Roadblocks

Perhaps the most definitive experience in my writing "journey," has been the presence of roadblocks. Sometimes these are real and tangible things that happen to me and sometimes these are of my own creation. Whichever version they may be, roadblocks are the things which have halted my forward momentum.

I've entered a strange season of life, where I am frequently balancing a feeling that I could die at any moment against the list of things I would like to accomplish before the inevitable end puts a period on my creative process. In my optimistic youth I had imagined hundreds of novels I would one day write. Even in optimistic terms, if I could reliably output 1 novel per year, there is no version of this which will result in hundreds of novels. This realization has chided my current state of inactivity.

What happened to my plans? I gave up on them. I spent a period of my life pushing very hard to attain the title of "writer." The efforts I made did not result in any sort of financial benefit - certainly not any benefit which could justify writing to the extent that I wanted (full-time). Despite this, I have had several periods of my life which were opened to writing full-time, periods which I neither utilized to their fullest extent, nor realized the precious finity of.

In pondering these facts, I've begun to consider what I can do with whatever time I have left. I want my children to be able to read the stories I've been imagining my whole life. If nothing else, I want that. This means I have to wrestle thought to written word. And I have to do so with some urgency.

It isn't until I start trying to accomplish something that I begin to encounter the roadblocks. This is the comfort of letting the pursuit of writing drift to the back of my mind: there are no roadblocks to contend with. Currently, I am facing a fair few. 

1. The information I've generated about my story is scattered across my life and I have to gather at least some of it to ensure my writing remains consistent to what I've already produced.

2. I have to accept that my output may not be seen by anyone - even the people who are close to me that I've directly asked to look at it. People are busy and forgetful. I've certainly given myself the liberty to be so.

3. The formats I choose to present my ideas in each present their own limitations and challenges, which I am often ill-prepared to address. I have to strike a balance between trying to accomplish my goals perfectly and remembering to actually accomplish my goals. 

4. The rest of life does not pause itself to make space for my projects. I have to learn how to fit honest and profound effort into the cracks and spaces that I am able to find. The challenge of doing this without missing out on the limited supply of life experiences with my family is monumental, but important.

Today, I thought to type all of this out because I am attempting to resolve my initiative into continued forward momentum. I've divided my second book into four sections and promised to make those available in several formats. I've stalled a bit along that journey as these roadblocks have tripped me. I am standing back up and moving forward again, and again.

Cooperative Storytelling

Although progress on my main storyline has ground to an unceasing halt in the past decade, I am neither dead nor inactive. Lately, I've focused my storytelling efforts on long form cooperative story narration. Otherwise known as Dungeons and Dragons, or tabletop RPG gaming. Different people participate in the hobby for different reasons, but for me it is very much an exercise in telling a story. In this case, a story which I am making up as I go along.

This has brought a lot of challenges, particularly with plot continuity. The story is currently being styled after a pre-built module which encapsulates all of the larger plot points and things which are supposed to motivate the characters forward. The modules themselves have starting and ending points which the players progress between. Atop this I have two main challenges which are helping me flex my atrophied story writing capabilities. First, there's the character backgrounds and motivations themselves. This portion is very cooperative, as the backgrounds and plot hooks are all developed by the players and then shared with me at whatever moment seems ideal to them. Second is the overarching storyline I am developing by myself to tie together the Character's narratives along with the various modules' narratives.

I imagine at some point all of this will simply become too cumbersome to continue. However, for now I have had the delightful experience of seeing my narrative possibilities grow and expand to the point that I am now plotting out how best to carry my players to the next major point in my own story and determining which pre-made modules might best suit this journey.

This is by no means a story of which I am proud, but I am enjoying it enough to share the meat of its production in prose format on a separate weblog. Plot holes? I am certain there are many. Cliches? Undoubtedly thousands of them.

It is a bit freeing to work on a project without any self-imposed quality limitations. This is just for fun, and something I will continue to deem a success for as long as the players stay engaged and derive enjoyment from the plot progression.

