With a finger of Haku vodka and the rest unsweetened cranberry juice, I type away on my laptop while taking periodic sips of my simple homemade cocktail. It’s supposed to rain, pour today really, but there’s not a whisper of raindrops yet.
I just finished lunch, steaming hot rice topped with tuna and mayo mixed and a sprinkling of Tajín. Is this what happens when you get older, your taste suddenly evolves, and you crave absolute bitterness and savory flavors? I’m not sure. But I am sure that the end of week one of NaNoWriMo went unexpectantly well for me.
For October, I’d been writhing with anxiety, unsure what my upcoming novel would be about. But now, with only a few thousand words down and a fuzzy picture in my head, big surprise, it’s gonna be about witches.
It’s easier than I thought to create something from nothing. The ideas that flow in the back of my head take on an existence of their own. Without careful planning and the millions of compartments that occupy the space between consciousness and my imagination, the hideaway desk that is my mind would be a wreck.
Besides taking an hour to two hours a night to scrap together the minimum word count (or more, if I’m willing), I’ve spent most of my time reading. For the first time in over two years, I have enough time to read and read more.
A Deadly Education (The Scholomance #1) by Naomi Novik
No Nature: New and Selected Poems by Gary Snyder
A Court of Wings and Ruin (Book #3) by Sarah J. Maas
I’m gravitated towards Fantasy recently and slowly spinning around poetry as usual. Nothing changes. This is far from unusual for me. And sadly, with Halloween 2022 now over, I’ve got the rest of San Francisco’s mild yet wet Fall/Winter to look forward to.
The fog hangs low, and there are dead leaves strewn on sidewalks and streets here and there. Walking through Chinatown, the Transamerica Pyramid often comes in and out of view as I walk southbound on Stockton Street. On most days, a good portion of it is hidden by the fog; on others, the soft lighting and bright colors of the century-or-so-old buildings in the forefront create a pleasant contrast.
Yes, there are days when it feels like I’m walking on a Bladerunner set sometimes, and other times, I get the sense that I’m traversing through a mystical city hanging in the balance between the sea and the rest of the land mass that is North America. Somewhere in between, close but also far away.
There’s plenty of inspiration to go around this city and more than enough details to invigorate a fledging novel. Dead baby sharks for sale on a street corner, pigeons with one foot or crumpled toes hoping in the gutter, a white cat in the window of an herbalist shop, hanging roasted ducks…I could go on forever.
Are you participating in NaNoWriMo this year? I want to hear from you. You can connect with me today on nanowrimo.org ~ my username is alinahappyhansen 🙂
Want to get a feel for my novel?
Below you’ll find a link to my WIP’s Pinterest Board visuals and the playlist I’ve been listening to as I write.
My cup of chamomile tea is cold. I glance out the window down at Saint Mary’s Square. I’m on the seventh floor of a nearby building in a community space typing away on my not-a-Mac laptop. It’s Saturday and the sun is out and blazing. The sun mixes the humidity in the air with aromas of the city streets: trash, piss, smoke (both cigarette and joint). I’ve been living in San Francisco for months now and I’ve let the city consume me, so now it’s time for a writer’s reflection.
When it’s hot like this I want to stay inside and sit near a large window. I want to observe people moving around like insects below, so I’m doing exactly that. Meanwhile, the tourists come in waves. They’re like migrating herds of mammals as they parade around downtown. Clogging up the street I live on, packs of touring families block sidewalks and gape up at the buildings. It’s getting harder not to run into them when they keep shifting like seagulls on a beach.
Do you like poetry? Feel free to browse a few of my poems HERE.
Where the Writer Resides: An Apartment in the City
My fault for choosing an apartment downtown. But I’m learning to deal with it because the tradeoff for being close to everything is worth it. I still haven’t lost my “rose-colored glasses” about living in San Francisco and in this writer’s reflection you can expect me to babble endlessly about how much I appreciate living here. Compared to Salt Lake City, I still consider this place a paradise with it’s own pros, cons, and complexities. Over a year after moving here, I’m grateful I made the jump. Waking up and realizing I’m in a city I actually want to live in adds to my happiness and I need every bit I can squeeze out.
