Writing Diary 001

12 July

I promised myself that after I beat Dark Souls, I would pick up the newsletter again. Today, I finally beat the game. Now I have no excuse: I have my writing time back.

I’ve always “had” this time. But I feel inspired again. I’m going to go back to Eno’s diaries and get back on his frequency. I’ve grown cynical about newsletters over the years, but I miss talking to the people in my life, especially those I don’t get to see in person anymore or less frequently. We’ll see how this goes.

13 July

“You realize, of course, that everything I say is horseshit” - Kurt Vonnegut. True artistic freedom.

Good writing this morning. Moving on from some of the shorts that I’m stuck on and focusing on the drafts already closer to the finish line. Some distance will help with those other ones.

Heard a song from a band I’ve often made fun of and loved it. Counterpoint: Could any song sound terrible in an LA sunset?

Good running day. I feel my back getting stronger again.

Mondays are my anti-social days, but it was a good, productive Monday. Wood reminded me that tomorrow marks my third anniversary in LA. What strange, wonderful years. Thankful. To live a life that’s seen an LA sunset is a lucky one.

Caught up on The Rest is History’s recent Odyssey episodes (loving the paid no ads subscription; I’ll stick with the podcast, since, respectfully, these are not the most attractive guys ever on YouTube) while having a lovely glass of $3 wine.

14 July

LA for three years. Thankful. Also, Bastille Day; interesting that France fell apart so hilariously during the World Cup semi-final against Spain. Plenty of fun jokes online about how the French never work on holidays.

OK writing this morning. A lot of setup for more meaningful work tomorrow. I love all these character backstories—they’re getting in the way of the story. “Could be a footnote” should be one of my new writing rules.

Started Dark Souls 3 tonight. We’ll see.

Moments like this make me think I could also write at night … or at least, I can do different kinds of work. A little wine after a workout day doesn’t hurt.

Rewatching YouTube clips of Sean Bean in Troy … a small big movie with great moments. Funny seeing pre-Succession Brian Cox in a bad wig.

Talked to Emily while she was in Cambridge. Couldn’t make it to a friend’s reading in Los Feliz tonight—by the time I would have gotten there after work, it would have been over. Usual LA tragedy.

15 July

Boring but good progress. The current story I’m working on has side characters with more agency than the protagonist … but that’s also kind of the point? That sounds so strange to write. Cruel, even. At least I know what I need to cut tomorrow. It’s a nice feeling: to know exactly how you’re spending your writing time and that you’re spending it well.

This week’s heat wave is putting everyone in a bad mood, including me. A crushing England defeat. Argentina makes for great underdogs and boring villains. At least England knows how to act like a villain—which is fun in sports.

Felt so tired after work—what’s the point, what’s the future to be, etc—that I finally started my Sopranos rewatch. An excellent if clumsy pilot—I get how weird this must have been to watch on TV in 1999.

Enjoyed the night with wine and an impromptu Baldurs Gate 3 session with the guys. I should stay away from frozen foods.

16 July

Forgettable writing day. Bleh.

A new idea: “A Grown-Ass Man’s Guide to Autism.” Something to counterbalance all the shit I’m seeing from dumbass influencers online. None of the writing I’ve ever done about being on the spectrum can come close to the reach of some idiot on Instagram … but I have to try.

Other new idea: An LA-specific zine. I have an idea. Is it too early to share …

Dinner and drinks tonight with a good friend. A hot night, and I picked a too-sour beer—the water tasted better.

17 July

OK writing this morning. A calm (?) weekend ahead.

18 July

A rare writing Saturday. I woke up feeling like crap (back pain, back with a vengeance), so I needed to do something fun for myself. Good writing, too. The kind of writing that makes me want to keep going.

The rest of the day, frozen by indecision. The trouble with LA: much harder to make spontaneous plans. It’s like you have to plan ahead by weeks. I also blame my back.

In the end, I finally went to the new LACMA wing. It’s a tremendous space, and everyone and everything inside is ugly and fashionable. The Bacon and Matisse were the exceptions.

A word that keeps coming up: “Leverage.” ChatGPT took so much leverage away from writers (my “good enough” theory strikes again), so trying to reassess where I now have leverage in my professional and creative life. Even in non-AI times, this answer would change over the years … my goals in my 20s aren’t (and shouldn’t) be the same goals in my 30s. Still, in my worst moods, I’m still tempted to believe that I peaked early and am just going to spend the rest of my life cushioning the soft blow of tampered expectations of my creative life … but I also know that’s a trap.

I stopped the Greene audiobook. A lot of “no shit” advice that’s still valuable, if condescending. (“Hey, that thing you do that you know you shouldn’t … just, like, don’t.”) It’s strange how I’ve come to love a few podcasts but am still pretty cold on audiobooks. Maybe because most of the books and writings I love actually don’t sound great when read out loud. I love how words look. I love the simple yet devastating power of a well-executed paragraph—the building blocks for the mind to activate and engage with ideas and the world around it. I wonder who I’d want to read my own audiobooks one day …

Some more Dark Souls 3.

Trying to get inspired by these new side writings. Just need to shut up and do it. “Waiting” for inspiration = the death of a million OK ideas that could have been good, even great.

Thank god for stretches.

19 July

Back pain even worse today—almost as if the past eight weeks of physical therapy never happened. I felt like the progress was good and lasting, too. Maybe my back is stronger … a poorly timed pinched nerve? I hate the bad mood that physical pain puts me in. My smile gets sour. I still wanted to feel productive, so I finally did some closet and bathroom cleaning. I must have been a funny sight: holding my makeshift heating pad (a large, tied-up sock filled with rice, heated in the microwave for two minutes) while breaking down cardboard boxes and deciding which clothes to donate and which ones to maybe send to a nearby tailor.

Caught up with Emily, back in London after a weekend in Edinburgh.

A boring World Cup finale. What a weird, unnecessary halftime show; this is what it must have felt like to watch football in Ireland. Got interesting towards the end, at least. Football remains the only sport where every game feels vital—I’ll check in with the Dodgers and Pacers once we approach the playoffs.

Solo dinner at Dan Tana’s, another spot off the LA bucket list. Chicken parm was good, as they say. My tall, lanky server, who looked and dressed like a Robert Altman extra (he wore a bowtie but didn’t look like a jerk), spotted my Denis Johnson book. “Ah, someone reading a book,” he said, “instead of a fucking phone.” Padded me on the back (my OK side, thankfully). Felt like a king the rest of the night. Overpriced (expected) and wonderful atmosphere; I think classic LA spots have aged better than classic NYC spots. All are a dying breed.

A good sign: I was thinking about how the intro to my current story was making me feel, particularly the one image that kicks off the chain reaction for the lead. It’s getting close to something that might become decent.

Feeling good about the writing journal so far. We’ll see how this goes.

“The reason conservatives cohere and radicals fight: everyone agrees about fears, no one about visions.” - Brian Eno

-b