The Struggle Is Real

It has been awhile since I have mustered the desire to invest time into writing at the end of the day. I know that if I want to be a "writer" then I haven't any other choice. However, I have grown strangely comfortable with my half-hearted effort. When I read stories of other authors who wrote their first book in their spare time while juggling all the rest of life, I tell myself simply that they felt and acted much the same way, there's just no reason to include it in a triumphant story of struggling through to achieve their goals.

I still maintain my goal of finishing a new edit on my second book before the advent of my 40th birthday. It grows more unlikely by the day, but I am clinging to the hope. I am the only one clinging to it, I think. I don't feel like anyone around me is really taking me seriously at this point. This is fine. I haven't given anyone much reason to take me seriously.

Even so, I do feel like I am pressing onward. Currently, I am stuck. I am suck in the prelude of my own story because it is the section with which I am the most unhappy. It might not be the worst section, I am not sure. It is the most pressing to me because it is the part that drives people away from the story before they can make enough headway to care about finishing. 

I know what the issues with the prelude are and I have a good idea how to address them. Even so, I am having a lot of trouble getting myself to slog through the rewrite. I've told myself it is because I am out of practice. Or because I am tired. Or because I lack inspiration. 

All true. 

I have to get through this, though, if I am to have any hope of finishing within a month.

Not done yet

I am quite pleased that my writing enjoyment did not end with the snippet composed as of my last post. I have continued in the vein of that proposed plot progression. I have some concerns over my portrayal of the main character, but overall am more pleased to actually spend some time portraying her than concerned about an inaccurate version. I will, of course, spend a great deal of time slowly hashing out the finer points.

I am more committed to the actual plot points as well. I feel they provide an excellent setting to the last act of the story. I am not certain how relevant my musings on that setting will be in our current society, but I think they have some danger of ostracizing me as a writer. I am mostly alright with this, but only given that I successfully convey the finer details of my thinking. If people wish to hate me for that, it's fine. I just don't want it to happen over a misinterpreted or poorly written thought. It is a bit of a minefield, but one I have been anxious to wade into.

My lament here is that I haven't released a serious revision of any writing and yet the most interesting pastime for me is to adventure into the final act of what should be a very, very long story arc. I still have zero confidence in my ability to write on a full-time basis - my past failures haunt me more than I can say. 

I have but one goal, and time is passing so very quickly that I am not sure I will succeed in reaching it: to finish the newest edit on TPA:TGW before my birthday. The birthday comes in August and I have stalled out on just the prelude to the book, for reference's sake. I have some good ideas of what needs to be done, I am just not sitting down to do it.

This is an old and tired excuse. It will ensure I never reach my goal if I continue to return to it.

Written Again

I dipped once more into the euphoria of snippet composition yesterday. I found myself fascinated with an alteration to the Bruce vignette which managed to marry all the characters together with a cohesion that has hitherto eluded me. I am confident this is the right direction for this act in the narrative, far off though it may be. Lamentations over my lack of proficiency aside, this alteration provided the inspiration for an intriguing shift to the dynamic between the main character and some of the setting's personalities. I couldn't help myself but to write the piece as I saw it in my head, which extended my fifteen minute afternoon break awkwardly past its confines. I had to stay late to make it up, which caused real-world chagrin with the schedule for my family, yet it was wholly worthwhile.

As for the actual prose I composed, I am not confident it is actually good. Not because of the composition itself, that part is doubtless deeply flawed, but for the content. I explored a concept in the relationship that is... exotic. Exotic and also repulsive. It is both appropriate to the action beat and inappropriate to the potential audience. I cannot imagine my own children trying to make sense of what occurs in this scene and how it might alter their perceptions of the world around them. Perhaps in an educating fashion, perhaps in a challenging one. Perhaps only in a damaging way. I haven't had the necessary time to work through this in my mind, but I will need to spend a good deal of time pondering the ramifications of such a narrative choice before I can commit to it as a definitive addition to the story cannon.

These concerns aside, it was a joy to actually feel like a writer again. I am certainly not deserving of the blessing.

