Today is our dog, Oscar's, second birthday. He's a sweet cuddle-wookie, and brings a lot of joy to our family. I love him, an our daily walks and playtime are as important a part of my days as breathing. Enjoy a picture of the handsome fellow.
He's a good boy.
Tonight, he will be joined by Midge, our new puppy. We are picking her up this evening. Oscar has been lonely since we moved and our roommate took the cat to Florida with her, so hopefully he and Midge will become fast friends.
I'm not looking forward to the housebreaking and sleep interruptions, but Meg said she'd take care of it as much as possible. Worst comes to worst, I'll just work until I'm so exhausted I'll sleep through anything.
Speaking of work, I didn't do any novel writing again yesterday. I'm a little stressed about my resistance, and I'm going to have to move myself to a tighter schedule with less distractions next week. I've been using the blog to get the day started, and it does get me writing after, but I want the full two hours in the morning for fiction writing, which means the blog has to move to the end of the day. That was my original plan anyway, so it's about time I stick to it.
Structure is definitely my friend. I fight it like hell, though. I'm still adjusting to holding myself accountable in all this, including being my own boss, and it's a lot to handle. I'm managing, and I keep telling myself it will get easier as I get used to it.
I suppose wishing things would go smoothly is like politely asking a fire to stop burning and expecting it to listen. Life is chaos a the best of times. There are plenty of ways to deal with it, I'm sure, but those break down into two camps for me. One is to be flexible and take each day as it comes. I did that for a long time, but I never prioritized the things that were truly important to me.
The second is to instill structure and discipline come hell or high water. I'm getting better at that, and my productivity has shot up as a result, but I'm still not where I want to be. I suppose I have to keep working at it until I am, but man, I wish I had some experience to draw upon. A stint in the military or a decade studying a martial art might come in handy right now, though I'm sure there are plenty of folks who have their shit together in those areas only to have the rest of their lives be a train wreck.
Listen, life is pretty good. I'm my own boss. I've got a great family, fantastic friends, and a couple of cool pups. I have a nice home, a yard to enjoy the occasional beer in, and a good solid reading chair. I'm actively pursuing my dreams.
What else could I ask for?
If these are the dog days, I want to be a dog forever.
I had a good day off. Ate breakfast after the blog, hung out with the babe, went to visit the new puppy we are adopting, who will hopefully be coming home Friday or Saturday, rolled a bunch of games of Strat-O-Matic Baseball while watching "The Bad News Bears," staring Walter Matthau. Then we got some Chili's takeout and watched "Death of a Salesman," a made-for-television movie staring Dustin Hoffman and John Malkovich. After that, walked the dog and went to bed. I made it through four pages of Scalzi's novel before I fell asleep, book in hand.
I didn't do any writing on the novel. I did do some additional writing, posting short recaps of the Strat-O baseball games to the fan forums where folks share their replays and projects. It's a different sort of writing, like fan-fic for sports nerds, and I enjoy it. As much as being a fiction writer has always been my dream, sports-writing would be #2. I would love to be able to cover a team and see all the games, write up the recaps, do some interviews, and just be immersed in it all.
I missed sports for a while. I used to be a fairly hardcore fan, turning on a game every night and spending my weekends either watching or playing something. When I got into my late twenties and had a little more disposable income, going out took over, and while I still kept track of my teams, I rarely sat and watched a game anymore. In my late thirties, my interest shifted again, this time towards gaming, both video and board, and that's where it's been until the past year and a half, when I've returned to this writing thing, in thought and mind if not fully in practice.
In a way, sports were something I latched onto as a coping mechanism for being bullied. They were a way to fit in. I was terrible at sports as a young boy, the worst player on my little league team, unable to catch a football, and I didn't even like riding my bike. When you add in being good in school and my mother dressing me in outfits that included such things as corduroy slacks and white socks in sandals on dress down day at school, while everyone else was in jeans and sneakers, you can imagine how much I got my ass kicked.
A couple of things happened. During the summer between 7th and 8th grade, I had a nine inch growth spurt and went from being one of the shortest kids in class to one of the tallest. That helped the bullying a little, but not much. I started working out and spending a lot of time playing basketball by myself at a park no one else went to. I mean, every day after school until it got dark, I was out there running, jumping, and shooting hoops.
That next summer, I returned to the summer camp I'd been going to for three years and discovered that I was one of the best athletes in the camp. When I got back from camp, I started hanging out with the neighborhood kids, and being a good athlete definitely helped tamp down the bullying. Unfortunately, these kids had grown up with me and knew how to get to me, so they still managed to pick on me, but I took it a little better, even gave some back.
But it really wasn't until my first girlfriend and one of my best friends got a car that I stopped being bullied, because I wasn't around the bullies anymore.
I had two good friends who weren't a part of the neighborhood group, despite going to the same school, because their parents kept them busy at home and out of trouble. I hung out with those guys as much as possible, but their parents only let them do things on weekends, and they both went away for the entire summer every year. When I look back, I realize that if I'd had a better home life, or if even one of them had stayed home for the summer, I would have subjected myself to a lot less bullying.
This isn't meant to be a pity-inspiring blog, by the way. It's just what's on my mind this morning. One of the effects of all that bullying is that I'm a compassionate person. Another is that I'm overly introspective, which can be both a blessing an a curse.
I suppose if there's a point here, it's that being a good athlete was the first identity I created for myself. It was the first time I'd done something I wanted to do to define who I was as a person. It was created out of a love for sports, and became a shield against some of the worst parts of my life. It was something I could focus on to shut everything else out.
We all need that, I guess. We find ways to cope with the things in our lives that are otherwise unreasonable. We choose things that help us, either consciously or unconsciously. Sometimes, like sports for me, those things are good and positive. Sometimes, like alcohol for my dad, they are terrible and self-destructive forces that come to rule our lives. Sometimes, it's hard to tell which one we've chosen.
And then there's the difficulty, summed up so perfectly by a Jim Croce lyric.
"But there never seems to be enough time / to do the things you want to do / once you find them."
I made good progress on the novel yesterday, and had my best morning of writing so far: 1462 words on the novel, completing the first draft of Chapter One, and 1055 words on the blog (sorry about that!) for a total of 2517 words. Not bad.
So of course, this morning I slept in an extra 45 minutes.
That's alright, though, since I'm taking the day off from the day job. That means I can have a more relaxed morning and still get my writing time in. Yesterday, all told, I wrote for a little more than two and a half hours, blog included. That's a nice place to be, and I'd like to get it to three hours by the end of the year. I've been told that writing for longer and longer is a lot like exercising your body at the gym, or running, for that matter. You do wat you can each day and push a little more, day by day, until you are able to do what you want to do.
I want to work on structuring the blog a bit in the New Year. Right now, I'm just building the habit, writing off the top of my head, and letting it happen. I'd like it to be an every day thing, 365 days a year, an I'm trying hard to get in that habit now. Come January 1, I'd like to have a bit more structure to the whole thing, continuing daily updates but also having specific days of the week to write about certain topics.
