A Sudden Storm of NaNoWriMo

I would have liked to get caught up to at least the beginning of the current quarter but when I think about how busy my summer was, that's not going to happen.  As busy as it was, my summer didn't involve powerful emotions like those associated with the loss of a cat or grandparent.  Without those emotions to fuel the wood stove of creativity I find it more difficult to write about my own life.  In addition, NaNoWriMo has been sucking a lot of my time, energy, and words.  I still want to do justice to a recapitulation of my summer, though, so I'm going to postpone that tale until next week...  or whenever I get around to writing it.  Instead I'll just give an update on NaNoWriMo, post a sonnet and call it good for the week.

Here I am, in the middle of the second full week of 1667 words per day and I'm barely hanging on to the bullet train that is NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month).  This is my second year doing NaNoWriMo and my second year deciding on a story at 11:30 pm on October 31st.  It was a bit of a slow start but now that my plot has clicked in my mind things are moving along.  But I don't want them to.  Coming up with plot has never been a problem for me; where I struggle is in description and character development.  But trying to work on what I suck at can be problematic when NaNoWriMo's only purpose is to get words on the page -- a lot of them.  Whether they're total crap or not makes a rat's fart of difference but I as sure as taxes better make my word count for the day or things of a terrifying and inexplicable nature will happen.  So when it comes to deciding between sitting here for an hour struggling with a paragraph of description or blazing ahead and leaving the essence my story far behind, I choose the latter.  I have to remind myself that NaNoWriMo isn't just about writing a lot of words, it's fighting through a paragraph of description here and there; it's closing all seventeen of those YouTube tabs and opening up a blank document; it's, for one month, devoting yourself entirely to something most people would have to be crazy to do (oh wait...  never mind) while at the same time not forgetting to eat, do homework, go to your job, talk to family, acknowledge friends, etc.; it's getting better at the process of writing -- if not writing 50,000 words then maybe 35,000 or 3,000.  As long as new words are being created and a story is being told, I've succeeded.

Current Word Count: 20,394 

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Apart from spending time with family and friends, one of the things I miss most about Minnesota is a good ol' Midwest thunderstorm.  Living in the Seattle area ensures plenty of rain but very little thunder and lightning to accompany it.  Even though my first trip (of two) back to Minnesota this past summer was only for a few days, the storm gods answered my prayers.

The wall of wind hits first, shaking the trees to within an inch of their life.  Some can't handle it and soon many small branches and a few larger ones litter the ground.  Inside the house, looking at the chaos through a pane of glass, it's nearly silent; only the muffled rustle of one hundred thousand leaves brushing against one another as they whip back and forth and a faint whistle coming through the crack under the back door can be heard.  Then there's an intense flash of light immediately followed by a sonorous boom and the soft tinkle of dishes in the cupboard.  When I step outside the wind whips at my t-shirt, trying to whisk me away along with thousands of leaves that were too weak to hold on.  I stand firm, exhilarated by the darkening sky pierced by bent batons of light conducting the cacophonous roars of one hundred angry giants.  The wind soon dies down but is succeeded by a deluge of rain.  I stand under the overhang watching the rain fall in heavy sheets. Before heading back inside I step out from beneath the overhang long enough to get my hair just wet enough so that droplets of water can caress their way down the side of my face and the back of my neck.  Once inside, I sit at the kitchen table sipping a hot cup of tea and listening to the placid pitter-patter of heavy raindrops overhead and the rumble of distant thunder.



Summer Thunderstorm

Divine one blissful thunderclap so few
Allow to crash upon in silent waves:
Omnipotent applause. As here with you
I lie not even clouds obstruct my gaze.
Auroral lightning flash afore our minds
Moreover blinds excessive sense absolved
By ribbons of torrential rain and winds
Around us gust the only ones involved.
Immersed in tides far more than falling tears,
Now drowned beneath euphoric hearts entwined
Beyond tornados twirling fate in peaceful years;
Eternal dark dispelled by flames mankind.
Within this flood forever snug and warm
I watch this passing Summer Thunderstorm.



I can't promise anything but I'll do my best to get, at the very least, a recapitulation of my summer classes written for next week's post.  Until then, I'm logging off.  There's a story to be written.  Have a great rest of your week!  - NLD

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Liked this post?  Didn't like it?
Leave some feedback and let me know why!  I'm always seeking to improve.
Thanks for reading!