Trello Activated

Though I have very little to say of actual writing, I invested in a project to enhance my writing experience by augmenting it with a Trello board (for the TPA-TGW rewrite in particular. I have yet to determine whether this is just a distraction or an actual aid. So far, I've found myself listless and unproductive in my attempts to rewrite the prelude after a strong start on the first section. I think this is because there are so many problems with the second section that I don't really know where to begin with it. 

I do need to begin, though. Else this effort dies like so many other and dreams of completing TPA-TGW before I turn 40 die with it. I have all the usual distractions, which I indulged in heavily this past weekend, but I retain a positive outlook. As I have suspected previously, I am out of practice with writing. Whether that becomes a primary excuse or a hurdle to clear is yet to be determined in full. For now, it is mostly just a primary excuse.

In the meantime, I've been writing snippets for God, Logically and enjoying the process thoroughly.

Writing Tools

I have never been a very prolific writer, so my preferences and techniques may not be the most effective guidelines. I struggle with the dichotomy between analog and digital. I prefer the analog experiences, finding them exceptionally motivational and deeply inspirational. Conversely, I prefer to manage projects - particularly large projects - digitally. I can write much faster with a keyboard. Editing is much more easily accomplished. Project design is more fluid and integrated. Hence, a large portion of my journey so far has been dedicated to discovering some form of balance between these two media.

While I am easily a better typist than writer, sometimes typing can get in the way of the creative process. Although this may seem counter-intuitive, it is absolutely true and I am certain I am not the only person to experience this. While I never write prose by hand, I most often jot notes, character details and plot outlines in a notebook first. This is simply the most productive approach for me. 

I still lack any real skill at correctly cataloging my notebooks. All of them eventually end life as dump books and scratch pads. Because of this, story information kept only in notebooks becomes fairly useless to me. I can flesh out ideas very well within the medium, but any detailed information must eventually be transferred to digital documents in order to be truly relevant and useful.

Even digitizing documents is not a one-stop trick for ultimate usefulness. Digital information suffers the same problems as analog: 1) organization and 2) accessibility. Try to write anywhere without proper internet access and quickly discover the limitations of that medium. For my digital documents I've also needed to develop systems of control. 

First and foremost is organization. I keep my works in progress separate from finished manuscripts. In my WIP bucket, I organize documents by folders named for the story title. Then I further divide things into notes, snippets and prose. Notes are any pieces of information related to the current story. Snippets are short pieces of prose I may have composed along the way. Prose is the actual story and for this I must divide again into revisions. Tracking revisions has been incredibly important throughout my process.

Accessibility is a more complex subject and one I am still learning how to handle well. I have come to lean on internet access as the most viable solution to this issue. It is not even close to a perfect solution, but it is the best I can come up with. This is where a Chromebook becomes key. The deft handling of local versus cloud-only content that is built into the system has made accessibility less of a headache than a background concern. It has made Google Drive my go-to tool for document storage and organization. 

If you've made it this far through my scattered thoughts, the summary of my content creation process looks like this:

handwritten ideas > digitized ideas > organized ideas > prose created via ideas

For the digital side of this, I carry my Chromebook and keyboard everywhere
Chromebook C302 - I chose this chromebook over the Samsung Plus model because of reports indicating a superior keyboard. It was a good choice. The C302 has been my "daily driver" for a couple years now and I still love nearly everything about it.
Logitech K810 - Though these aren't in production any more (newer model), they are still commonly sold for a ridiculous price. There's nothing special about this keyboard that would make it better than any other keyboard with similar capabilities. It is the type which makes it special for me. It can connect to 3 different bluetooth devices at a time and easily switch between them, which means I can use to write anywhere, on whatever I have at the time. On the computer at work, on my tablet, on my laptop, even on my phone. All I have to do is connect it or activate the connection I've already made and I am good to go. Plus the battery life is amazing. 