I see the trees down in Saint Mary’s Square swaying in the wind. There’s a couple sitting on a bench. A family of three hunched over a red bag on another bench about fifty feet to the south. An empty stroller sits near a banana-yellow slide on the playground. I can’t spot a kid but I assume they’re there somewhere.
Radiohead: The Music Reminds Me of Living in San Francisco
I’m doing my best here. I tried listening to new music today but something about the way the sun hit made me return to Radiohead. Maybe it’s how it feels living in San Francisco that reminded me of Radiohead? Now, I’m listening to Pulk/Pull (True Love Waits Version). Remembering times over a decade ago when I sat on wet grass in Oregon.
A Writer’s Reflection Turns Into Time Travel
Memories brim to the surface and erupt. I’d sit outside for hours listening to hundreds of tracks on a brick of an iPod. Reveling the sounds as dense flog crept into the trees. Meanwhile, rain drops splattered on leaves. The wet chill that wormed under my jacket, my clothes, and into my bones. As the bugs and creatures scuttled in the greenery. The ivy choking trunks of pines, and birdsongs that echoed off the mist.
Look at me go, the words almost turn into gibberish, what a cliché writer’s reflection.
But I’m not trying to dwell on the past. I’m forcing myself to look toward the future and stay optimistic about everything. Although I have one eye on the news about Ukraine and the other scanning updates on laws passing in Red states. Despite the people’s concern about inflation, about gas prices, about this about that. I feel that t’s all compounding into a nonreality that I’m struggle to comprehend. However, this started over two years ago with the pandemic. I had no idea how to process it because I’d never experienced anything like it before.
Interested by my ramblings? You can skim more of my writer’s reflection about Life During COVID-19
A Writer’s Concerns About Everything Out of Her Control and Living in San Francisco
Now I’m concerned I’ll have to live through another coronavirus in my lifetime. I worry that hundreds of thousands more will die in and ignorance will yet again spur hatred and death. But this is all out of my control. Firstly, what am I doing to stay grounded? To not spin off into a spiral of worry over the possibility of a World War III? In this case, I’m writing, writing bilge, free writing the shit out of my mind in hopes of feeling an ounce of release. But at the end of the day, at least I’m living in San Francisco.
Where’s the Alina from Years Ago? What’s that Little Satanic-Obsessed Writer up to?
It’d be easier if I didn’t give a damn. Where did jaded Alina of ten years ago go? I must’ve misplaced her. Is she still nestled in the dog-eared pages of Anton LaVey books? Is she hiding behind my bookcase still crammed with texts on witchcraft and folklore? Where the hell did she go? I’d like to run into her today, although I doubt she’d be living in San Francisco then if she had the chance. A change to hear what she has to say, but she’s somewhere else now probably scribbling a writer’s reflection of my future self that’s been lost. In this situation, she could be rummaging in the back of my mind for a creepy storyline to whisper to me between sleep and dreaming.
Photo of the author Alina Happy Hansen taken in May 2020 by Dallas Basta
How many selves do we shed? Do carry with us? How many blend and morph into who we are now? The things we loved then, are some of those passions with us now? What’s “growing up” in a world full of adult-children? I don’t think a lot of people actually know who they are. I don’t think the majority of people have goals, or values, or have their shit together, this isn’t breaking news.
Alice Tumbles Down the Rabbit Hole: A Writer Spins Out in Observations
Based on my observations, no one knows what they’re doing. If they say they do they’re trying to convince themselves that they have control. There’s very little in our lives that we can actually manipulate to our advantage. I’m not gonna give the lemons into lemonade cliché, that’s bullshit. What I’m obsessed with right now is acknowledging when I don’t have control over something. I have to let go and focus on the small pieces that I can work with. Consciously working toward controlling the way I think and react is helping me deal with it all, and living in San Francisco has been an invaluable setting that allows me to appreciate where I am and how far I’ve come already. If you’re in a similar spot, try it out and tell me what you think.
I’m touring Radiohead’s Kid A Mnesia album as I write this, I’m on Pulk/Pull Revolving Doors. What are you listening to? Reading? Thinking about? Are you writing your guts out like me to cope with the world around you? Leave a comment below, connect with me, and let’s chat.