Unpublished material, ©2013 Neal Digre

The Truth: A Change of Plans

Okay, time to try this for the third time.  I started out writing this post about how I thought that in my two previous posts I favored one grandfather over the other.  I intended to use that as a springboard to write about truth but less than two paragraphs in, I couldn't think of anything else to write.  I realized that I couldn't think of anything else to write because the truth was illuminated in a light shade of blue and a single keystroke; I deleted most of what I'd already written and started afresh with a new angle and an anecdote to prove my point.  I got three and a half paragraphs in before Blogger decided it hates me.  I mean seriously, how does hitting the undo button delete everything I'd written in a previously saved draft of the blog?  Thank God I'm not doing something stupid like going to school for Computer Science in order to get a job intimately working with computers for the rest of my life.  Oh, wait... that's exactly what I'm doing.  So here I am writing this post for the third time after four episodes of Archer, a thousand more words in my NaNo Novel, a peanut butter sandwich and a few shots of tequila (just kidding, Mom).

And if you're worried I've forgotten, I'll conclude the epic saga, "The Past One and a Half Years of My Average Life," next week but I just had to change my plans a little bit to work this out with myself.  Once I'm done with my introspective/philosophical blogna and if you didn't stop reading after that terrible pun, there's a sonnet waiting for you.  Okay, now I'll get to what I actually want to write.

While it is true that as a child I was always more excited to see my paternal grandparents because they lived so much further away and, hence, I didn't get to see them as often, that doesn't mean I cared about one grandfather more than another.  But it was on this uncertainty, in addition to the fact that I didn't have the same reaction when my maternal grandfather died as when my paternal grandfather died and a few sentences that didn't make it into the final drafts of my previous posts, that I tried to base my argument.  Even though I edited out those sentences for a reason, they lingered in my mind and festered.  I asked myself, "Could it really be true that I cared about one grandfather more than the other."  So with this post I set out to seek the truth.  Like I said, my failed attempts at writing about it was enough evidence for me but I'll break the rest of it down for you.

My primary internal conflict came from the fact that I didn't (and still haven't) really cried for my maternal grandfather.  But there are many variables -- variables that have nothing to do with the amount of love I had for each grandfather -- that go into my tear ducts.  When my paternal grandfather passed away I was also dealing with the struggles of my first quarter of college: making new friends, papers, exams, projects, upcoming finals.  In comparison, I wasn't in school at the time of my maternal grandfather's death so the absence of that stressor made things much more emotionally manageable.  But because the only other major loss in my life was accompanied by a total mental breakdown I thought that because I didn't experience one when my maternal grandfather passed away meant I somehow cared about him less.  I now realize that the mourning process doesn't work like that.  It's different for each person; for each loss.  Another variable is that I was unable to attend my maternal grandfather's funeral but was able to be there for my paternal grandfather's.  Being surrounded by hundreds of other people mourning the loss of the same person makes the tears flow a little easier, I think.  Not only that, but my dad and the rest of his family have always been very emotionally strong people.  They were there to be strong for me, allowing me to lean on them and cry if I needed to.  When my mom's father passed away, she was stretched emotionally thin as it was having just celebrated her eldest son graduating from college and moving out into the real world; I had to be one of the ones she could lean on.  Similarly, when I went to spend a few days with my grandmother before going back to school for summer classes, I felt that I needed to be strong for her.

There may come a time when I subconsciously decide I no longer need to be strong and will allow myself to cry -- to mourn -- for my grandfather, but that aspect of the mourning process just hasn't come for me yet.

Both of my grandfathers were very, very special people.  Certainly, they each had their own areas of grandparenting at which they excelled and personalities that made them very different people but I loved them both the same and couldn't imagine what my life would be today if I hadn't had the privilege of knowing them both for the extraordinary men they were.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I was also going to write something philosophical on the subject of truth but I decided these last few posts have been long enough already.  In place of eight extra inches through which you'd have to scroll, I wrote a sonnet:



Traveling East

The sun traverses cobalt skies but in
Its rightful place is standing still, while ants
Below the earth are swept away by wind;
Among them spiders try to hide but can't,
By ninth commandments they abide; a bright-
Eyed youth perceives it all through outcurved lense;
The contradicting paths of those upon
An anthill layered deep with sands of sense,
That coalesce to form one paragon --
Unknown except to those of passage earned;
Now traveling west to where we'll never come;
It seems so far away yet if he turned
Around, it's little more than twelve steps swum.
Though multitudes of things the bright-eyed youth
May never know, he only writes the truth.



If you only want to read this blog for the poetry (I'll completely understand if you do), from now on just skip down to the second section.  I sincerely hope, though, that you'll start/continue to read the journal section of my blog.

