the pieces of my life

I’m going backwards! I had inspiration this morning on my run, and realized that the structure I had thought I’d do on my novel was not sustainable, so I’ve switched tracks. So now I’m down to 1,639 words, but I’ve got this weekend to up my numbers. I’m much more excited about my new ideas, which will make it much easier to drag myself to the computer to write them.

Word count: 2,659. How much of it makes sense? Ah, who cares? I only need to hit 50,000. “No plot? No problem.”

Nanowrimo word count: 1706

Went to see the opera Rusalka last night. A Czech opera based on a number of fairy tales, most recognizably “The Little Mermaid.” A new thing at the opera. The lights went down and we waited for the overture. But then the lights came up and the orchestra started to play “The Star Spangled Banner.” Everyone, of course, rose and sang. Then the lights went down and the overture began. Slightly surreal. Wonder if they’ll continue to do that. Anyway, I toyed with the idea of using the plot for my novel, but really, I’m writing about myself. Although, I could work it in there. The opera was beautiful, and I enjoyed it (well, except for maybe that part in the second act where I fell asleep, but really, it was more about my being tired than about the opera). At first, I was feeling incredibly tense and aggravated about work, but slowly I was able to sink in and watch. The set design was spectacular, and they created a lake on stage that truly looked like it was filled with water, when it had to have been no more than plastic and lighting. Dinner at Racha first and then Mentos during the show. Opera is the only time I ever eat Mentos–it would never occur to me otherwise, but it’s become somewhat of a ritual since Andy started buying them years ago. We figured out last night that this is the fifth year Andy and I have subscribed to the opera. Doesn’t seem that long. Looking over a list of past operas, we both agree that we have little memory of the ones we enjoyed, but the ones we despised really stand out. Florencia of the Amazon was painful, inspired by Gabriel Garcia Marquez, whose writing I adore. Wagner I despire. Long, boring. But the ones I enjoyed–the lighter Mozart pieces, Lakme, Faust–I have a hard time remembering the story lines. I can only remember bits and pieces of the scenery.