And when I want to do serious writing on any computer, I prefer to use one of these two USB keyboards paired with my favorite mouse
Razer BlackWidow with Cherry MX Blue switches - They don't sell this keyboard any more. I am not necessarily married to the old Cherry MX switches either, but this keyboard was a gift from a friend who was shocked to learn, after I told him I thought this Logitech K740 might be the best keyboard available, that I hadn't ever used a mechanical keyboard.
Razer Ornata Chroma - I fell in love with mechanical keyboards once I was introduced to them. The switches with added click fill me with happiness. I don't particularly enjoy the stroke depth and size of the average mechanical keyboard, which is why I adore this low-profile alternative. It does sacrifice the longevity and ease of repair you'd normally expect, but it handily replicates the feel of an old Apple IIc keyboard, which is something I had been chasing after for years before this product came to market.
Razer Lancehead - Anyone who has used, enjoyed, adored, or despised Razer products knows the frustrations of working with their proprietary Synapse software. I've owned nearly every Razer mouse since the Diamondback and it was a sad day when they scrapped everything accomplished with the Lachesis in favor of second-rate software. I'd love nothing more than to use Razer products without Synapse interfering and that's exactly what the Lancehead finally provides. Ambidextrous, capable of wired or wireless operation, offering the return of on board memory and supporting up to 18 different button combinations, this mouse is the best of all worlds in my opinion. 

For the analogue side of this, I have a lot more fun. This is my current collection of notebooks and pens:
 
Leuchtturm1917 - current stories' notes and snippets.
I often think every one of my notebooks should be a Leuchtturm1917. That's how good this notebook is. It is so good that I treasure this notebook (and the other two unused that are exactly like it) and only touch it when I feel there is something special about to come from my creative spark.
Pictured with my three Pilot Metropolitan fountain pens. The Pilot Retro Pop Turqoise Dots holds some very interesting color changing ink that I will have to edit this post to add a name for. It is ill-served by the fine nib.  The Pilot Metropolitan Violet Leopard holds standard Pilot Namiki blue ink cartridges on a fine nib. The Pilot Metropolitan Plain Black holds standard Pilot Namiki black ink cartridges on a fine nib. These pens are reliable workhorses with excellent nibs and are frequently my go-to pens.


Apica Wizard - task lists, thoughts and diagrams
Amazing quality for a fairly reasonable price. I never feel bad "wasting" pages on thoughts that go nowhere. I formerly used the Apica Twin Ring notebooks, which are essentially identical to this product. They are fairly reasonably priced for notebooks which handle fountain pens so well and I buy these notebooks more than any other.
Pictured with my TWSBI Eco extra fine nib fountain pen. I use Pilot Iroshizuku Kon-Peki ink in this pen which writes a beautiful shaded blue. I have had a few troubles with the nib on this pen, but without any maintenance it eventually settled into a solid performer that is always a joy to use.


Clairefontaine Orange - game design
The paper of this product handles ink very well except for the extra-long drying times. I often forget to wait it out and end up with smeared and smudged pages. I love the feel of the paper, but it can be very frustrating while focused to be forced to stop and wait for ink to dry. I found a good deal on these, but the drawbacks are a bit much. I don't think I will be buying many more.
Pictured with my Pilot Cavalier medium nib fountain pen. I use Monteverde FireOpal ink in this pen and the wider nib really helps to show off the coloring of this fantastic ink. I was pleasantly surprised by how thin this pen is and I love the design.


Moleskine Cahier black - scratch pad
I traveled from hating Moleskine because of its grip on hipster sensibilities to wanting to like Moleskine because of its story and back to preferring other products because of the way it handles ink. Excellent in its simplicity with a toothy, absorbent page, this product is designed for pencil, ballpoint and gel ink pens. Fountain pens fare poorly here, though I find use for them by resigning myself to writing on only one side of the page. This one is my general scratchpad - just a throwaway for doodles and scribbles.
Pictured with my Lamy 2000 extra fine nib fountain pen. I use Noodlers XFeather black ink with this pen. I wanted this to be my favorite pen of all because I love the design. However, the factory nib is atrocious and I haven't found a nibmeister to fix it. So, I rarely use this pen and don't really enjoy using it at all.