That's all for now, so have a great rest of your week and if you're doing NaNoWriMo, don't give up!
- NLD

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Today would have been my Grandpa Benson's 87th birthday.
Happy Birthday, Grandpa.  You are profoundly missed more than I can express.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Liked my writing or blogging skills?  Didn't like them?
Leave some feedback and let me know why!  I'm always seeking to improve.
Thanks for reading!

Unpublished material, ©2013 Neal Digre

A Long Time Coming

This post has been a long time coming.  Though I have posted here and there it never amounted to more than a few sentences.  I wanted my first post in a long while to be a good and proper post and not some feeble, four-lined "I promise to post something soon," devised in the company of a lazy 18-year-old's excuses.  I'm 19 now - almost 20.  And I'd like to think these past one and a half years have made all the difference in the world.

One and a half years ago -- when I was too busy studying for tests to write (ha) -- I told myself that once AP tests were over I'd get back to writing.  My AP tests came and went, yet I did not resume my writing.  My high school graduation fell upon me but I didn't capitalize on any of that stuff called emotions and write a single line of poetry; I didn't write during the brief respite before I started packing my life into boxes for the move out to Washington -- even when long forgotten memories made an appearance in the form of ties I wore to dances or doodles drawn in the corner of my biology notes.  Not long after, most everything I'd known in the first 18 years of my life became nothing more than a fading horizon in my rear view mirror.

I, oh yes, I was a soon-to-be college freshman and nothing in the world could scare me... Until the night before move-in happened.  To my utter and complete amazement, life, the real world, and my own inhibitions hit me like a sack of alarm clocks fired from a high powered water cannon.  Drenched in my own excitement, anxiety, optimism and misgivings I somehow made it through my first few weeks of college as most college students somehow do: hyped up on caffeine while drowning themselves in new people, new clubs, new classes, Halo 4, Angry-German music, and exploring the new freedoms of living away from their parents -- all just to keep their mind off how someone as stupid as them could possibly think they belong in this academic world of people far more intelligent than them.

As time went on I found a group of friends and started to fall into a comfortable routine of class, schoolwork, YouTube, Doctor Who, sleep, repeat and, on rare occasions, venturing beyond the confines of my dorm room to try those crepes or Russian dumplings I'd heard so much about.  Classes too became easier and less stressful with each passing week.

While many of my fellow freshman found enjoyment in getting drunk in a crowded apartment where nobody knows you and no one would remember you anyway, I became a moderately content, introverted student, finding happiness in reading, YouTube, and even a little writing. Still, at the back of my mind discomfort lingered; I somehow thought I was incompetent and too stupid for college.  I pushed it down, though, and simply set to work on my next six hour Calculus assignment or five page paper.

I attempted NaNoWriMo and managed to balance 39,204 words with classes and homework before I was dealt one of the shittiest hands in the history of a college freshman.  I was feeling confident I'd win NaNoWriMo, having just broken 39,000 words the weekend of Thanksgiving. The day I got back to school, though, I got a call from my dad saying my grandfather had just passed away.  Being so far away it didn't seem real at first.  I felt sad, yes, but the grief didn't really hit me.  All my other insecurities did: the pent up feelings of incompetence, a three hour Calculus exam, finals in two weeks.  All this in addition to the first major loss in my life made that week after Thanksgiving a struggle.  I coped, though.  I made plans to get back to Minnesota for the funeral, I studied the best I could for my Calculus exam and tried to focus on one thing I needed to get done at a time.  Very slowly, though, it sunk in that I just lost my grandfather -- a grandfather who always found his greatest joy and pride in his grandchildren and made us his highest priority at the many Christmas and Easter gatherings, school concerts and plays, weekend visits and family reunions, never forgetting to bring his many quirks I found so endearing and an endless stream of stories.  I began to feel down but it wasn't anything I couldn't handle.  That is, until the five page honors paper I hadn't started yet was due in 24 hours.  At ten o'clock the night before it was due I began to experience minor panic attacks and by midnight I couldn't even look at the Word document let alone think about writing three more pages without shaking uncontrollably and feeling like my head and throat were collapsing in on themselves like some old building that had just been dynamited.  I called home and between many tears my mother helped me calm down and decide that the best thing to do was try to forget about school for the moment, email my honors professor and ask for an extension on the paper.  Even so, I didn't get much sleep that night.  But I lived through it.

With many tears, hugs, stories, and laughs I made it through my grandfather's funeral and -- with more tears, an emergency nine o'clock pm ride to Mom's house, a lot of encouragement, hot chocolate and hard work -- made it through my finals, specifically, the two three-page papers for my honors class.