For obvious reasons, the blog will remain focused on writing. I'm probably going to duplicate the blog on Wordpress so that I can start reaching a larger audience, and will purchase a domain name at some point. I'm also going to be building a Facebook, Instagram, and Twitter page for my writer alter ego, which is to say it won't be a personal page, but a page dedicated to my writing career and persona. Not that "writing" me and "real" me are different people, but more that there are some things about my private life that I'd prefer to keep that way. Plus, I don't want to bombard my real life friends and family who couldn't otherwise give a flying fuck if I wrote "The Bible" with constant writerly updates.
I'm also going to set up some structured goals for my writing in 2021. I'm a believer in "fake it til you make it," and in acting like a professional if you want to be a professional. I think any professional endeavor benefits from structure, planning, and most important, deadlines.
One of the reasons I finally got started writing the novel was that I set my completed first draft deadline for December 31st. That date has power because I gave it some. Whenever I think, ugh, I don't want to get up and write, (or, more accurately, ugh, I don't want to sit down and write right now. I'd rather finish this Scalzi novel,) the deadline in my head has yelled at me loudly and with creative swear words.
Basically, he says, "If you want to be a writer, get up and do the work. If you want to be a loser and regret everything for the rest of your life, stay in bed, play some video games, and be a drunk like your dead father."
I'm sparing you the swearing, but yeah, that guy in my head is kind of a dick. He's also right.
Meanwhile, loyal reader, should you have gotten this far, I ask for your suggestions. What sort of weekly or monthly feature would you like to see in the blog. I have the following ideas:
-Book review - I'm definitely not a critic, but I'll tell you what I just read and why I liked it.
-Movie review - See above. Also, this could be Netflix, Amazon, a show, or a classic flick
-Free fiction. - I write a story and post it on the blog
-Free poetry - See above, but a poem
-Adventure report - I try something new and write a non-fiction article about the experience
-Interviews - other aspiring or established writers, celebrities, interesting folks, athletes, etc
-Op-ed - I express my opinion about real life issue, serious or not so serious.
-Guest blog - I invite others to write the occasional blog.
Food review - I cook something from a recipe I find and share. Possible Vlog.
Restaurant Review - self-explanatory
That's my initial list. What else would you like to see or read? No ideas are bad ideas, unless it's porn, 'cause that's not happening. Comment, please!
Seriously, I know only a couple of people are reading this right now, but the occasional comment goes a long way and is much appreciated. If you don't want to, that's okay, too. I understand. And I probably need to do a better job of engaging you so you feel like you absolutely must say something.
Meanwhile, I sincerely thank you, my handful of readers. It means a great deal.
It was a good Monday, which will hopefully set the tone for the rest of the week. It seems like I've had a hard time getting through weeks with my focus intact, but I don't remember the last time Monday left me in such a good mood.
After posting the blog yesterday, I opened up a blank Word doc, typed "Chapter One" centered at the top of the page, skipped two lines, and thought for a little while about how to begin. It took me about twenty minutes to compose a first paragraph that I was comfortable with, and then I started picking up steam. An hour and fifteen minutes later, babe had to tap me on the shoulder multiple times to let me know breakfast was on the table and getting cold. By the time I got up from the writing desk, she had already eaten and my breakfast, two eggs over easy on toasted sandwich thins with avocado spread, was indeed cold. But I was feeling warm and cozy.
At that point, I'd written 744 words and, unlike most days when I'm kind of glad the writing is done for the day, I finished breakfast and went back to the writing computer for another half hour. In the end, 1055 words and the first scene of chapter one are done. Huzzah!
The rest of the day was as expected. Work was slow, unfortunately, so the day dragged and money was a little on the low side, but I have the whole week to make up the difference. I started listening to "Dune," by Frank Herbert, on audiobook and got through the first chapter. I'm enjoying it, and looking forward to continuing today. I switched over to music because slow days and audiobooks combine to make me sleepy in the car, which makes the day drag even worse. Music, and later in the day, sports radio, keep me alert and serve as good background for thinking about stuff.
Stuff, in this case, was my critical voice starting to gnaw away at me about the quality of the morning writing. I started to worry that what I'd written wasn't a good beginning, remembering all the writing advice about how the first pages are crucial, how you have to hook your reader early and keep hooking them on every page. It's good advice.
Look, I'm new to this. I've written before, but I've never completed a novel. I've never sold a piece of my work for publication, and other than friends and associates commenting on my work, I've never gotten much feedback.
I've had a few teachers who slapped me with the talent word, which is probably at least partly responsible for me never giving up this dream all these years. I was eight years old the first time a teacher, Mrs. Carter, told me I was a good writer and I should keep at it, so it's been about 40 years of me writing on and off and keeping this dream alive. Encourage your students, teachers! No one in my family growing up ever encouraged me to be a writer. I think both my parents actively discouraged the idea.
Those teachers, particularly my fourth grade teacher, Mrs. Carter, an English professor at Mercy College whose name I don't remember, English professor and poet Michael Broek from Brookdale Community College, and writer an creative writing professor Jeff Ford, have all reassured me and encouraged me at various points in my life that, no, I was not wasting my time and, yes, there's something there. There's a point to all this. I believe professor Broek said, "You see things differently," and called one of my poems for class, "one of the best poems he'd read in the last ten years." Jeff Ford was both more oblique and more direct. "Yeah, you can write. You just need to sit down and do the work to get better."
Professor Ford's words are the truth. All the talent in the world is useless if you don't use it, and talent doesn't make you good at something. Practice does.
So, the point of all this tangential thinking, is that it's okay if I feel like my first scene in the first chapter of the first novel I'm going to actually finish needs work. It probably does. But it's all practice, and writing the best I can right now is the only way I'm going to eventually be able to write as well as I want to write.
There, now that we've taken my critical voice and reminded it of its place, I need to wrap up this ramble of a blog and get to writing. I don't wake up at 4:30 every day because the coffee tastes better then.
Last thoughts about yesterday. After work, I came home, ate dinner while talking to the babe, and then immersed myself in my favorite hobby, Strat-O-Matic Baseball. It's a game I may have mentioned before (maybe not) where you play out baseball games with cards and dice. The cars represent historic MLB players, like Babe Ruth, Ty Cobb, and even contemporary players like Mike Trout. I'm currently playing out a league with eight great teams from 1905-1921. If you want to know more, check them out at www.strat-o-matic.com, They have games for all four major American sports. (Hockey, not NASCAR!)
The point is, doing that to end my day gave me something to focus my time on, instead of just tuning out and falling asleep watching television or going braindead on social media. I went to bed happy as a result. I think it's important to spend a little of that focus energy on a hobby you care about each day, even if it's only a half hour before bed. It renews your energy and gives you a little bit of balance.
