DEATH IS ETERNAL #408

2,800 words

There’s something curious about beginning to write the following DEATH IS ETERNAL before publishing the previous one. Maybe it’s the feeling of time-travelling, or maybe it’s the feeling of writing too much, or maybe it’s both and even more feelings that I still can’t quite get my head around. Be as it may, it’s Monday (July 1^st, 2024—Happy Canada Day!) before noon, and DEATH IS ETERNAL #407 is still 5:30 hours in my future, even though when you read this it’ll be a week into your past... You know what? It’s definitely the time-travel feeling that makes me feel what I’m feeling—and will always feel—as I write this newsletter before even publishing its predecessor. Anyway, enough, let’s begin...

Contents

1. BENEATH THE WAVES

2. Writing: rhythm

3. Bye!

4. Life (from July 1 to 14, 2024)

5. Reviews #285 and #286: TRUE DETECTIVE: NIGHT COUNTRY and OPPENHEIMER

6. The end

1. BENEATH THE WAVES

“Don’t you ever get frustrated?” Raya asked, sighing as she removed her scuba gear.

Already out of her gear, Katherine sat in the corner, trying to catch her breath. The day had been gruelling, or perhaps it was just her age showing. She watched Raya, who had been in the water with her since the beginning of their shift. The rookie didn’t appear tired; if anything, she seemed eager for more, her youthful energy radiating from her every movement. Katherine couldn’t help but smile at Raya’s enthusiasm despite the exhaustion.

“We’re underwater gardeners,” Raya said, her voice steady, full of dedication, and filled with passion as she peeled off her wetsuit. There was no hint of fatigue. “We plant kelp, attaching their holdfasts to the rocks. We do this every day. It’s our work, our world.”

Katherine understood the unspoken question but chose the path of least resistance. Conversations had a flow, like the ocean, and she drifted along. “If that frustrates you, then maybe you should find a new job. Something with desks and cubicles?”

“That’s not what I’m saying,” Raya replied, her voice edged with determination. Despite knowing the team supported her, she often felt the need to prove herself, to show she belonged. The weight of imagined expectations bore down on her, a silent challenge from the veterans Raya so profoundly admired. They seemed to watch her every move, perhaps even betting on when she’d abandon the sea for a more comfortable life on land. The struggle was real, and Raya felt it every day.

“What I mean is, every day we come here to plant kelp, to reforest the ocean, and every day it feels futile,” she continued, her emotions teetering on the brink of tears or rage. “We see the kelp we attach either drifting away or, worse, dead. The ocean keeps getting warmer, so much so that our gear now cools us instead of keeping us warm. We’re trying to save a dying planet while those who could truly make a difference have already given up. So, don’t you ever get frustrated?”

Katherine sighed deeply, a sound that seemed to echo her years of weariness. She had lived with frustration for the past 36 years, ever since she started reforesting kelp as a teenager. Fueled by youthful idealism, what began as a summer job led her to marine biology and ocean ecology and then to the complexities of climate change. As a tenured professor, she developed the definitive technique for planting kelp and pioneered ocean reforestation. Her work had a significant impact, and she had achieved nearly everything she set out to do. Nearly.

“Professor?” Raya’s voice trembled slightly, afraid her words had crossed a line.

Katherine sighed deeply. Her eyes closed for a moment longer before she opened them. They held a flicker of fire, a will that had refused to die despite the constant weariness. Her life had been a tapestry of frustration, yet she clung to the promise she made during her first kelp planting: “Save the oceans.” This promise, made in her youth, now carried the weight of a lifetime of dedication. And she was not about to give up on that promise.

“I understand your frustration, Raya,” Katherine began, her voice unexpectedly vibrant. “But you’re still young, and I don’t mean that as a criticism,” she quickly added, noting the flash of irritation in Raya’s eyes at the word “young.” “You have energy and passion, but you also have impatience. That impatience can drive you, make you fight, but it can also blind you.”

Raya, now undressed, sat down, captivated by Katherine’s words. The professor’s voice had something magnetic about it, drawing people in like moths to a flame.

“You don’t understand why the world doesn’t see what you see. I get it. I was like that once. It’s a maddening kind of frustration, but it drives you to shout, to make people notice. And if you don’t shout, no one listens. Believe me, I know.