Though Winter Break provided respite from my worries, it did not dissipate all the apprehensions left over from Fall quarter.  In the days leading up to re-move-in, I again suffered from small panic attacks and couldn't stop worrying about homework I didn't even have yet, in particular, the first paper I'd have to write for my next honors class.  The first few days were hard -- much harder than the first few days of Fall quarter.  But through the process of finding ways to cope with the stress I found a new group of friends -- a group of people that accepted me into their friend circle and made me feel like I fit in when most everyone else had already found their niche by the fourth week of the previous quarter.  While a friend group I felt comfortable with was helpful, it wasn't enough; I decided to get some counseling.  I came out of my first session with the desire to not only control the stress in my life to prevent another breakdown but to understand the stress that inevitably will invade my mind and body no matter how much I prepare for it.  The only way to do that was to understand myself.

The honors class that at first was so stressful soon became an aid to philosophical thought, introspective thinking and my favorite class of Winter quarter.  In addition to trying to understand my mind I took up climbing and swimming laps in an attempt to understand my body.  With the development of good habits and a fresh view of the world, school, and myself I made Winter and Spring quarters some of the most fun and rewarding moments of my school career thus far.  It wasn't always easy but I worked hard and took life one thing at a time, all the while developing an appreciation of self.  I do what brings me happiness, and if that includes other people so much the better, but if what I want to do on a Friday night is plop my butt down with a good book and cup of tea, well, by golly that's what I'll do.  Even those activities that are frustrating and taxing -- like de-bugging a program or rock climbing -- provide their own brand of happiness; the euphoria when I finally get a program to work or finally ascended that route I'd been working on for a week is worth it.  

I've learned to not be afraid of what lies a mile ahead of me and instead focus on what is at my feet; it is only by one step at a time that we as human beings may traverse great distances.

 -----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

When I started writing this post I intended to cover everything from the end of my senior year of high school to the present.  As I kept writing and writing and writing, though, I realized it was becoming far too long for a single post -- and I haven't even gotten to the sonnet! -- so I decided to break it up into two posts.

This is obviously a transition post for me.  I'd like to transition from this being just a blog of poetry and more a blog of my life, thoughts, and experiences, which is more of what I intended when I originally created the blog but I fell into focusing just on the poetry.  My journals will probably not be this extensive in the future but I'm definitely going to try to do more of it than I previously did, even if I don't have a sonnet to accompany it.  It is my hope that by doing so I will get into the habit of writing a little bit each day.

I appreciate you having read this far and I only ask that you bear with me a little while longer so as to allow me to introduce the sonnet.  It is the sonnet I wrote in the first few weeks of my freshman year -- the first sonnet I'd finished since before graduation.  As a part of the "getting to know your floor mates" process, we were all asked to put something up on the bulletin board that describes who we are using the acronym SIVS (no it's not a disease).  It stands for Skills, Interests, Values, Strengths and this is what I wrote:



SIVS

Like pleasant murmurs heard from humblest rill,
Regard such discourse that which I observe;
Peripheral voice in silence speaking still
With skill and care, for that what's said preserve.
Expanding knowledge -- this is my pursuit;
Of land, of lore and more, of me, of thee,
I'll learn such forms from those far more astute.
Reveal perspectives few would deign to see.
Conflagrant suns emit creative light
Upheld by values deep engrained.  Should dark
Pernicious clouds obscure this inward sight
A runnel new shall wash away the blight.  Hark!
Amidst all these, a multitude of strengths --
Conviction.  Aye, for this I'd go great lengths.

 -----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Liked my writing or blogging skills?  Didn't like them?
Leave some feedback and let me know why!  I'm always seeking to improve.
Thanks for reading!

Unpublished material, ©2013 Neal Digre

The Happy Hare

I hope everyone had a great Easter!  I know it's a bit later than when I usually post but that's just because I had to finish writing this one today.  Due to the rather rushed circumstances this may not be my best work so it should provide ample opportunity for any constructive criticism you care to offer.  As far is my Easter weekend goes, it was permeated with food, family, more food, sleeping, procrastination on my homework, and my inability to concentrate long enough to write something so I'd say it was a semi-successful weekend.  I hope I'll be able to regain some semblance of a normal writing schedule this week so I won't have to do this whole last-minute business again next week.  However, the ever approaching AP tests may put a damper on my desire to write so heads up I might have to put a hold on the sonnet writing for a few weeks.  Even so, I plan to post at least a little bit about my week and perhaps some of my non-sonnet previous work.  Until then, I"ll just focus on writing as much as I can before my brain becomes more fried than a cheese stick at the Minnesota State Fair.  I hope you enjoy this week's sonnet.  I spent a whole three hours on it!

I'm not quite sure how I wrote what I did...  I guess I was sort of looking to write a spin-off of my sonnet from a couple weeks ago but it kind of turned into its own entity.  Enjoy!

