So … I got 900 hits on the blarg today. Which kinda made my jaw hit the floor — a good day around here gets me maybe thirty or so views. Nine hundred? Them’s like, real author numbers, with real fanbase followings.
But it turns out that about 800 of those came from Taiwan? And mostly within a 2-3 hour window around the middle of the day? So I guess either somebody’s cat kept swatting at the refresh button, or maybe, just maybe, posts from a dog’s point of view are just, you know, the roadkill that your dog just can’t wait to wallow in to the Taiwanese? I’m talking in questions because this is just totally confusing?
Stranger still, apparently the hits were referred from Facebook. Which is weird, because I don’t link my own posts on Facebook but once in a blue moon. Which almost has to mean that somebody else linked me on Facebook. Somebody, presumably, in Taiwan. With a pretty large following. Or a click-happy cat.
I dunno. If anybody can explain this to me, it would, you know, satisfy my seriously piqued curiosity.
*chases imaginary bunnies through imaginary fields of fluff*
(a light misting begins outside)
*wakes up*
Woorf? What’s that? *gets up, pads around the room* *sniffs at the door* *sniffs at the window* Noise outside. Probably an intruder. Better see if the humans wake up. *waits for the humans to wake up* Humans not waking up. *stares at humans some more* *nudges human’s foot* *waits some more*
Hmm. Guess it’s nothing.
*goes back to sleep*
(rain intensifies to a moderate sprinkle)
*wakes up*
Humans, do you hear that? *gets up, scampers around the room* *sniffs at the door* Nobody out here. Better bump it to make sure. *bumps the door* Hello? Cats out there? Hello? *bumps door again* What is that noise? *peers out the window* Woorf, it’s dark. Can’t see anything. Better see if the humans wake up. *waits for humans to wake up* Humans not waking up. *stares at humans* Maybe if I bump the bed, they’ll wake up. *bumps bed*
(my wife throws a pillow at the dog)
WOOF HEY YOU’RE AWAKE THERE’S THIS NOISE OUTSIDE AND I’M NOT SURE WHAT IT IS BUT I THOUGHT YOU SHOULD KNOW ABOUT IT AND…
(we are asleep again)
Humans?
Me: (mumbling) Shut up, dog.
That… that noise, though? It’s okay? Okay.
*goes back to sleep*
(rain intensifies to a bona-fide light rain)
*wakes up*
HUMANS? That noise is louder now. *sniffs the door* *looks out the window* I can’t tell what it is, but it’s definitely louder. Don’t you hear that? WAKE UP. *stares at sleeping humans* Maybe if I run five laps around the room, they’ll wake up. *scrabbles around the room seven or eight times [dogs can’t count]* Humans? *stares at humans who are determinedly pretending to sleep* Okay fine, I’m hiding from the noise in your closet.
*burrows into the clothes hamper*
GUYS? I CAN STILL HEAR THE NOISE IN HERE.
*burrows deeper, scattering clothes everywhere*
IT’S REALLY FREAKING ME OUT OKAY?
*flings a few more shirts around for good measure*
I’ll just wait here until the noise goes away.
*goes to sleep*
(rain continues)
*wakes up*
HUMANS HOW CAN YOU SLEEP WITH THAT NOISE GOING ON, I SURE CAN’T *jumps out of the hamper, scatters the rest of the clothes* I’m going to hide behind the toilet for some reason *clack-clack-clacks into the bathroom* WHOA IT’S LOUDER IN HERE that’s kind of scary I’m going to chew some toilet paper, I hope that helps *devours half of a roll and makes a nest out of the rest* whoa that looks comfy, maybe if I cloak myself in it I can protect myself from the noise *wallows in the scraps, gets most of them stuck to her body* This is fun as hell but it isn’t actually helping. HUMANS I NEED YOU *stares, covered in toilet paper, at humans, who are resolutely, definitely sleeping or at least trying to* HUMANS *takes a lap around the room* HUMANS *takes a lap in the other direction* HUMANS I THINK IT’S OUT THERE IT’S GONNA GET ME *bashes the door a few times* *stares at humans*
Okay, whatever, hope we all die.
