All that is now, is become was. By the time the now that I am describing has gotten into my eyes & ears, wormed its way through my brain and mind and found its way through my fingers into the www it has become the past. My now, has already become your then. Even if I write about the sound of the keys going up and down, it is still past and has passed.
How can I reconcile the immediacy I feel about the things I’m doing now, with the sense that it is slipping away into oblivion (or a dim flicker of memory to be evoked dimly at some future time)? How can I capture the now now, without feeling that the only thing remaining in the cage is old now?
And if I can’t even keep the now fresh then how much more difficult is it to dredge up a feeling or thought from my youth in order to show it off brightly? Impossible?
But what are we talking about here? Are we really wanting to record things as they are? Or are we wanting to make something better? Fiction is not fact and memory is not the same as the construction of a memory from the things we have in our minds now.
Today adds a layer of jam to the bare bread of yesterday’s memory. The things we know now are bigger and better than what we knew then. We learn, we grow and we generate more from the less that was.
Write me a fiction based on the contents of the last evening you spent alone in your house, apartment or room.
What are you going to tell me?
About the numb death of the two hours (yes, we both know it was closer to four) you spent in front of the TV? Or will you describe, in technicolor or otherwise, the three times you went to the toilet? Perhaps you will tell me about the four times you went to the cupboard or fridge to fetch more snacks? And yes, we both know that neither of us want to remember the time you spent picking dead skin from your toes or dry bogies from your nose or fresh lint from your clothes; so we’ll not go there.
Or instead will you tell me about the high points; the things that stand out in your mind? And will it be something real, or something you’ll embellish and polish up so that it’s brighter than real?
Life is not dull other than when we think (and tell) it so.
It’s your choice.
Tell me what you will.
I won’t judge.