“But yes, I do get frustrated. Despite all my academic achievements, my life has been one long string of frustrations. I can’t remember a time when I didn’t live with it. The very work that defines me academically is used to justify the ongoing destruction of our planet,” Katherine said, a truth she had never voiced before. “My kelp planting technique was meant to be a temporary solution to help cool the waters. Yet, people saw it and said, ‘If we can replant, why worry if it dies? We’ll just replant.’ They treat kelp like a houseplant. If it dies, just replace it.”

Raya was left speechless, the weight of Katherine’s frustration rendering her unable to respond.

“My life’s work was meant to save the world. That’s what I set out to do. But now, it’s being used as an excuse to keep destroying it. So yes, I’m frustrated. All the time,” Katherine admitted, the weight of her words nearly bringing her to tears. Her frustration was palpable, a heavy cloud in the room that no one could ignore.

Raya began to ask, “So why do you...”

Katherine cut her off, standing up and preparing to leave. “We keep fighting. We keep planting. We keep trying to make a difference, no matter how small it may seem. Because what’s the alternative? Giving up?”

The end

2. Writing: rhythm

Photo by Ardian Lumi on Unsplash

In my journey through writing, I’ve come to understand the profound importance of rhythm—or perhaps, more aptly put, routine. It’s a delicate dance, this endeavour of putting words to paper, where establishing a consistent pattern can mean the difference between prolific creativity and frustrating stagnation. The sense of accomplishment that comes with establishing a writing routine is genuinely inspiring.

I’ve wrestled with this truth firsthand. There was a time when my writing thrived only under the looming pressure of deadlines. DEATH IS ETERNAL and other submissions to my cohort kept me on track, driven by external demands rather than intrinsic discipline. But recently, a shift occurred. I found myself writing not just for obligation but out of a newfound habit. Daily routines became my anchor, enabling me to craft newsletters and delve into short stories for literary journals with ease. And I must confess, this sense of control over my writing is truly empowering.

Previously, my approach was rigid. I reserved Sundays for marathon writing sessions, believing that compressing all creative output for DEATH IS ETERNAL into a single day would allow me to write everything else during the rest of the week. Instead, I found myself trapped in a cycle of procrastination. Now, I’ve parcelled out the newsletter throughout the week, forcing myself to engage daily. But here’s the catch: I don’t need seven days to pen the newsletter. This deliberate restructuring has proven effective; even without imminent deadlines, I sit down to write with a renewed sense of purpose because daily writing has become part of my routine.

Yet, maintaining this rhythm is precarious. A minor disruption—a demanding week at work, a holiday break—can throw off my stride. Recently, such a setback occurred, and I faltered. The routine I painstakingly built over months crumbled within a week, leaving me frustrated and disheartened. But resilience, I’ve discovered, lies in the ability to rebuild. The determination and strength that come with rebuilding a disrupted routine are genuinely inspiring. A single productive day, spurred by the energy of a holiday morning, was all it took to reignite my momentum. Now, I find myself back in sync, pushing forward with my writing projects.

Building this rhythm demands more than dedication; it requires self-deception at times, tricking oneself into habitual creativity. It demands unwavering focus to avoid derailment, knowing that once off track, the road back can feel daunting. Yet, the reward lies in the foundation laid—a solid routine that, once established, provides a resilient framework. With this structure in place, interruptions become temporary, and returning to the flow of words and ideas becomes second nature.

So, yes, crafting a writing rhythm is arduous. It demands discipline, adaptability, and a touch of self-trickery. But with persistence and a steadfast routine, the ability to rebound from interruptions becomes a testament to the strength of that foundation. It’s a lesson learned through trial and error, reminding me that the true challenge lies not only in establishing the rhythm but in the fortitude to reclaim it when life disrupts the cadence. It’s a testament to the power of self-discipline, the ability to stick to a routine even when it’s challenging, that ultimately leads to a successful writing practice.

3. Bye!

Here’s where we say our farewell to the free subscribers. If you want to read the rest of DEATH IS ETERNAL, consider becoming a paying subscriber. If you already are a paying subscriber, first of all, thank you very, very much! And second, I’ll see you on the other side of the paywall.