The Happy Hare

Abiding laws intrinsic compass ere

Ne'er bear the faultless fleshy hare amiss.

Resilient dances round all thicket snare

Beholden hare in certain snug abyss.

Moreover dare should happy hare collide

With hapless stray. Now seeking sustenance

Whereto both boxing kindred feud aside

This teeming fount of wholesome corpulence.

Survive? the two beseech aforesaid such

Existence cheap, albeit one, indeed!

Far more than any other. Winner clutch

Subsistence such yet not in that of greed.

If hitherto I writ effect dismay

In you, let pass, tis naught but Nature's way.

Completion date: 4/11/2012

Unpublished material, ©2012 Neal Digre

If Thou Art Perfect

It's that time of week again!  I know I shouldn't make excuses for not writing much this week, but... I have been rather busy "preparing" for a large Calculus test.  I had one section today, I have another section tomorrow and then two more sections next week; so I might be rather busy... watching videos of Hitler freaking out when he gets his AP Calculus test results.  But I actually have to do some writing this week because I'm to the point where I'm writing week to week and don't have any sonnets stockpiled.  Ooo the pressures on! ...not really.  

One thing I would like to mention, though, is please, please, please leave a comment or constructive criticism for me either on this blog, the Facebook page, or you could even tweet it @nealdigre.  My main intention in creating this blog was to get a little feedback so I can get better at this whole sonnet writing thing, so any comments you have would be greatly appreciated!

I guess I don't have much to say about this sonnet other than you may have to brush up on your Greek mythology in order to catch all the allusions.  I hope you enjoy it!

If Thou Art Perfect

If thou art perfect as yon Daffodil

Affixed aside the glossy crystal pool;

If thou art perfect as set sails instill

Triumphant monarch's incidental rule;

If thou art perfect as created wings

Of Crete produced for man where gods have flown;

If thou art perfect as a thousand kings

Aligned, exalted mortals each their own;

If thou art perfect as Discordant's pet

Crown prince of Troy: the apple arbiter

Of greatest due; if thou art perfect

As gods; invoke thy thunderous harbinger.

Mere mortal art thou full of vanity?

By God! Imperfect thou wert meant to be.

Completion date: 3/28/2012

Unpublished material, ©2012 Neal Digre

Compendium

It's been a busy week for me so far.  I had a research paper due on Monday and that was a bit of a time vacuum so I didn't have too much time to write sonnets.  Even so, I got one written so I'm pleased about that!  Other than that this week has been pretty normal for me so far.  Oh! Yesterday I read a fantastic book that I highly recommend:  Marco and the Red Granny by Mur Lafferty.  She is also the host of a podcast I listen to - "I Should be Writing" - so it was fun to support her by buying her book.  She mainly discusses writing fiction (something I would like to get into a bit more).  I would like to start work on a short story some time in the near future, but for the present I'll just keep on with my sonnets.

I wrote this sonnet as a bit of a description for this blog... maybe?  I don't know, I just wrote the dang thing.  I hope you enjoy it!

Compendium

To find the place concerning sonnets look

Inside thy soul, thy heart, thy astral mind.

Therein confined discernment freed which shook

Apart somatic chains your self aligned.

This modest quest commenced by those who dare

Disgorge the thoughts concealed and locked away;

Assemble purpose mid these lines to share

And ne'er apply the black and white to gray.

Although innate prismatic turns inflame

The misty path, the trail thus chosen, scribes

Alike know not from whence Ideas came -

The spring that spouts elixir you imbibe.

Unearth this place; so write of gods, of queens,

Of slugs, of man, and all that's in between.

Completion date: 3/4/2012

Unpublished material, ©2012 Neal Digre

One-hundred Words

I'll just get right to the sonnet this week.
When I finished the two sonnets before this one I noticed that the word count was hovering around one-hundred, so I decided I wanted to try and write something with exactly one-hundred words.  This is the result:

One-hundred words

One-hundred pleasant words in silence spoke

Among dear treasured friends. One-hundred truths

That faintly yell of chords they may invoke;

No ballad soft e'er dim the eyes of youth.

One-hundred discordant reflections: each invent

Their own. The mirrored souls of all compose

This garden God has sown; discern the scent

Of florid blossoms wan in their repose.

One-hundred senses Earthly bound nest high

Above all time and space. Amid this place

Still buried deep, so deep beneath the sky,

Unearthing injured figures – your embrace.

My love for thee as free as soaring birds,

I dare not limit these one-hundred words.

Completion date: 2/25/2012
Unpublished material, ©2012 Neal Digre