in mind and see where the story flows from where I left off? What if I’m stalled because the story doesn’t want to go where I want it to go?
And look, I’m fighting myself already. “I thought you wanted to talk about the aftermath of the storm or say something to encourage folks who are going through storms of their own,” my self-editor is telling me. “And here you are writing about writing fiction.”
It turns out that riding the storm out was the easy part. Wednesday morning I drove my space heaters up to Mary’s place because her furnace chose this moment to go on the fritz, and the repair guy hopes to get the replacement part by Friday at the latest. I couldn’t stay long because I have a system at my own home that has been malfunctioning since about the time the storm ended.
I was feeling cozy and smug — you may remember — about how modern life is somewhat miraculous because we can sit at the window watching the worst storm of our lifetime as if it was a fun reality TV show. It has taken me a few days to realize that even in modern times there’s work to be done after the storm subsides, because of what it leaves in its wake.
The days after the snow stopped and the wind died down have proved to be far more challenging than waiting for the storm to pass. Hence, 5,906 steps on Wednesday or about double the distance I walked mid-storm. Who knew?
If the journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step, what begins with 5,906 steps? Could be quite a trip ahead.
(And now the photo of Dejah and Summer watching the sun set after the storm, which I chose when I was planning to be profound and encouraging, doesn’t really go with what I ended up writing. What the heck, it’s a cute picture. I’m using it anyway.)