I still read for a half hour in bed before I turned out the light. Can't neglect that. I'm actually approaching my 2020 Goodreads Reading Challenge goal of 52 books read this year. I think there are seven weeks in the year, and I have nine to go. I'm halfway through Scalzi's "The Human Division," and I just started "Dune" on audiobook, so that's two. I think I will make it!
For the past six weeks, I've been rubber-banding. I keep stretching myself until I'm at my limit, and then snapping back to relieve all the tension. I've probably been doing this all my life, but this six week period is the most focused I've been on writing in a long, long time, and it feels like I've hit maximum tension about every other week.
When I snap back, I do absolutely nothing productive for a few days. Then I have to exert an effort of will to refocus myself and get moving again. I know I've mentioned in the past that I tend to take to much on at once, and the result is not good. This is not much different, except this time, despite the snap backs, I haven't lost focus on my goals.
Also, in the face of all this stretching and returning to slack, I've managed to keep educating myself on writing, business, and even politics. Yuck, politics.
But, not liking something that's important is no excuse for remaining ignorant on it, particularly when you find yourself feeling strongly about it. High emotion about something you're not educated about is a dangerous thing. I think a glance at the daily news here in the U.S. is evidence enough to support that statement.
So, here I am, after five days of mostly doing nothing, back at the keyboard. Blogging.
There's something else that keeps me trending towards the slack side of things, too.
I'm afraid to start the novel.
There, I said it. I'm scared to start writing in earnest. I wrote the small prologue, a week ago, and the next day I wrote "Chapter One" at the top of the page. That's as far as I've gotten.
I know I'm just afraid that it won't be very good. I keep telling myself that's okay, but the part of my brain that wants to protect me from pain, from doing stupid stuff like touching hot things and jumping out of airplanes without a parachute, is really, really good at being overprotective. It's like my mother somehow imbued a part of her essence into me when she died, and whenever I'm about to try anything, even something I'm excited about, she reminds me how much nicer it would be to just relax and read a book or play a game.
Okay, that's all me. But I got that tendency from her. From my father, too, whose belief that the only things in life he had to do were, "breathe, pay taxes, and die," still echoes in my mind like a self-fulfilling prophecy.
I don't want to be like them. They weren't bad folks, but they struggled mightily to be happy in this life, and even more so to be successful.
My father had a drawer full of stories and a novel, unfinished, that he never even tried to get published. He also had a house full of distractions, from records to books to movies, that he spent all his time on when he wasn't working a job he hated. Or passed out drunk.
My mother ran a successful business. For someone else. She spent all her money on clothes, toys for me, and bailing out broke family members whenever they needed it. She died young, broke, and deprived of a pension by a rich plastic surgeon who, upon losing a patient on the operating table for the third time, closed up shop and retired to a mansion in the Hamptons, well protected behind corporate tax shelters and malpractice insurance.
Fuck that.
So here I am, trying hard not to be them anymore, not to live like each day doesn't really matter all that much. I'm not giving up the fight, and no matter how many times I stretch myself too far and snap back, I'm going to keep on stretching until I reach my goals.
Yesterday was a long day. After getting up at 4:30, walking the dog, and writing yesterday's blog, I started the novel and got through the Prologue, all 71 words of it. It started out as about 200 words before I cut it down and tightened it up. I'm trying to get in the habit of writing well, even in the first draft. Yes, this seems counter to what I wrote about yesterday, but it's not. Not entirely.
I wrote badly at first. I tried to find a good opening line, got something down that was okay, and finished the first paragraph. Then, while thinking about what came next, I cycled back and read it over. I noticed a couple of quick fixes, removed an unnecessary word or three, and rearranged a few things. Satisfied, I now knew what the second paragraph should be. I wrote that, and then cycled back through the whole to see how it flowed. A few more fixes were made, on the fly editing, and after writing the third, short paragraph, I did it all again.
In the end, I was left with seventy-one words that accomplish, more or less, what I wanted from the prologue. There's still a metaphor in the first line that I'm not sure I'm happy with, but for now it will stand.
But Joe, that's not a first draft!
Sure it is. I sat down, put my fingers to the keyboard, and wrote it. I didn't type it straight through on the first fly by, but that doesn't mean it escapes first draft status.
It means that, for the first time ever, I sat down to write fiction with intent, with an awareness of what I wanted to accomplish and what I wanted the reader to feel. I paid attention to craft, word choice, and tried to get it as close to right the first time out as I could.
It's still a first draft. I will probably change some or all of it later, after writing more of the story. That will show me how effective the prologue is, and if it is even necessary. If it is, the rest of the novel draft will help me decide if I need to add or change something to make the novel work as a whole.
I don't think I've ever gone into a piece of writing thinking about that. Not fiction writing, anyway. I definitely wrote papers that way in college. Informed by an outline, I was conscious of the point I wanted to make, of my supporting facts, and of the argument I was making to support my point. Fiction, I think, isn't much different.
A fiction writer is trying to entertain the reader, first and foremost. There may be a theme, a worldview, a point the writer is trying to make, but regardless of whether that's true of a piece of fiction or not, the essence of the fiction is that it must entertain the reader. In order to do that, it must set the tone, be well paced, be entertaining, and work as a whole.
That's where craft comes in.
In the past, I've written into the dark, so to speak, trying to write a story straight through and somehow have it achieve all of that. I'm sure there are writers who can do that, experienced writers who practice their craft so effortlessly that it's almost automatic. I'm not even close to that level of proficiency.
Fiction writing is like most skills. It takes lots of practice to get good at it. Talent exists, but practice hones talent. Even with talent, the first time you do something you are bad at it compared to someone who has been doing it every day for years. Even someone talented.
That's why writing as much as possible is so damn important.
But, at some point you have to start thinking deeper. Start practicing in earnest. It takes focused practice to really improve, not just the appearance of practice.
I played a lot of sports when I was younger. Just going out and playing will teach you the basics, develop the necessary hand-eye coordination, and get you a basic level of competence. In short, the sport you are playing will go from looking like nonsense when you play it to actually bearing a resemblance to the way an experienced, even professional player plays it. It will at least look like you are playing the same game. And talented folks will show that talent.
But to take it to the next level, you must at some point begin to focus your practice. You have to learn drills, and repeat them. A lot. You have to think about what you are doing, and how you can do it better. You will probably need coaching to improve past a certain point, because you may not be the best judge of what you are doing and what you still need to work on.
Sound familiar? It should. It's how you learn any skill. In some cases, you do all this without realizing about it, like when you get a job, do it five or six days a week for eight hours a day for years, get trained by your company, coached by your managers, and probably even do some self-directed study and reading on your own time. You might even attend the occasional conference.
Writing is no different.
Please realize, I'm not speaking from a pedestal here. I'm a moron. I've read this before, in a variety of forms from a variety of authors, but it's only today, after consciously trying to apply craft to writing that prologue yesterday, that I realize it is true.
So yeah, first draft of the prologue is done. Time to work on Chapter One.
See, I'm still procrastinating. I have a lot left to learn.