Moleskine Cahier cranberry - work notes
I've found that note-taking in the workplace (the most frequent use of this notebook) is often chaotic and disorganized. I'd characterize this as a scratchpad which I fully intend to discard when the final page is full.
Pictured with my TWSBI Diamond 580 extra fine nib fountain pen. I use Diamine Oxblood ink with this pen. This is easily the best fountain pen I own. Perhaps not because it is the best fountain pen ever made, but it came to me with a perfect nib and a fluid writing experience. This pen has never failed me - not even for one second. No leaks. No false starts. No changes in ink flow. Absolutely a joy to use. The only thing I could ever say against this pen is that it writes less like an extra fine and more like a medium. However, I think that may have more to do with the very wet Diamine ink than with the pen itself. I recommend this pen to everyone.


Clairfontaine Green - training notes
My thoughts on this are exactly the same as for the Orange version. It's the same product. In fact, I acquired this green one first. I had hoped a second notebook would prove more forgiving on drying times, but this is just the way this notebook works. I love the form factor, especially for taking detailed notes during whatever class I am attending. However, the frustrations are always there.
Pictured with my TWSBI Vac-Mini extra fine nib fountain pen. I use Pelikan Edelstein Aventurine ink with this pen. I was very excited to acquire this pen after hearing about the highly entertaining vacuum filler mechanism. Adding ink to the pen did not disappoint. However, I spent a fair amount of time frustrated with the pen as the ink would stop flowing after only a few minutes of use. I had to Google the issue to realize it was necessary to leave the piston pulled slightly back in order to prevent the vacuum from stopping ink flow. It all seems so obvious now, but it created a seed of dissatisfaction. Also, having the piston slightly raised is a less than ideal writing experience, which means this isn't my favorite pen. It is the aventurine ink within that keeps me coming back. The Vac-Mini doesn't provide a bad writing experience by any means, and the Pelikan ink is gorgeous on the page. 

Not pictured because I don't carry them with me:
Rhodia Dot Pad - sketch book
It's possible you've read my entire list and thought Wait.... where are the Tomoe River and Rhodia products? doesn't this guy know what he is missing? and you wouldn't be entirely wrong to think it. Rhodia makes absolutely amazing paper. I love my Rhodia Dot Pad but it is bulky because of what it is. It simply isn't convenient to carry about and I've found that I am not often in need of a sketch pad. Any time I want to draw something or design a new UI, this is my go-to. These are expensive, but worth the money.
Rhodia staplebound ruled notebook - letters to my children
I'll write it again: Rhodia makes top-notch paper. I adore this notebook and that's why I use it for what is arguably my most important writing. However, this notebook is fairly stark in terms of features which is why the cheaper Apica Wizard has supplanted it as my daily driver. With smooth, elegant and indestructible paper, I covet any excuse to write in this notebook.

Edit Rejoined

Just a quick update to the road map for TPA and its associated series. I have made a more firm commitment to the Entanis Perling series and have been actively developing the concept for a few months now. I am currently envisioning a six book series to explore her life and the development of the Philosus/Jaltikij society.

This has led me to a renewed vigor for finishing the third TPA book, which is currently caught on the hurdle of an insatiable desire to re-edit The Great War and, eventually, The Birth of Magic. I think The Great War is strong enough as it is, but there are a lot of concepts which are not thoroughly fleshed out and two other major problems with the story. 1) The book suffers from unfamiliar name overload in the first few chapters. I think this is a fairly large issue. 2) The setting still feels cold and uninteresting because I don't spend very much time exploring it. Some of this is the result of an aggressive edit-down and some of it is just due to my under-developed writing style. I think both of these issues should be addressed to make the story as strong as it could be. The development of the Entanis series has also informed some aspects of TPA which I had not formerly considered. I think there are some muddy concepts surrounding the training and development of mages as contrasted to the cataclysmic inception of demons. If I can clean this up and expand on the concepts of magic as a stream of power in the story, I think the whole series will benefit.

