From July 15, 2020
Ha!
It's fitting that I have begun the writing today at 07:15 on the fifteenth day of the seventh month.
And that I've started it late too because the plan was to already have my site up.
But I didn't make that happen as early as I wanted to now did I?
No, I did not.
I don't know how long it's going to take me to have this little website of mine up and running, but it's going to cut into the harvest but I can take the hit today on the first day of the new writing week.
What About Me, you no doubt ask?
My name is Charles Petrie and I am the Lake.
No, I am not a lake I am a man and while that's funny here, it won't work for the About Me on the site.
So once more from the top eh?
I'm Charles Petrie and I both write and draw.
I do this each day and also like to come up with poll questions too.
Lots of all of the above.
You're joining me in the second year of what I hope to be a long journey filled with the writing of millions of words, thousands of drawings and hundreds of poll questions.
These ain't your daddy's poll questions.
But I digress, which I am wont to do.
Where was I?
I was flittering about the internet a bit as I allow myself to do other things while I fish in the very deep lake that is Lake October.
But the effort's name is October Lake(With an underscore on site).
It just sounds right that way.
What doesn't sound right though is Content Page, which I can't edit and I'm going to have page after page right, so it's not a barrier to entry.
Oh bother.
And how can I add poll questions.
Can I link to my twitter?
Yes, I can, but there's the wants and aims of the people on twitter yes?
The site building experience was not terrible site.
Thanks for that.
Though we need to talk about the lack of pollability.
I like to make polls and you don't have that ability to host them do you?
Not that I could see.
But you can't be all things to all people?
Or can you?
Lo but there it be
My Purple Tree
Which spurred me to write
The poesy
Of which I'm most proud
And I can't but say it loud enough
That I was then my best
And nothing since I've writ
Has quite so hit
As good as those
And oh how I long
To write so surely again
Though maybe just
The presence of the purple wood
Is all that made me good
And if that's the truth
Aren't I better off
Without its blessings
Because I'd feel like a fraud
To make one proclaim
Yes oh my god
You're so brilliant and bright
Why can't you write
Like it's your duty
Because this is beauty
Given physical form
She said to me
Withe eyes but brimming full
Of happy tears
As a fan of poesy
Not just mine of course
But mine especially yes
I think that I can say
Without much fear
Of contradiction
And praise it be to god
I don't suffer the addiction
To boundless praise
Like others of my ilk
As that a suffering is
One I'd hate to have
How'd I do fill in the blanks, or simply put, fans. I want to give you a name.
I'll get back to you on that.
How much am I going to write today when I've had my little launch and said launch has seemingly thrown me off my stride and I didn't write in the 1st.
And I didn't harvest much more than half a field in the time that I did write.
But the site is up because I didn't chucken out and it will be added to on a daily basis, with me back to my hard writing ways.
As for the rest of this day, it doesn't seem like I'm going to reach Camp Camareya, which is the name for the range of words between 2020 and 2399 words, which is of course a lot of writing.
And I couldn't blame him for thinking that because enlightened or not, I would have thought much the same if I had encountered a man acting like me.
“Oh my god, you're sad and totally pathetic! How can you call yourself a man and walk around ready to cower at the drop of a hat? “ He said incredulously, relaxing his hands and dropping them to his sides. Though he kept his face harsh and cold.
And I couldn't blame him for thinking that because enlightened or not, I would have thought much the same if I had encountered a man acting like me. I knew the truth of things and I wasn't even angry with hims about that. Or angry at all. I sighed. “Right now, I surely am, but if you only knew the truth, you'd be puzzled at this reaction of mine.” I said, wanting him to know about my abilities without telling him. A risky idea no doubt, but I was new to this state of life and proud of it to the point of sharing it with strangers.
Yes, you're joining the story in progress, but not to worry dear readers, I'll be headed back to the beginning of the story tomorrow as I have the first 47 days of this story to lay to share.
And I'm sure that you'll like it as much as I do.
If not more.
Hey, it could happen.
No, it will happen! It's just a question of when!
