Simon and Sunday (Patreon)

I live streamed myself writing this afternoon. The video is available here: https://www.twitch.tv/videos/532405233

Skip ahead to the 13 minute mark or so unless fiddling with settings interests you.

What I wrote was the beginning of something about Simon and Sunday, the main characters from my novel Malagash. It actually turned out to be very similar to how I actually write, just with me talking about the process as I went over and over the text.

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Without the same internal engine as other people, Simon's smiles were little pockets of confusion in his day. He smiled at the wrong time. For too long, for not long enough. He could not correctly generate the information required. Like trying to solve for X when nobody would tell him Y. The faces of his classmates were the metric of his failures. But if he couldn't generate the smiles naturally, he could learn. He could measure the times. Movie smiles. TV smiles. A data set of how long to smile for. How long for the fade out. The width. The eyes. Take averages. Practice in the mirror every morning. Near perfect emulation.

His sister had set out a bowl of cereal for him at the kitchen table, and was gone already. Simon took the milk from the fridge, checked the expiration date, and sat. He poured the milk carefully, to the moment the cereal lifted, and stopped. Set it down to his right. The cereal was crisp and the milk was cold. He did not need a smile to enjoy the moment.

Simon washed his bowl and spoon in the sink. He set them on the drying rack. Sunday did not smile, and he admired her for it. Why did he care so much that people liked him? It would be easier not to smile at all. A relief. Smiling was meant to be an indication of happiness. not a uniform. What did it matter how he expressed his happiness? He returned the milk to the fridge and took out the lunch Sunday had prepared for him. What did it matter? He had no idea. But it did. 

Anyway, happiness was a strange idea to begin with. If he had to say which expression he most associated with happiness, it was one of concentration. Of searching for a solution, for that spark of connection that solved problems. Or the deadly serious expression Sunday wore when she was telling a joke. 

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