I'm sitting here being a chicken right now. I've been staring at my outline and sipping coffee for the last half hour, a blank Word document open on my laptop in front of me, and the only thing I've written is the word, "Prologue," centered at the top of the page. Today is the day I start writing the novel, even though the outline isn't complete. That's okay. I'll finish it as I go along. But I need to start writing.
This is normal. The beginning is often the hardest part. There's something about wanting to get the first sentence just right that makes it hard to start writing. I want it to be good. Not the first sentence. The whole thing. Good. The best writing I can do right now.
Which means not starting writing is less about the perfect first sentence (paragraph, chapter, novel) and more about the fear of it being bad. Terrible. Awful. Shitty. A waste of words. A miserable fucking turd.
I mean, I'm trying to be a writer here, ya know?
So, instead of typing a less than perfect (or even bad) first sentence, I opened up the blog to bang out an entry. That's not a good idea, but it works for the blog. My original intent for the blog was to chronicle the journey of an aspiring writer. "From procrastination to publication," it reads at the top of the blog just under the title, and has since day one. Well, this fear of writing badly is definitely a part of that process, one I'm sure every aspiring writer has encountered at some point.
The question is, how do we get past it?
I recall a piece of advice that said, "Give yourself permission to write badly."
I thought a quick Google search might reveal the source. Instead, it reveals I am not the first writer to discuss the issue, and I won't be the last. There are 90 million results for that phrase.
The idea is self explanatory. Write badly if you need to, because you can always fix it in the next draft. It's better to get something down on the page than to leave the page blank, especially for newer writers, who are more prone to this paralysis than the more experienced.
There's another saying that goes hand in hand that says, "Writers are the worst judges of their own writing." This is true, particularly in the heat of writing. There are things I've written that I loved as I wrote them, only to have them fall flat with alpha readers, as well as to my own reading several months later, after I'd nearly forgotten what I'd written.
I've also picked up a piece of writing that I tossed in a drawer as terrible, only to find months later that it was damn good. Alpha readers agreed.
You might think you are writing badly, and actually be tapping out the best writing of your life. You won't know at the time, and even later, depending on how much of a dick your inner critic is, you might not have a clear view. So go ahead and write.
Had a long, good day yesterday. Got up, walked the dog, blogged. Worked almost 11 hours and stayed positive throughout. Came home, watched an episode of "The Cabin with Bert Kreischer," and went to bed after reading three pages of John Scalzi's, "The Human Division."
This morning, I got up, walked the dog, and worked on the outline for the novel. I'm up to the final part of the second act, and have a good idea of how the final act will flow. I have had a good idea of the ending since before I started working on the outline, and while it might change on my way there, it won't deviate too much as far as I can see.
I'm enjoying the outline process. It's just fun. I am starting to get impatient to begin the actual writing, though, and I think that's a good thing. Establishing anticipation rather than dread can only be a positive force in writing the novel, right?
I can tell the whole schedule adjustment is coming together as well, because despite only having a half hour to relax yesterday before conking out, I woke up feeling refreshed, positive, and excited to start my day. I'm even looking forward to work.
I've been doing a bit of research as well, mostly on finance and entrepreneurship, and I'm enjoying educating myself on a part of my life I've long neglected. Like most people, my vision of my finances was work for a paycheck, pay bills, try to save, try to max out the 401k, pay the bills, and keep the credit card debt to a manageable level. I'm starting to see that there's a better way to live, and I'm excited about the possibilities.
When I left my long-standing bank job and the security I thought it gave me to become a full-time gig worker, I did so because I wanted to have less stress and more freedom. I thought I was just changing the way I made money. I couldn't have been more wrong. In reality, that was the start of me freeing my mind from the constraints of working for others and the beginning of me learning the value of following your passions and working for yourself.
That's another blog, though. Probably several. For now, let's just say that I'm excited, having fun, and looking forward to the future for the first time in a long time.
Someone at babe's job had a fever and was awaiting a Covid test as of Monday evening, so she was ordered to quarantine at home until at least Thursday. I realized I hadn't taken a day off from everything since about a month before we moved, which means sometime in mid August, so I decided to take Tuesday and Wednesday off with her and just relax around the house. No writing, no blogging, nothing even resembling work. I mostly succeeded, and boy, it was a nice break.
Yesterday, I got back to work. I started the day at 4:30, walking the dog for some exercise, then sat down and worked on the novel outline. Three more pages, five to six more chapters. I'm leaving it alone today, letting my mind work on a couple of problems I've run into during the outlining.
I've also been listening to an audiobook, "Stein on Writing," by Sol Stein. It's excellent, and very focused on the specifics of the writing craft. He gives solid examples on a variety of topics, from characterization, plot, setting, and an excellent dialogue section, to editing and even non-fiction writing. There's a lot of good information, and it's both interesting and intimidating to be listening to it while I'm working on the novel outline. I think it's going to help me make a good leap forward in my writing quality.
While I'm making progress, I'm not happy with where I'm at. I definitely needed the days off, but now I feel like I have to start pushing myself a bit on all fronts. Here's the plan:
Goals by December 31st, 2020:
Morning exercise - continue with the 30 minute dog walk every morning. Add in Couch to 5K staring Monday. Add in the Nerdfitness Beginner's Bodyweight Workout Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays.
Exercise Goals: Run 30 minutes straight. Be able to do 3 sets of 25 pushups, 5 pullups, 2 minute plank.
Diet: 100% adherence to the nutrition plan I have laid out, which includes 1 cheat meal per week for each meal (Breakfast, Lunch, Dinner). The plan is 50% protein, and designed to help me lose fat and increase muscle. I'm also taking a multivitamin. I'll post the whole diet tomorrow, and report on my progress weekly starting next week.
Weight loss goal - lose 15 lbs. Today, I weigh 231.8 lbs, with 31% body fat, 31% muscle mass, and a BMI of 23.3. Let's see how that changes week to week if I stick to my plan.
Writing: Write every day. Blog every day. Finish the novel first draft.
All that while working 10 hours a day, six days a week. It's definitely going to be a challenge, but it's the path to the life I want. That makes it worthwhile.
Got up at 4:30, walked the pup, and sat down to work on a new story. I decided to do an outline, and I ended up writing five pages of scene summaries freehand on a yellow legal pad. That maps out the first eight to ten chapters of what will probably end up being a novella.
The creative process felt great, and I enjoyed the writing time. I did need to start my coffee early to shake off the sleepiness, but that's fine. I'm glad I've decided to try something different. The more I think back about my writing habits, I think I've always struggled because I was trying to free write my way through longer works. Maybe after a half dozen published novels I'll have the chops to do that, but right now I'm effectively a beginning writer, and I think the structure of the outline will take the pressure off and help me focus on writing well.
For the first time, I feel like I can think about craft when I sit down to write.
My plan tomorrow morning is to reread the outline so far, add a little to it, and start working on the opening scene. The outline is far from complete. My best guess is that I outlined the first third of the story. The thing is, the outline is a guide, a roadmap, and I don't need a complete outline to start writing. In fact, it will probably change as I write through the story anyway.