Lastly, there is a very interesting gap between the end of the Callic war and the beginning of Entanis' story. I have a game concept I have also been developing for a little over a year now, which I find pretty exciting. It started out as an outlet for my frustrations with the mechanics of some other experiences I've otherwise enjoyed and has grown into a bit of a passion project. If anything, I think I've baked too many ideas into the pursuit and will eventually need to pare it down to a simpler design. Once I have a firm grasp on exactly what the game will look like, I can delve deeper into developing its assets and possibly even seeking out a team to help me create the thing.

The Ever-Sinking Mountain

I must confess I believed writing would be one of the easiest jobs I had ever undertaken. I envisioned myself pumping out Tolkienesque novels every month and believed it would be a small matter to complete the 100+ novel story arc I had envisioned. I don't know what the source of this arrogance might be, other than I was absolutely certain I had been born to write, and the story I wanted to tell was important.

I quickly discovered that my low opinion of writing exacerbated a typical problem for writers: the inability to write with any value for extended periods. I immediately settled into a routine wherein I accepted as little as one paragraph of progress as suitable effort for a day. From there, I would indulge in "working on my plot" by "thinking about it" - i.e. playing games or watching movies until I felt like sleeping again. 

I was a lousy writer. I built lousy habits for myself and it took years before I could bring myself to the point of honest evaluation. I would call this merely unfortunate if I weren't actively engaged in murdering my own dreams. I think it is fair to reveal that I had seven years of full-time writing opportunity. THe sum total accomplishment realized in all of this time was one book that I desperately wanted to be amazing. It wasn't amazing, for the record. It wasn't terrible either, but I have to admire those who possessed enough persistence to actually read the whole thing. It is not an easy read. It doesn't even approach an easy read.

I was able to recognize some of these problems, but instead of facing them head-on, I felt they must stem from my unique style. This is partially true, actually. It wasn't a bad observation, but it was leveraged to a less than desirable result: no effort at improvement. This is because I failed to recognize the problematic parts of what I was doing. I didn't recognize my perpetual need for improvement and used stylistic concerns like a shield to protect myself against legitimate criticism. 

Toward the end of the writing period gifted to me, I began to realize my need to adjust and re-prioritize my approach to writing. I began to seriously consider the idea that I might need to invest in marketability. Much of this was motivated by a false purpose though. When I began writing, it was with the firm conviction that my work would not be based on profit, but on the art of the story. Watching my full-time writer lifestyle dwindle and seeing its end on the horizon made me think I needed to find a way to force it to be profitable. 

I certainly could have been a for-profit writer. I had the time to make it happen. I even had the advice to tell me what I would need to do. Alas, I took advantage of exactly none of these resources. I waited until all was lost and tried to scrape together a plan to retain some semblance of what I was about to give up. It didn't work. I gave it up. 

Like a true millennial, I was devastated by the loss of my convenience. Not the loss of my dream, mind. I could no more lose my dream than I could lose my brain. But I felt like the loss of convenience was equivalent to the loss of my dream, so I got angry, I mentally laid blame in some really bizarre places and... I gave up. I stopped writing. 

There is a small amount of tragedy in this. Tragedy in the sense that I had actually made some respectable progress in writing capability through the process of writing my second book. It wasn't quite the marketable wonder that I thought it would be, but it was markedly better than my first attempt. I had made progress, which I failed to recognize. I gave it up when I gave up and I let whatever skill I had gained languish and dissipate until I returned to the beginning. 

I was sore about it. Yet, I have never received anything other than support from the people around me. Nobody pushed me to give up my dreams. Nobody pushed me to turn my dreams into something dissatisfying. I did all of that on my own and was left with nobody to blame but myself. I've not been able to face up to this. I don't know if I will ever be able to face up to it. I do know that I would like to deal with it and get back on track. I would like to rejoin the journey toward becoming a great writer. Maybe I am not destined to be a great writer. Maybe that is alright. Perhaps it should be enough that I write. Writing is what I've always wanted to do.

