Thought du jour

I was asked today what I did over the weekend. I couldn’t come up with much, but for the first time in a long time, I was thrilled with what little I did accomplish. Namely, I spent an incredible amount of time each day at the gym with my fitness fanatic brother and to our delight we found the place practically empty on each occasion. How nice it was to spread out, work at my own speed without feeling claustrophobic or smothered by sweaty, body-odor-challenged members who always seem to pick the machines right next to me, even if five of the same are available elsewhere.

And after several grueling editing sessions, I finished a chapter of what may one day be my first book. I fully accept the possibility that the whole thing may eventually be chucked or rewritten beyond recognition, but it’s a start! If it survives, it will most likely fall somewhere in the first third of the grander story line. It was suggested that I dive in to the middle of my story and create a scene, any scene, without thought of what comes before or after, without concern of proper character introduction. Assume your reader already knows who your characters are, I was told. That they already understand a few basics of the plot.

It was exactly the approach I needed to get something down. I think I had been so intimidated by the idea of the first chapter and the need for chronological order that I pressured myself into a deadlock.

However, writing that one chapter was no piece of cake. Having worked in journalism for so many years my writing style is firmly grounded in objective, simple and straightforward language. I found I’d write a skeleton of a scene and need to fill in the colour, develop my characters and paint the picture I saw so clearly in my own mind. And I’d need to do it in a clever, subtle way, without making it obvious that these things were there. I can’t tell you how hard this was for me. Peeling back years of post-secondary education that had trained me to do the exact opposite was a humbling experience. I’ll never take the written word for granted again.

* * *

Try as I might to avoid it, next Thursday is Valentine’s Day and I wish I could just close my eyes and get it over with, like running full speed through a cold sprinkler, or bolting over hot coals. Don’t ask why those analogies were the ones to come to mind. Unfortunately for me, working at the paper has required me to deal with gag-me Valentine Day-themed editorial, contests and advertisements these past few days so my experience with the day of love will be slow and drawn out, to be sure.

If it’s not obvious already, I am single and will not be marking the occasion with anyone special. I’m trying this year to understand my hatred, and the hatred so many other singles have for V-Day. In past years when I was single the day would pass without incident. Who cares, I’d say. Let the lovers do their thing. Buy expensive roses and cheesy Hallmark cards, cinnamon hearts and teddy bears. I valued my freedom and independence more than any of those things.

I believe that certitude is beginning to waver and plain jealousy is to fault. Some people claim that they can’t stand public displays of affection. Others claim the commercialization of this and every other holiday is a travesty upon the day’s original signification. And some just can’t stand the colours red and pink.

I bet a good portion of the people who hide behind such excuses are really only jealous that they don’t have someone with whom they can revel in the day’s frivolities. I can say with a debased surety that I now fall into this category. On behalf of all lonely singles and in the spirit of equal rights, I may lobby my MP to give us a similar day in the sun.

* * *

I’ve known some people in my time who complain about friends who never call. But then when pressed, it’s discovered that the lack of communication goes both ways. If no one makes an effort, then no one can complain, because both are at fault and whatever so-called friendship they had should be accepted for what it really is – a polite acquaintance. It’s always been a pet peeve of mine to hear people complain about such situations when they themselves are just as much to blame.

Recently though, I’ve decided that in some circumstances if you reach out to these friends continually without reciprocation, you should be entitled to a trial blackout period during which your friend’s dedication is put to the test. Sit on your hands, see if they call. See if they write. All it requires is a bit of patience.

You may be surprised by the results.

Or lack thereof.