Worked for a little more than nine hours today, and now I'm home, ready to relax with the babe. We are taking tomorrow off of work, so I'll be staying up a little late tonight to watch the Giants on Monday Night Football. I'll be setting my alarm for 6:30 tomorrow instead of 4:30, but I'll be getting up, walking the pup, and getting right into the two hour writing session.
Just to keep the daily streak alive and update on the day's progress.
I didn't get up early, as I allowed myself to rationalize that I had plenty of time to write today and would do so once I was up, since I didn't have to work.
Well, I won't make that mistake again. I let the morning get away, spent on finishing up a novel I was reading this week ("A Dark, Dark Wood" by Ruth Ware - more on that in a moment.) Then, the babe and I had a meeting with our chosen wedding venue to sign the contract. It's not for almost two years, but with Covid and all, we wanted to pick a place early.
After we got that done, we came home and had lunch and watched the second half of "There's Something About Mary," which we started a few days ago. Then it was off to a wake for a family friend.
We stopped for an early dinner on the way home, and got home around six.
It was at this point that I knew I had to write, still wanting to finish the short story I'd been working on all month, the one I knew was going no where and was really just an anecdote. It lacks any sort of plot, cohesion, theme, and has only the barest semblance of characterization. And, all I wanted to do at that point was sit down and watch a movie or start a new Netflix or Prime series. We just finished "The Office" last night.
I decided to go ahead and finish the story. It took 410 words. But, it is done.
In that form, anyway.
While thinking about how I'd gotten myself into the predicament of being in the middle of a story with no point, no end in sight, and no clue what the heck I was doing or trying to do, that it was okay.
Well, not okay in the sense that i should send it out. Just okay, because I started the story with the intent of getting myself writing again, with no idea what I wanted to write, and it did that. I wrote 5549 new words in October, along with eight blog entries. And I learned something about myself as a writer.
Free writing, as it turns out, or writing into the dark, pantsing, or whatever you want to call writing with no plan and no outline, is a wonderful way for me to generate ideas and practice. It is not, at my current level of writing craft, the way to write a good story.
I thought about my college writing. While I could always free-write my way through an essay, any paper of length always had me working out a basic outline, mostly just an organizational flow chart of what came next. A few lines and headings was enough to guide me through a paper of almost any length.
So, I think I need to do that with my fiction. I have a terrible habit or not finishing stories, never mind longer works, because I always write myself to nowhere. The outline, even a short, basic one, will hopefully help me sort that problem out.
Also, I was able to think about my story in a new way, and I realized that, while my seat of the pants idea was kind of fun, I had chosen the wrong protagonist. If I flip the story and write from another viewpoint, things will be a lot more interesting and there is probably a decent story hiding there.
So, going forward, I'll be outlining. I'll let you know how that works out.
Meanwhile, as I mentioned, I finished a novel this morning, and it got me thinking about some writing advice I'd heard that said, basically, that a novel or story was a promise to the reader, that the cover, genre, and even author's name said what that promise was, and that breaking that promise was the surest way to disappoint the reader.
"In a Dark, Dark Wood," by Ruth Ware is, by looking at the cover, a horror novel of some sort. There's even a quote from Reese Witherspoon on the front cover - "Prepare to be scared... really scared!"
This is not a horror novel. It is a suspense novel decked out to look like a horror novel. It's not scary, at all. It has moments of tension, but nothing in it is particularly scary. The setting, a glass house in the middle of a dark forest, could be scary, and there are even moments in the book when I think scary is about to happen. It just never does. In fact, it gets close to scary and then rips that rug right out from under you.
Don't get me wrong. It's not a bad novel. But, because I was expecting scary, I was disappointed.
Make sure your readers know what they are getting into. Otherwise, the best writing in the world is going to fall flat. This novel taught me that lesson, and I hope to remember it every time I put something out for publication.
Anyway, I'm going to go relax for an hour before bed. Hopefully we can find a new show to get ready to fall asleep with.
It's the last day of October, and I just got back from a brisk 5 a.m. walk with the dog. That's been my usual morning routing since we moved in to the new place a little over a month ago, though it hasn't always been that early. I've been slowly getting used to waking up earlier, and I'm finally just about where I want to be, which is up at 4:30 a.m. and back to the writing desk, butt in seat, by 5 a.m. I'm planning on taking advantage of tonight's clock roll back to get me there. That extra hour should make tomorrow's wakeup a lot easier.
It helps that I've committed to getting to bed by around nine every night. I've shifted my whole schedule earlier slowly to accommodate the earlier wake up and bed times, and I think I'm ready to make the full adjustment. I know it won't be perfect, but I'm going to do my best to stick to the following schedule for November:
4:30 a.m. - Wakeup
4:35-5:00 - Walk the Dog
5:00-7:00 - Writing
7:00-7:30 - Exercise
7:30-8:00 - Breakfast
8:00-8:30 - Get ready for work
8:30 a.m. -6:00 p.m. - Work
6:00-8:00 - Dinner and relax
8:00-8:45 - Blog
8:45-9:00 - Walk the dog
9:00 p.m. - Bed time
The work schedule is typically going to be Monday - Saturday, Saturday's hours are flexible depending on our weekend plans. If we are doing something that prevents me from working Saturday at all, I'll likely stay out later each week night and cut into the relax time. In any case, I'll never work past 8 p.m. because that will sabotage my getting to bed on time, which is crucial to the whole thing working long term.
Sundays, replace the work time with whatever we do with out day. I'll also try to get some extra writing in every Sunday. Two hours a day times seven days is fourteen hours, so if I get at least an extra hour in every Sunday, that's at least 15 hours a week of writing. That' a solid place to start, and in my mind it is part time job status. Add in another 5 hours of blogging, and we are at 20 hours of working on my writing career.
Very occasionally, we may have plans that keep me up past 9 p.m. I'll try to keep that to a minimum, reserved for special occasions and such. In those cases, I'll still get up at 4:30 a.m. the next day.
Without a disciplined schedule, the whole thing falls apart. I'm hoping to get through November and December without too many interruptions and screw ups to this, so that it is pretty much just what I do when January rolls around.
As far as writing, November always tempts me with NaNoWriMo. I'm not giving into temptation this year, though I am using it as a motivating guideline. Writing two hours a day should put me in the neighborhood of 1500-2000 words, which is the NaNo pace if I do that every day. Hopefully by the end of the month, I'll have at least 50,000 words of fiction written.
I'm not pushing myself for a word count, though. I want to establish a habit of writing every day in the morning, and writing as well as I can. The word count will take care of itself. Pumping out 1667 words a day without attention to quality and content is a terrible way to become a good, working fiction writer. I'm going to try to write good, clean copy the first time out. Not that it won't need some polishing, but I want to make sure I'm writing, not just typing.
Anyway, that's the November plan. I will track the word count every day, and post it here. If it's a zero, I'll post that, too.