I think there is something to be said for the fact that being a great writer is different from being a great writer. One is universally lauded and their thoughtful prose is appreciated wherever literacy thrives. The other is just a person who is exceptional at the act of writing. I have aimed at the former and missed widely. I should like to aim for the latter, which is the only reasonable aim to have. It is surprising to me how long it has taken to internalize the reality that focusing on the former kind of greatness is a waste of time and effort. I have known this for as long as I can remember, yet I continue to countermand my own knowledge. The only true aim of any writer is to chase after the latter greatness.

In this realization I can begin to internalize the wisdom of the advice so often given: to simply write. Writing as often as possible and as diligently as possible is the only path to greatness. There is no sense in chasing mythical greatness. It comes and goes with a whim and a whisper. If I am to have it, I will have it - possibly despite my best efforts. True greatness - the greatness of writing ability - is no whim at all. It is an endlessly sinking mountain. Climb with determination and I may soon reach the summit. Stop climbing and I will assuredly sink back to the bottom. 

A Few Years On

A couple years ago, shortly after my last post actually, I took some time to review my master outline with a volunteer editor. The results were less than exhilarating. The discussion we had raised many questions I was ill-prepared to answer and, honestly, left me reeling. I was actually wont to walk away from the experience feeling confirmation that I was a failure as a writer. I didn't get that, though. My editor never let me go there. 

But I did have to face some hard realities about where this story needed to go and why. I haven't lost faith in the pursuit of it, but I have lost faith in my own storytelling. For around seven years I fancied myself a writer. I enjoyed the support of my loved ones and I indulged in the luxury of limitless time to devote to the craft. Yet, I made very little of the experience. This was evidence of many other issues which needed attention. 

The end result was that I walked away from writing. It wasn't exactly an intentional decision. I bemoaned certain changes in my life even as I was relieved to have them. Where once I saw myself as a writer, I now do not even slightly.

I've gone back and read the manuscript I lauded so highly only a couple years ago. It's not very good. This was probably the most soul-crushing realization I needed to ingest. My verbal craftsmanship suffered greatly at the hands of my laziness. With so many reasons both legitimate and otherwise to avoid writing unless the feeling came upon me, I never could find my way past my own excuses to actually practice the discipline of it. This certainly showed in the final product. 

My self-esteem is both fragile and mostly nonexistent. Therefore, I appreciate the delicacy with which this reality has been handled by those who have had the dubious honor of reading my story. I wish I were a stronger person, because this process might have developed much more swiftly. Alas, I am most definitely a fallen and sinful human being, selfish at every turn, and mostly unwilling to work for the goals set before me. 

Since essentially giving up, I've stubbornly kept the site running. I've visited this blog from time to time without any intention of writing anything. Just a salve for my anima. I'm not in an identity crisis any more. I am most definitively a father with all the priorities and responsibilities which come along with it. I am comfortable filling this role. I am not a writer. I never was a writer. I was a tourist at best, filled with wonder and big dreams, but too much of a transient to impact my surroundings. 

Will I ever be a writer? I don't know. I suppose in this moment it seems unlikely. I enjoy the craft and the poetry. I enjoy the indulgence. I still love the story I've written in my head. But to find the time and motivation to make something of this seems beyond my capacity for excellence. I am too weak, too easily distracted and too busy. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I've always wondered if I were created to write the story I always believed I was created to write. And if I was, will I survive not writing it? Perhaps it was all just a dream just to help a confused child stumble his way into adulthood. If that's all it ever was, then, truly there is no need to share it.

It is true

I am, in fact, participating in the NaNoWriMo for November 2013. However, I haven't the slightest of clues about how to share the page or any information about what I am doing in the event. Perhaps this will become clear at a later date. Regardless, I am already well behind my projected goals and spend far too much time fretting about what I really want to write.

I think the point of this exercise, truly, is to write anything and worry about whether it was what I wanted later on. I know I can do it, I just have to vault that hurdle and conquer my inner editor.

Invigorating

I have often been guilty of avoiding the creative works of others for the sake of preventing any unwanted corruption of my own ideas. I had forgotten how invigorating it can be to participate in the creative process with someone else. I have done so recently, and I now remember how much I can enjoy it. In fact, I used the word "invigorating" for a very pointed reason: it has inspired me to pursue my own writing with some more seriousness.

