Something about January
First sentences are hard. I often tell people this kind of thing about first drafts in general, but I rarely get specific about the first sentence. Maybe I should, because it’s probably the worst part. First, there was nothing. Then, in this story of creation, there was… ugh, I don’t know, something?
Don’t even get me started on titles. I threw “Something about January” up there without any real intention. It is January, still; the second-to-last day. Penultimate, that fancy word for second-to-last. No one ever talks about the 31st being the ultimate day of January. Probably because the word doesn’t seem as fancy. It’s a good bit more badass when you think about it, though.
About a month ago, on the penultimate day of December, Evan and I arrived back in San Francisco after spending the better part of two weeks driving around southern California. I kind of forgot about the photos I took until earlier this week when my mom asked about them.
I don’t know how many I took; two or three hundred, maybe. Out of those I got a respectable 27 that I felt like posting on my Flickr page.
We hit two national parks: Joshua Tree for the third time, and Channel Islands for the first. The only thing these parks really have in common is that they’re both in California. In most other respects they’re worlds apart from one another.
The desert is a special place to me, even when its elements are trying their best to kill me. I don’t feel any particular affinity towards desert wildlife (though I hope every time that I’ll spot a roadrunner). I just like the space in all its arid vastness. I can’t really explain it beyond that.
The ocean is completely bewildering to me; strange, capricious, full of life. Staring into the waves has the same mesmerizing effect on me that staring into a campfire does. We didn’t get in the water, only hiked around Santa Cruz Island, but a kayak tour seems like it could be a lot of fun.
We did see a fox, though. It wasn’t shy; it seemed disappointed that we didn’t throw it a sandwich.
If you’d like to see the other 22 photos, you’ll find them on Flickr. I enjoyed taking them and hope to post more before another year goes by.
Another semester at CCSF has started up, and I’m taking two classes. I feel like that means one of two things will happen: either I won’t even think about this blog until May when those classes are done, or I’ll be writing here constantly as I procrastinate on one assignment or another. I guess I’m hoping for the latter.
I’m still editing, too. Still Draftwerking. Let me know if you hear of something that might be a good fit for someone with a fluid schedule. My motto this year, or maybe it’s a mantra, is “Less sleep, more work, more coffee.” I know, it’s kind of a depressing mantra. For some reason it motivates me.
If I were editing this post, which I’m not, I’d urge the author to bring it back to the opening theme of… uh, where was this going exactly? January, and also writing?
I’m going to deflect on that and close out with a passage that struck me just earlier today from “Coming to Writing,” an essay by Hélène Cixous that I’m about midway through reading:
Wouldn’t you first have needed the “right reasons” to write? The reasons, mysterious to me, that give you the “right” to write? But I didn’t know them. I had only the “wrong” reason; it wasn’t a reason, it was a passion, something shameful—and disturbing; one of those violent characteristics with which I was afflicted.