I'm going to do my best to end the year strong and build good habits that will carry me into a great and productive 2021.
Election Day 2020 is four days away here in the U.S.A., and I'm worried. Don't worry, I'm not going to start talking about politics. I want to talk about violence.
I've read a couple of articles in the past few days that indicate there is a growing number of people on all sides who believe that violence would be justified if their candidate doesn't win the election. One report I read on a reputable news site indicated that more than 20% of people polled, both Republican and Democrat, believe that "violence would be justified" if their candidate doesn't win. Another indicates that only 1 in 4 believe there will be a peaceful transition of power.
What the actual fuck?
Like most, I have strong beliefs about a variety of topics. I voted, and I believe that matters. Though the system probably needs updating, it's what we've got right now and, for the most part, it works. It ensures that we have a representative government, and, perhaps most importantly, it ensures that we have a peaceful transition of government.
Peaceful.
One of the greatest things about America, and one of my strongest beliefs about what it means to be American, is that we can argue strongly about just about anything, that we can speak our minds publicly and privately, and in the end we respect each other's right to have differing views.
We don't have to agree on issues. We don't even have to listen to views we don't agree with, though I try to be open minded and see as many sides of just about everything as I can. I try to understand, even when my own view may skew the other way. I want to know why you believe what you believe, even when I disagree. Especially when I disagree!
Because sometimes I change my mind. Sometimes I'm misinformed, uneducated about the issue, or just plain wrong. Living in America means I can change my mind. No one gets to tell me what to think. I can agree, disagree, or withhold judgement, as I please.
It's not like that everywhere. Some places, you have to appear to believe what the government tells you to believe, or else.
Our freedom to make up our own minds, and to disagree, debate, and take peaceful action to support our views is what makes America a great country to live in. It's not about being the best. It's not about being first, economically, educationally, morally, politically, or in any way you can think of, except one.
Freedom. First in freedom.
Even on that front, we have some work to do, but the statement stands. And it stands on a system of peaceful transition of government, on respect for each other's right to believe what we want and speak about it as we choose, and to try to change what we don't agree with. Peacefully.
The moment that peace shatters, we've lost that. The moment violence becomes the answer, we lose it all. We cannot condone violence in any form, in any circumstance. Our society and lifestyle, our very identity, depends upon it.
Violence is not the answer.
If you believe strongly that your candidate or party is important, and you are dissatisfied with the election results, (hell, even if you are satisfied!), then take the opportunity as a free American to enact change through peaceful means. Get educated. Get involved. Listen to dissenting opinions, and think about them. Debate. Write. Protest. Sing. Yell. Shout. Make sweet, sweet love. Use your time and energy to help people see your side.
But do it without violence. Do it peacefully.
Otherwise we lose the freedom we pride ourselves on as Americans. We lose our identity. And that is a far greater tragedy than any election result.
Hi. My name is Joe. It's been eight days since my last blog.
It would be easy to look back to the middle of the month when, on October 12th, I said I was starting a blog streak that I hoped would go on for a long, long time and see the past eight days, and the four before that when I didn't blog, as a failure. It would be easy to look back to October 5th, when I started a short story and a goal of writing at least 1000 words of fiction a day, and then consider the sixteen days of the month since when I have written neither fiction nor blog and call the month a total and complete failure.
It's not.
It's October 29th. This month, I've written five blogs. Six if you count this one.
I've managed to write non-blog writing, both fiction and non-fiction, on five days, totaling 5549 words.
That's six blogs and 5549 words more than I wrote last month. Or the month before. Hell, it's five blogs and 5549 more words than I've written all year, I think. I probably started something in January, but I don't remember and have no evidence to support that theory.
If I did blog, I deleted those blogs out of embarrassment. Out of a feeling of failure. I probably set goals, did not meet them, and erased the evidence that any of it ever happened.
Looking at this blog, the first posted entry now is from June 5th of this year. Which is sad, since this blog is probably close to a decade old, if not more. I don't know how to check the born on date, and I'm not going to stop writing in the middle of the blog to do so, but there should be a smattering of entries, sometimes for a month or more at a time, sometimes scattered in clusters over the course of years. I'm sure I've posted here over a hundred times. I'd guess it's closer to two-hundred fifty. Maybe more. That's not a lot, when you consider a daily blogging habit, but it's something. And I've erased every bit of it before June 5th of this year.
That's a shame. There was some good writing in there.
Again, its easy enough to paint all that as failure.
But I'm not going to do that to myself anymore. Not if I can help it, anyway.
Six blogs is a win. It's six more than last month. Same for 5549 words. Same for that post from June that somehow survived my ritual purges. All wins. All improvement over my usual habit of quitting and deleting, of running away and trying to erase my failures.
It's a mindset shift, and an important one.
It takes failure to get to success. It takes trying, and failing, to learn what it takes to be successful and eventually reach your goals. My habit of completely restarting has been sabotaging that process. It's one thing to fail, reset, to take a step back, reassess, and get back on the horse. That's a lesson learned. That's a path to success. What I've been doing is restarting, almost completely, and while that has taught me something, (mostly, that it gets me nowhere and feels terrible), it is self-sabotaging in the extreme.
So no more going backward. It's full speed ahead from here on out, and whether the ship is functioning at 100% and going warp speed, or 1% and struggling to get out of the harbor, I'm always going to be moving towards my goals.
So, there are three days left in the month, including today. My goal is to blog all three of those days, write a little fiction all three days, and set my goals for November.
On the fiction front, I started a story based on a silly idea back on the 5th of this month, and the story is going nowhere fast. It's more of a amusing anecdote. I've been tempted to trash it and move on to something else, but of all the bad writing habits I have, abandoning a story in the middle and trashing it is by far the worst. I could write 5000 words a day for eternity, but if I don't break that habit, I'll never get anywhere. So, whatever it takes, I'm going to finish that story by the end of the month.
If I'm really brave, I might even do a quick revise and send it out. It's high time I started the age old writer's tradition of collecting rejection slips.
Anyway, I'm here. I'm writing. I'm blogging. And I'm embracing small victories. How are you?
I'm still here. I didn't forget or abandon the blog! I did allow the streak to lapse, which I'm not happy about, but I struggled hard the second half of last week and, instead of continuing to press myself into a stressed out pancake, I took the weekend to reset and get my head right.
I hung out a lot with the babe, went out for a 70th birthday party (babe's aunt), had a couple of glasses of wine and a couple of beers, and tried to stop stressing over every little thing.
As usual, I had tried to do too much all at once, and I had tried to do it perfectly. Nothing is ever perfect, and setting yourself up to do even one thing that way is just asking for trouble. I tried to do a bunch of things, things I don't normally do at all, that way. Sheesh! I can be a moron at times, no doubt.
But this time, instead of quitting or going off the deep end or changing my goals entirely, I forgave myself for being human and got back in gear. I stuck with my goals, but reassessed how well I'd be able to accomplish the daily activities that lead to them right now, fresh out of the gate. I have to be willing to give new habits time to develop and solidify.