I planned to give two hours of the quarter to writing and that two hours is nearing an end and I feel very not accomplished.
And writing it like that was entirely intentional and I would fight to keep it in the edited copy.
It's time.
I'll be back tonight.
I haven't shown my best side on the first day that I bring the site online talking about my stated ability to write a million words in a year.
But that's the great advantage of having days where I write more than 3,000 words, even well more than. I can afford to have days where I lack the drive to write 2020, which I suspect is what I will fall short of tonight because I have to write in this quarter what it took me two.
Though I have more than two hours to write and tyhat's enough time , if the words are flowing well to make this the kind of day that I have striven for and reached many times in the past two years.
Yes, I'm not shy abut bring ing up my stats.
But I am striving for a balance between the practice of what some would say is undeserved sureness in an ability people wouldn't think of developing, in part because they don't think it has merit.
I disagree, it totally does have merit.
We laud and applaud people who make a milion dollars, or more in a year don't we? Even if past a certain point there's jealousy and wistful thinking, there's reason for this.
So why can't we at least tip a cap in the direction of someone who can write a million words in a single year?
1,025,805 words in fact.
If you're going to count words, precision is good.
Stories are even better and I left a lot of writing on the table so I should be heading back to Mortuvhen because the failures to harvest half a field, or five rows.
Wait what?
I grew up on a farm and though it was never going to be my life, this is why I'm saying that thinking of my writing as harvesting the fields is one of the ways as I also reference climbing a mountain with certain levels being good peaks which starts at 3,000 words.
So, not that you asked, a row is a 100, half a field is 500 and a field is 1000.
Not reaching two fields, or the even better of reaching Camp Camareya, which is the base camp for this year's mountain called Mount Umbita, is hardly me putting my best foot forward.
But I have time to keep to the harvesting of my best crop since May 29th.
Yes, you needed to know that the was the day that I began to write this story. Though I've already said that this is the 48th day so the math supports that being the day that it began.
Only we aren't all comfortable with math.
Two plus two equals five right?
“Your truth? What do I care about any truth you think you have since you are a waste of manhood and I won't be wasting anymore time on you. Just be more considerate next time because you won't be so lucky as the next person you talk back to like you did me.” He said, calming down like I was slowly being less of an ass in his eyes. Not that I cared what he thought of me, even though he lived on the same street and the idea of living on the same street with someone who was going to be hostile to me was something I was looking forward to.
“Yeah, you're not wrong.” I said, as flatly as I could because I didn't care about giving him the satisfaction of feeling like he was completely in the right and I was terrible. Not to mention some kind of loser coward. I shook my head at my fall back into something that I couldn't remember being even at my weakest of confidence. That was something that I couldn't understand.
“No, I am not wrong and you can stop talking now because you're a jerk that I wish didn't live on my street.” He said, sounding like a complete ass because who was he to claim ownership of the street.
“Tell me you didn't just claim this street as yours Drumpi? That's just too much and I'm not going to stand for it.” I said to him as he turned to head back across the street and back to his home, convinced of the rightness of everything that he had done.
He stopped and tensed his muscles, switched back to fight mode on a dime, with me still lacking the power afforded me by the grace of my nanites. He turned around and his eyes were squinted in anger that was on the edge of fury. “What is with you you stupid fraidy boy man. It's one thing to be scared, but to stand as you did before then forget that not ten minutes later and invite a wailing that you had escaped. It's also stupid.” He said, shaking his head like he was actually sorry that he had to do what he was about to do.
I know it doesn't, that's a joke.
We can still laugh at jokes right? Though the better the joke, the easier it is to laugh at the telling of one.
I've had my share of funny moments and I'm circling back to the idea of telling some jokes, though telling jokes during a pandemic will have to be done on video, instead of in person on a stage during an open mic because there's no other way I'm getting on a stage to tell jokes.
Or what I will call jokes?
Ah, joke are massively subjective.
And the day is nearly over.
In fact I have less than thrity seconds as I write this.
I didn't reach Camp Camareya.