Triplets

So, in rapping with my dear friends Iris and Bucho in the comments of my last post, something about which I'd been quietly meditating for a few days came up.

Iris indicated a reticence to work on more than one project at once, while Bucho made a great point about how multiple projects can, in a cool way, inform each other.

See, I've got three unfinished novels lying there, and a deep passion for each. One is a sequel to my last novel, another is the first steps into my own space opera, while the third is, I think, another horror/suspense piece. I think.

In any case, I'd been contemplating attacking two at once, and either alternating days on them, or just letting my passion go where it takes me, so long as I bang out that all-important page-a-day.

What's influenced this, as well, is my contemplation of how 'me time' works nowadays, as this would be the window in which I would tackle such an enterprise. The context of 'me' changes drastically not only when you partner with a mate for life, but when the two of you collaborate on an offspring or several. Being that I've extended what I 'need' in order to continue a reasonably palpable existence by bringing these two under my 'great umbrella of life,' this fundamentally alters what 'me' is, and thus 'me time' becomes something that is paroled with a severely diminished fervency. View this not as a complaint, but as a topic on which I'm meditating.

In any case, I just want to fucking write.

If I want it badly enough, I'll do it. Kinda like my recent surge in body maintenance.

I commented, previously, that I'm interested in trying to write first thing in the morning. I may have some quiet time in which I've not quite piqued the interest of the rest of the world, and the timing is in such proximity to the dream world, that I can't help but wonder if that aspect might be conducive to some pleasant surprises in my writing.

Alas, I despise getting up before 7AM, so we'll see. Otherwise, mayhap I'll just make some time in the hour or so before bed.

Yeah, so I'm eager to get cranking on something. I've got solid footholds on two of them, and some reworking to do on the space opera. I just made some odd decisions in its first few chapters, and need to clean that up. I'm thinking that one's shelved for a bit, while I'll push on the other two immediately. I may even fold the 'horror/suspense' novel into the Endless Wars universe. We'll see.

When do you write?

-Blaine

Too Much

Yeah, I'm definitely struggling with having taken on too much.

I don't think anyone can properly frame or provide a comprehensible context for which to explain to youth, 'You will literally run out of time every day when you're an adult.'

At the same time, it seems like tempting fate if I were to complain about it.

Really, it's something that's being sorted out by attrition, and if there's one thing I learned about myself in those first couple years of being a father, it's that your real priorities will always bubble up to the top, and you'll discover if you're a good or a terrible fucking human being real quick. I'm glad I came out a good man. I've seen some other guys do the opposite.

It's one of those 'good problems to have,' or as trendy classist dickwads are fond of saying, it's a 'first world problem.' I've got a goob job, a great family, and a fair number of people that wish to engage me in various activities. I just wish I had more time for the writing and gaming.

I guess the opposite would be that I'd be unemployed and everyone would hate spending time with me. I'm glad to be on the positive side of that scale.

I've gone about a week straight with being serious about dropping weight. I've been exercising, I've been improving my diet, and I'm seeing results. I plan to continue this behavior and do what I can to finally make women jealous of my wife.

I got a great story idea last week after an odd encounter with a gruff neighbor who's rather fond of a bizarre lawn ornament. It's something about a neighborhood that welcomes some rather bizarre hillbilly neighbors that bring with them the scarecrow from hell. I imagine it being made form some badly twisted black wrought iron and maybe it comes to life at night and shit. I dunno. I banged out a page or two, and am eager to get back to it. Just not enough hours in the day.

Not much else to say.

-Blaine