Things I was trying to do that I don't normally do (new habits):
-wake up at 5 a.m.
-write at least 1000 words of fiction every day
-blog every day
-exercise for an hour every day
-eat at a 1000 calorie deficit to lose weight
-track all my food in the MyFitnessPal app
-go to bed earlier
I was trying to add all that to my life, all at once, on top of working ten hours a day most days, and I was trying to do it perfectly.
Like I said. Moron.
So, here's the thing. I'm still trying to do all of those things. Eventually, I'll get there. But for now, I'm taking it a day at a time, allowing myself to adjust, and accepting my imperfection.
Life is hard. Change is so damn hard. But the alternative, continuing to wallow in a place where I was unhappy and wasn't doing what I want with my life, is much, much worse.
I'm going back to the old Alateen days (Alateen is the teenage version of Al-Anon, where people whose lives are affected by alchoholism go to cope. My father was an alchoholic.) I learned a lot of things there that stuck with me, the importance of which I am still realizing every day. One of them was simple.
I heard if you blog every day, you get better at organizing your thoughts, and it leads you to being more productive. Maybe that was writing in a journal. Is "journaling" a word? Spellcheck seems to think it is.
As I wrote yesterday, I think all of the habits I'm trying to establish are predicated by the need to wake up earlier and be productive with my mornings before work. I can write, or exercise, or whatever, when I get home from work, but at that point it is a chore. I start feeling like there's never any downtime, and before I know it, I'm either falling asleep or so wired that getting to sleep at a reasonable hour is again night unto impossible. Neither of those outcomes is desirable.
So, I'm biting the bullet tonight, so to speak, and not writing for the second day in a row. I'm going to relax, try to take my mind off everything for a couple of hours, get some good reading and television in, and get to bed on time. I could probably fall asleep right now if I went to lie down, so it's a good night to reset my schedule, set my alarm early, and get up tomorrow morning come hell or high water.
I have a hard time putting things aside. Too often, it's led to me starting a cycle of forgetting, or blowing things off, particularly writing, and then the whole self-loathing, self-defeating cycle of excuse making, rationalization, and motivation will begin all over again.
That's not what I'm doing here. At no point will I give up making this all work the way I want it to work. I'm having too much fun writing when I actually do, and I'm already feeling better from eating better, exercising a little, and drinking a ton more water than I have been for months. I'm not going back. I'm going to keep moving forward, bit by struggling bit, until I get where I want to be.
Anyway, that's enough for now. Off to relax and reset.
Today was a stumble. My alarm went of at 4:45, but I didn't get up.
The dog had gotten me up to go out at midnight, about two hours into a deep sleep, and we walked for twenty minutes. By the time I got back to bed, I was thinking, so it took me some time to fall back asleep. And I was exhausted. I could feel that special fog of the brain that comes from being overtired, but I still took more than a half hour to get back to sleep.
So, when the alarm went off this morning, my willpower had already been drained away, and I set the alarm for 6:00 and rolled over.
When I did get up, I knew my body needed some rest. I'd gotten off to a good start with exercise this week, but I'm no spring chicken, and I'm carrying around an extra forty-five pounds, so I don't exactly recover quickly from anything, much less exercise when I haven't done any in a while. I decided to make it a light day and just walk the dog and do some stretching.
I don't know if those two things set the tone for the day, but the rest of the day sure snowballed away from discipline. Not that it was a terrible day, but at the end of it now, I feel unsatisfied. The biggest hole is the writing. I didn't get it done today, and I'm not going to stay up the extra hour and do it right now. That would just be throwing the baby out with the bath water.
Instead, I'm going to keep this fledgling blog streak intact, go read a little, and get a good night sleep. Tomorrow, I'm going to wake up at 6 (not 5, not yet. I'm shooting for 5 by Monday.), write until 7, exercise, shower and eat breakfast. I'm going to get out of the house by 8:45, get gas, and start working by 9. I'm working until 7, coming home, hanging with the babe for a bit, blogging, and getting to bed by 9. Asleep by 9:30, then up at 5:30 Friday. Rinse and repeat. Saturday 5:15 wakeup, Sunday 5:15, Monday 5:00 A.M. sharp. By the end of next week it will be 4:45 and I'll be asleep by 9:15 every night like it's my job.
That's the structure I'm going for. Once I get it locked in, my schedule on most days will be:
4:45 - wakeup
5:00-7:00 - writing
7:00-8:00 - exercise
8:00-8:45 - shower, dress, breakfast
8:45 - leave for work
9:00-7:00 work
7:00-9:15 - hang with babe, write, read, blog
9:15 - sleep
There will be variations. Wednesday is usually date night, so I'll only work til 5 or 6, latest, depending on what time babe gets home. Saturday, similar situation - mornings remain the same, but work is dependent on weekend plans. At the very least, I'll spend Saturday nights out to dinner with the babe. Sundays, mornings are again the same, but I usually don't work, so I have a good day to relax, read, watch television, maybe hang out in the yard.
That's the plan, the goal, and the structure of the life I want right now. It will take me a little while to get it locked in. I will stumble. I'm only human, and I've never been a morning person, but the only way I know I'm going to be able to get writing and exercise in every day is to get up early and get them both done first.
Alright, I had more in me than I thought. Now it is time for me to read some Dresden, snuggle up to a warm babe (and interjecting dog), and get some sleep.
I don't know if two is a streak, but as far a I'm concerned, it counts. You can't have a streak without getting the second day done, after all.
Today was a long day. Woke up at 6:30, got a half hour walk done in the pouring rain with my poor dog, Oscar. We were both drenched when we got home. Oscar hates the rain more than anything but missing a meal. He will not do his business when it's raining, which puts him in a very uncomfortable state. His belly starts to bother him and he gets very grumpy and more emotionally needy than usual, which is saying a lot.
Unfortunately, I didn't have time to console him. I did some pushups and bodyweight squats, showered, ate breakfast, and sat down to write out my goals for the day. They were more or less the same as yesterday. Then I went to work.
Worked for a little more than ten hours. Came home, ate dinner, and sat down to do some writing.
I managed 1269 words of the short story I'm writing. I'm having fun with it, though I have a ton of self doubt about the quality. I haven't written anything in almost a year, so that's only natural. Even the blog last night felt forced and clunky, though that was probably due to how tired I was. I really just wanted to get to sleep.
I'm a little better tonight. It's almost 9:30. I'm planning on being up tomorrow at 5 a.m. I want to transition my writing and exercise to the morning before work so that I don't feel so much pressure in the evenings. If I can get those two things done in the morning, I'm much less likely to break the streaks and quit on myself. If I keep leaving them until the evening, it's only a matter of time until my will breaks down and I put one or both off until I'm too tired to get them done, and then I'll be struggling to start a whole new streak. Plus, there are evenings when I have plans with the babe or with friends, and those will certainly eliminate any chance I have of writing and exercising. So, as much as I resist it, early mornings must become a part of my routine.
