Vespair

Anarchy.

I write for the ones without a voice.

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no coincidence.
Etro's Knight
yoshiyuki_ly
Why is it always October? The end of October. This makes the third time in four years.

No more after this. It shouldn't need to happen again.

I found some old memories to round out a plot point for book four. Before, I had a strong idea of what the high point will be, but no clue as to how the characters would get there. That's sorted now. I had removed a bunch of private LJ entries from here for the sake of moving on from something in the past, and then I saved them in a couple of Word documents. After re-reading them, while listening to this song that spoke so much of my life at the time, I found these missing pieces that I needed for this manuscript.

At that time, I was broken, yet determined to stay on my path. The musical metaphor in this song that speaks to Antonio Vivadi's "Winter" and the blizzard there--that's what I felt all the time. The melancholic strings felt a lot like me passing through the days, the hours, the minutes, and feeling that wait with such agony. It was a constant flurry, a constant storm of conflicting emotions, although one prevailed above all else: to not run away from the uncertainty and the pain. Before this point, I didn't think I had it in me to stay so devoted to a cause that had no guaranteed outcome. Everything seemed bad. I was pessimistic most of the time. I didn't think that it would work out, and in the immediate aftermath and for a few years afterward, it didn't work out. I don't regret what I did because I learned that I do have it in me to be that way when it matters most.

I can give this to one of my characters at this point in the story that I had blanks with.

This song is a tango.

Oh... I just remembered:

Back in college, I used to spend after hours helping one of my friends with ballroom dancing, mainly tango and rumba. I lead her while she followed. She and I would get dressed up for this, too. I wore a button-down shirt, slacks and men's dress shoes while she wore a dress and heels. I was focused on perfecting the dances for my girlfriend at the time, though. A few jocks walked by the studio we were in and made some loud jokes about us dating. They had no idea. My friend and I were annoyed; we ignored it.

I can adapt those memories to be more romantic and intense for the book. Yeah, I can do that.

--

I have to keep asking myself, "What's the point?" whenever these things happen. The point so far was to point me back to my Word documents that point out the transformation I went through back then. I know it wasn't some fluke because I pulled that same thing off again at a later time in a different, if similar situation. I found this solid bridge to stand on and write from, without that other malice that had gotten in the way before. It's nice to have more to stand on.

Everything that happens, that matters, will become black and white at some point.

It took a while, but that breaking point for me--its time is finally here.

I was afraid to write from this place. I avoided it; blocked it out before. Just because it was so excruciating and enlightening all at once, I didn't think that I could find anything to relate it with as far as fiction and romance go. Then this puzzle piece snapped in today.

"This is the point!"

I love this moment, moments like these. Everything feels worth it--even the terrible, the unbearable, the impossible at the time.

I think I'll stay quiet about the rest, for now.

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