*goes to sleep*
(rain is now a meager shower)
*wakes up*
HUMANS WTF IS WRONG WITH YOU DON’T YOU HEAR THAT
*runs about twenty laps around the room* HEY *runs about thirty laps in the opposite direction* HUMANS HELP *flings more dirty laundry around* HUMANS I KNOW YOU CAN HEAR ME *clacks into the bathroom* Ooh cat litter I’m gonna chomp some of that, that sure seems like a good use of my time right now *chomps some cat litter, LOUDLY* Woo that was refreshing, now back to business HEY HUMANS WAKE UP *more laps* WAKE UP *more laps* HUMANS *laps* HUMANS *laps* HUUUUUUMMMMAAAAANNNNNSSS
(Finally I give up and wake up)
Oh thank DOG you’re awake, did you hear that noise? Do you hear it? It’s going on right now, right outside the door and the window and the everywhere, I dunno what it is but I’m —
(I lead the dog out of the room)
Hey, yeah, it’s out here, how did you know? COME ON I’LL SHOW YOU
(I follow the dog downstairs)
THIS WAY HUMAN LET’S GET TO THE BOTTOM OF THIS
(I follow the dog to the porch door)
YEAH IT’S OUT THERE I CAN SEE IT, CAN YOU SEE IT? I CAN SEE IT IT’S RIGHT THERE
(I open the door)
*stands there, frozen to the spot*
…Oh, it’s just rain? That’s … that’s a surprise.
Me: (groggily) Well? We’re up. Go ahead. Go pee.
You … what? You want me to go out in that?
Me: (growing impatient) I didn’t follow you down here to not let you go out. Go out. GO.
*whimpers and heavy-foots it out onto the porch, then turns right back around*
It’s raining out here, dude. Come on. This ain’t cool.
Me: (really angry now) Oh, you don’t have to go pee? Dammit, dog. Let’s go.
THANK GOODNESS. It’s cold out, too.
*gleefully leads the human back upstairs*
Oh look, my bed. Man, that looks comfortable. It’s a mess in here, though. Watch your step. I might have knocked that lamp over.
*goes back to sleep*
(rain slows for fifteen minutes, then picks up again)
*wakes up*
OMG WHAT IS THAT?
#
#
#
Yeah, that’s my dog. It’s worse when there’s thunder. So much worse.
I wrote a few weeks back about how I’m teaching improv in my classes, and drew some comparisons between that practice and writing. Well, I’m teaching it again (different levels and all), so it’s front of mind again.
Writing — drafting, at least — is like improv. Virtually just like improv, as it turns out. The blank page is like the first moments stepping out onto the blank stage, not knowing what you’re going to do or how it’s going to go over.
Then, you just start shooting into the dark. I mean, you know there are targets out there: good ideas tucked in the rubbery folds of your brain, lines and ideas and expectations that might resonate with an audience. But from where you stand at the start, you can’t see sharknado. You just fire away and hope you hit something.
And maybe you hit something right away. If so, great, awesome, train on that spot and keep shooting. If not (which is almost laughably more likely), well, what? Give up? Slink off the stage and give up? Hell,no. You aim elsewhere in the dark, reload, and let loose again.
See, improv teaches us not just to allow mistakes — improv encourages mistakes. The mistakes are where the learning happens. And if you aren’t drawing a few sideways glances or jolting some uncomfortable hiccups of laughter from the crowd, well, you’re not doing it right. If you’re not drawing reactions, you’re playing it safe, and playing it safe in improv is the equivalent of skydiving from the second floor: it can be done, but really, what’s the point?
And so it is with writing. Sure, you can play it safe. But what’s the point? Much better to see if you can surprise your audience — which, in the drafting stage, is only yourself — than to sit there boring yourself to death, playing it safe and staying in your tiny little circle of torchlight.
Screw that.
When I teach improv, I tell my students to think of it like a flowchart. You try a thing. Does it work? Does it feel good? Does it excite you? If so, continue down that path. Does it bore you? Does it feel “dead”? Does your partner look lost? If so, abandon that path and try something totally different. Then do it again. Does this work, or does this suck? Readjust, and press on. Readjust, and press on.
Reload, and shoot into the dark again.
The blank page is no different. If anything, it’s easier: you have the infinite safety net of as many drafts as you need to get it right. The absolute worst thing you can do in an improv is to give up and stop trying, and so it is with writing. And yet, that’s exactly what too many would-be writers do. It’s what I did for the past decade: sat back thinking how much I’d like to be a writer, but lived in fear of actually doing it.
Again, screw that.
Load up your word-cannon and shoot into the dark.
Worst that can happen is you miss. (Actually the worst that can happen is you hit a bystander, but y’know — if that happens, just aim away from the screams and try again.)
But as long as you keep shooting, you can’t miss forever.
This weekly remotivational post is part of Stream of Consciousness Saturday. Every weekend, I use Linda G. Hill’s prompt to refocus my efforts and evaluate my process, sometimes with productive results.
Welcome. This is my page for sharing projects associated with my coursework in Media and Technology at the University of West Georgia. Assignments will be posted here as they are completed.
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