Beautiful weather. Finally. Even the thunderstorms are beautiful, to me. Something about the unharnessed power, the raw energy, inherent in the shift of seasons, draws me. And if the combination of damp and cool air didn't chill me to the bone, I'd sit out on the porch and watch them rage and batter against the constructs of humanity as though attempting to purge a disease from the land.
Unfortunately for the writer in me, that energy doesn't translate directly to inspiration. That may be largely a result of increased distractions and complications being thrown my way in the past week. Or that could just be a convenient excuse for my inability to dredge up sufficient intrinsic motivation to sit down on my ass and type out the words. Although...I'm typing this. So for the time being, I'm using the (at least moderately legitimate) excuse that I'm filling my tank with energy and inspiration to be engaged at some later date (in the near future, one would hope/expect).
Have been brainstorming plot points for FOAT's sequel, as well as Blood Red. And Le Trunk. While the first is still in the most intangible stages of concept and planning, I've been mulling the finer points of repetitive mindwiping, and those qualities and aspects that define a weak psyche versus a strong one. Would knowing you were unable to recall things, that they had been taken from you and you were thus incapable of regretting anything you had/had not said or done, be easier than carrying the burden of such knowledge for yourself and another, knowing you would forever do so alone?
I've not decided yet which psyche would be the one to break first. Knowing that you have lost memories that you would consider important -- knowing that you agreed to have it done, repeatedly -- seems to me to be the worse of the two scenarios. Knowing you've left another to the burden of remembrance, and though they may shoulder it willingly it will one day soon prove to be too much.
How much is too much?
I've decided it depends on how deep your commitment and devotion to an individual is. Neither is specifically related to "love" in the baser, more acceptable, sense. I think that these aspects are the qualities that have greatly fallen by the wayside in our culture and society.
I think that's probably enough depth for one day. Or at least for the moment. So I'll leave you with a quote.
"One's religion is whatever one is most interested in." ~J.M. Barrie, The Twelve Pound Look (1910)
Obviously, my religion is writing. ...What's yours?