How Much Sleep?

 

I woke up this morning after an uninterrupted eight-hours sleep.

That may not impress anyone, but I am grateful. This doesn’t happen very often.

The somnologists, (these are doctors who specialize in sleep disorders and study optimal sleep) tell us we need eight hours and, contrary to common belief, this need does not decrease with age. What does decrease with age, or life stressors, is the actual number of hours real people get to rebuild their bodies and ready their minds for the next day.

Most nights, I manage about six and a half hours. This has become my new normal, and it never feels quite all right. On bad nights, it’s much less.

I function on four hours’ sleep. But at what cost?

When looking over first drafts, I can see where my sleep was markedly decreased. Chapters that contain many more typos or clunky articulation almost always correspond to days that followed poor sleep. Even my once-over read after that day’s work didn’t catch these sagging patches. After all, I did these reads on the same rickety days.

Too little sleep, or fitful sleep, also corresponds to burning myself over the stove and not finding my keys. Honestly, when I reflect on my chronic sleep deprivation in the months of my kids' infanthood, I wonder how I managed to keep them alive.

So, for today, I’m grateful. Wishing y’all a good night’s sleep.

About TENSION *

 

*In storytelling and in life

In a manuscript, a writer pays attention to tension. Keeping a certain level, which even when reduced must never leave the narrative, is crucial.

It’s a curious thing that in daily life most of us want to reduce tension. We want things to go smoothly and without worries. When something stresses our veneer of peacefulness, we yearn to “get back our lives,” as if our real lives are a calm sea with a lovely sailboat gliding over sweet-smelling waters.

But when we pick up a book, or start a session of movie watching, we’d quickly drop that if the tension they exude doesn’t grip us by the back of the neck.

I watch my cats as they invent chases with nonexistent entities because their lives do not include the kind of stressors feral cats and wild animals must contend with. Their make-believe play hunt and chase is something akin to what we choose as stimulating entertainment.

I doubt people who are in the midst of real-life mega-stressors would do that. So called thrillers are for the fortunate among us. Tension-filled stories are what our domesticated species made to round up life.

Just musing here, as I contemplate amping up tension in my WIP.

COINCIDENCE?

 

Or, put another way—

DO YOU BELIEVE THE ARE NO COINCIDENCES?

 

There are those who think everything that happens (i.e. the plots of our lives) are tied together in (or by) a mysterious force operating beyond what we can see. They find proof of this everywhere.

That’s the school of No Coincidences.

 

Then, others believe everything is coincidental, and marvel at what would have been had they made the slightest different choice at any junction.

That’s the school of charting on tabula rasa with meaning coming out of choices combined with blind luck.

 

When we plot and tell stories, invariably our philosophical bias on this matter comes through.

It was beautifully explored in the movie Sliding Doors. The film alternates between two storylines, showing two paths the central character's life could take depending on whether she catches a train.

*Spoiler alert!—  In that story, the surprise ending shows that ultimately things turn out the same, though the road to that ending is different.

 

This is my personal bias as well. The grand scheme is not coincidental; the mini-turns along the way hold many different possibilities.

 

Writers are often reminded to tie the plot in a meaningful way and never allow it to be a list of unconnected actions. This makes the bias of a storyteller strongly leaning to the No Coincidences school.

Thus, writers tend to be the self-selected believers in ultimate destiny.

Suits me.

The Myth of BRUTAL Honesty

 

All right, another myth busting post that hits the spot. Check it out here.

 

I especially resonate to number five. I don’t believe in brutal honesty, because in my experience those who hide behind this, (“I’m just being brutally honest”) are among the less honest people I’ve known, and they can’t even be honest with themselves about their aggression.

 

If someone cuts you down or is in the habit of cutting others down when speaking about them, honesty is rarely what is fueling their motor.

 

Well-meaning helpers do not use brutality. They point out where improvement is needed. They admit their take is their take, and not a divine edict.

 

The only honest brutes are the ones who do not hide behind a façade of helpful righteousness. They aggress and know well this is what they do and who they are.

 

The rest of the points made in the  linked post are excellent as well.

What to Wear/What to WRITE?

 

This morning, just awakened by my orange furry feline, I lay in bed and tried to think of what to wear for the day. I went over the things I have set to do and the current weather requirements. I thought of the items hanging in my closet.

I drew a complete blank.

The orange feline continued to insist. It was time to get out of bed and start a day full of this and that, which to her means mostly entertaining her.

And then I knew. I conjured the perfect attire for this day’s planned tasks. I was out of the warm bed without hesitation, raring to go.

 

A writing analogy came to me right then.

I thought about how similar it is to the days of writing first drafts. Some days I know exactly what the next sentence, the next paragraph, the next chapter is about. Specific words swirl in my head, ready to come out and dance.

Other days, I know what I have to do but no idea how to do it. It’s a white page, a blank mind, and getting going feels like time in slow motion.

 

But either way, I get dressed and get to writing. One way or another.

 

Long ago, a close relative came to say goodbye before we embarked on a trip back home.

I never remember jokes, but he left us with one so lame that it managed to stick to the crevices of my mind.

Mississippi asked Missouri, “What will Delaware?”

Said Miss Ouri to Miss Issippi, “Idaho, Alaska!”

I didn’t know it would be the last time I will see this relative.

 

Wherever you are, seize the day you were given. Throw some clothes on and get to it.