Salamander
Fire Walking

I’m still taking in textures, still surreptitiously fingering the velvet at Coldwater Creek and playing with the coffee beans when nobody is watching. I’ve lost a little of the manic optimism that I was carrying earlier, and I’ve lost a little of the crushing depression that set in last week. I’m somewhere in-between now, tethered to reality. The tether is strong, but there are days I feel like Tom Cruise in the Mission Impossible movie, dangling inches above the ground after a free fall, not quite trusting that the rope is really going to hold.

Frack. I wish that movie had somebody other than Tom Cruise in that role. I absolutely hate having him as a point of reference when I’m waxing otherwise poetically. Ruins the entire flow. Let me try it this way instead:

I’m still taking in textures, still surreptitiously fingering the velvet at Coldwater Creek and playing with the coffee beans when nobody is watching. I’ve lost a little of the manic optimism that I was carrying earlier, and I’ve lost a little of the crushing depression that set in last week. I’m somewhere in-between now, tethered to reality. The tether is strong, but there are days I feel like Ethan Hunt in the Mission Impossible movie, dangling inches above the ground after a free fall, not quite trusting that the rope is really going to hold.

That feels better, but who the heck knows who Ethan Hunt is? If it wasn’t for Wikipedia, I’d have no idea what the main character’s name was. I suppose readers could get it by context, but the text is still missing that smooth flow. The reader scans along, hits “Ethan Hunt”, has a “who the heck” moment, continues reading, gets it from context, then moves on. Not the literary experience I had in mind. Upon reflection, this might be what I’m going for:

I’m still taking in textures, still surreptitiously fingering the velvet at Coldwater Creek and playing with the coffee beans when nobody is watching. I’ve lost a little of the manic optimism that I was carrying earlier, and I’ve lost a little of the crushing depression that set in last week. I’m somewhere in-between now, tethered to reality. The tether is strong, but there are days I feel like that guy in the Mission Impossible movie, dangling inches above the ground after a free fall, not quite trusting that the rope is really going to hold.

That’s the right feel. Doesn’t break the mood by mentioning Tom Cruise, doesn’t give any “huh?” moments like Ethan Hunt, goes straight to the scene and not the star.

This is why I don’t write many entries any more. By the time the first paragraph is finalized I’ve forgotten what it was I wanted to say.