The good things is, I have had pretty good creative success in the mornings when I've tried this in the past. I find that, when I'm writing regularly, I can write pretty much any time of day, so long as I'm not over tired.
So, day two of reshaping my routine is in the books. I'm going to walk the dog now, do a little light exercise, and then see if I can keep my eyes open long enough to read a chapter or two of the latest Harry Dresden novel, "Battle Ground," by Jim Butcher.
It's been a while since I've posted anything. I've been busy. Moving and adjusting to a new job has taken quite a bit of time an energy, and the shape of my life has gotten both simpler and more satisfying. I'm still sorting things out, but we've been in the new place for a couple of weeks now, and I've started thinking about things other than moving and working, and the stress I've been under for the last six months or so has eased a great deal.
Which leads me back here, after all.
Actually, it leads me to goal setting and scheduling my time, which are two things I haven't had time, energy, or patience for since the beginning of the year. It's nice to be getting back to it, and having a clear head and being able to see the forest and the trees is a nice change to the general state of things.
So, here I am, back at the keyboard at the end of a long, productive day.
I woke up at six, walked the dog for a half hour in the rain, ate breakfast, and sat down to write down my goals for the day. They were:
-60 minutes of exercise
-1000 words of new fiction
-1750 calorie limit, tracked, along with at least 100 ounces of water
-at least 10 hours or $200 from Ubering
-a new blog entry
I managed to get all of that done, with this blog being the final task of the day. Those goals are more or less the daily goals I've set for myself for the next month, except Sundays, when I won't be Ubering. I'm trying to get into a routine that makes me feel good, accomplishes what I need to each day, and helps me finally start taking real steps towards becoming a full-time fiction writer.
The rest of the week, I'll explain the changes I've made to put me firmly on the path, beginning with a big and terrifying career change back in July.
For now, though, I just want to say hello. This is the first day and first blog of what I hope will be a very long streak of daily blogging, writing, exercise, eating well, and living a life I've wanted, but lacked the conviction to pursue, for a very long time.
I don't know how many times I've restarted this blog. I should probably start a new one just for Karma's sake, but no one reads this one, so it's a safe place to dump my thoughts and clear some space.
Yesterday, I finished "Can't Hurt Me," David Goggins autobiographical memoir. Goggins is a retired
Navy Seal, an ultra-marathoner, one time world record holder for most pull-ups in twenty-four hours, and a bit of a crazy fuck. His feats of endurance are the stuff of legend. What stands out about his tale, though, is not so much the physical accomplishments, impressive as they are, as the mental drive and ability to overcome his own self-doubt and even physical limitations. He has literally willed his way through some of the most demanding physical and mental tasks life has to offer.
Goggins success can be attributed to understanding that life is fucking hard. It's is full of pain and misery, and he is determined to not let that pain dictate who and what he would be, and what he could accomplish. He realized that almost everything in life, from the most difficult physical tasks to the most mundane chore, is really just a battle with ourselves and our ability to tolerate pain rather than seek comfort. At some point, almost everyone decides enough is enough and seeks out that comfort, because on a design level our bodies and minds are built to avoid pain. It's survival, pure and simple. Goggins realized it can also be incredibly limiting, unless survival is all you are after in this life.
This morning, I started to read the thirtieth anniversary edition of "The Princess Bride," by William Goldman. I've seen the film a few dozen times, but I've never read the novel or screenplay. I've been in a bit of a reading funk with the whole coronavirus thing, so I was flipping through my kindle library for something and saw it there, purchased a while back, and figured now was as good a time as any.
I was immediately captivated by the introduction, which details the time Goldman finally visited Florin to tour the Morganstern Museum with his grandson, Willy, at the behest of none other than Stephen King. Goldman's style of writing here is light and conversational, very much in character with the grandfather who reads to his sick grandson in the film. He sucks you in, and I was immediately confused, because an introduction to a thirtieth anniversary edition is supposed to be non-fiction, right? Well, if that's the case, where the heck is Florin, and is there really a Morganstern Museum? Was there really an S. Morganstern?
I was captivated enough to have too check Google. The answer, as you have probably realized, is no.
It's easy to judge, listening to me relate it here, but Goldman is such a great writer that, even though I knew the answer to my question before I googled it, I had to check anyway. Maybe there was more to the story than I knew. Maybe the tale was based on something historic, or inspired by, in the way Game of Thrones is inspired by The War of the Roses, among other things.
Or maybe Goldman was such a great writer that he made up the best modern fairy tale, complete with introductions for multiple editions, and kept it all in character, barely winking at us from the page, everyone's grandfather telling them a story on their sick bed.
In any case, I'm a mark. If you don't know what that means, it's a wrestling term for a fan who willingly buys into a specific wrestler's fictional character because he wants to. It makes following the story the wrestler is telling that much more enjoyable. When reading or watching a movie, we call it suspending our disbelief. It just means you are willing to go along for the ride, because its a heck of a lot of fun.
So, yeah, I'm a mark for William Goldman. I'm a mark for most good writers who keep my trust, which is to say they maintain consistency within their writing and don't break the spell by trying too hard, or changing some long accepted aspect of their own fictional universe. They keep telling the truth within their fiction, if you know what I mean. Goldman is a truth-teller, as is Stephen King, as is David Goggins.
As I sat there reading, I wanted to start writing. It's been a while. There have been dribs and drabs, as there always are, but it's been a while since I sat down with any consistency and tried to actually write something. My last attempt at a story was in February, and I talked myself off that one because I was overly critical of my own writing. That's the worst, man, when you are actually getting words down but your critical voice keeps nagging at you, telling you that its all trash, that you aren't good enough. That you are wasting your time. It's fucking painful.
So what?
"Life is pain, highness. Anyone who says differently is selling something." - the man in black, a.k.a. Westley, "The Princess Bride," by William Goldman
Goldman knows something about pain, as does any good writer. Pain is the driving force of conflict, and conflict is the root of a good story. Goggins knows something about pain, too. He subjected himself to a ton of physical pain, and endured plenty of mental anguish, at first because that's what his life was, but later because he realized that only by overcoming pain would he actually get somewhere.
Pain is a part of life. Avoiding it is a waste of time. If you don't embrace the pain required to live the life you want, you'll still be subjected to the daily pains of just being a human, and you'll have a lot less to show for it, a lot less good to enjoy, than if you pushed through where it really matters to you.
I've left a lot on the table. I'm forty-seven, and my life is not what I want it to be. I am not the person I want to be. I've spent far too much time avoiding pains of my choosing and accepting, even dwelling on, pain I didn't choose. And my time is running out. I can't keep on doing what I've been doing, unless this life, the one I have right now, is all I ever want. It's not. I have too many things left undone, too much life left to live, to just keep on existing. It's time to embrace the pain.
As much as I love the succinct quote above, it's not very inspirational. Let me leave you on an inspirational note, one that will help us put all this talk of pain in perspective.
Listen to this man. he knows what he's talking about.