That doesn't happen every day.

Also, I think I will participate in the Nanowrimo this year. More details to come if I do.

Back To Work And Other Musings

Why I don't often write remains intimately tied to the new beginnings brought on by my second-born, Josiah. It isn't an evil or an ill. It is just an adjustment. I have located my most favored writing apparatus in the basement of our abode, a place I rarely venture these days. I should seek some resolution of this issue, but I haven't the heart or the time. Physical ailments have cropped up of late as well, which are not welcome, unlike my new son.

Whatever semblance of a routine I had developed was all but annihilated by the time spent welcoming the boy into the world, and I am only now returning to the daily practices I formerly knew well. Among these is work, which once again steals away the majority of my day. In light of the struggles I continually announce, I have set myself to the task of reading through my first two books. I am thinking that I will, instead of writing the third, spend my time re-working the first book. This is something I can endeavor to do without the struggle of creating a new plot line.

The coming months will tell whether or not this had been a wise decision, but I hope it will do me well to reintroduce myself to my own story in the way I have chosen to tell it. Also, I hope to introduce a wealth of improvements I've been mulling over in my mind.

I tell myself every day that I am a writer, but there is no action to prove it. I say again that I must remedy this oversight and push myself a bit harder to make a reality of what is in my heart.

Why I Don't Often Write

It is just too soon after the birth of my second child to seriously consider writing. I do have the desire. I even find the time on occasion. However, when I set myself to the task, the outcome is inevitably the same. Interruptions.

I need the practice in dealing with interruptions, really. But, as I sit here feeling foiled, I am realizing that interruptions still get the better of me. It is not hopeless. There is a day in the not too distant future where my wife is not exhausted beyond all sanity and my sons have settled into a more predictable routine. For now, though, the interruptions are what keep me away.

WIDOW For Long Periods

Personal tragedies, or difficulties of any kind make it difficult to focus on maintaining good routines. As usual, once I get thoroughly up and running with something beneficial, something in life happens which draws me away. This time is no different, but I am anxious to get back at it before another year passes with no progress. 

Writing every day is certainly a commitment, and one which is deceptively difficult. I remember losing my job and making the decision to write full time. I thought it was going to be silly. Writing a book, after all, was going to be easy. I'd have it done in a matter of three months or less. I was convinced. Mostly because I had never tried to write a book before. The experience was educational, of course. 

The second time around I was prepared for the difficulties and I attacked the process with a great deal more vigor. I also had some residual shame for motivation since the first time around I had misused my time so badly. I think I did much better on the second book. Now, however, there has been a long gap between the second and the third because I've allowed the many different situations of life to be a discouragement to me. 

It always happens the same way. Something in life happens which is a distraction. Mostly because it entails legitimate needs and requires some amount of attention. Then, things go downhill from there. It becomes easy to set writing aside when there are more important concerns at hand. It isn't easy to find new opportunities to write. Then, with weeks of excuses behind you, writing has fallen by the wayside and it becomes increasingly difficult to get back into the process. It becomes harder to train one's brain to think in the correct way.

And then a few years go by, and you feel less like a writer every day. You are less a writer every day. In the end, writing becomes a fond memory and a strong desire. But the process has left.

The only cure is to get back into the process. Which is hard. It is worth it though. Even though I am not actually writing anything related to the third book, just writing is a reasonable first step, and I am taking it.

Tuesday through Friday

Shamefully, again, I didn't even take time to write about why I didn't write. As easy as this is, I forgot. It's been busy, that's about all I can recall. I have made a resolution to go directly to sleep when I arrive home after work around midnight. This because of the impending changes to our family, which I need to be able to handle. I need to have a good night's sleep to be useful and/or effective, so I must get into the habit of going to sleep at a regular time each night. That's the goal anyway. This means that the normal opportunity I've harvested any writing from has officially gone away at this point and I need to better fit the task into the rest of the day.

This might sound like a negative change, but it is not. It is a change I ought to have made years ago, but have been too comfortable in my routine to attempt. External changes are always the best influences - the most effective drivers of any actual change. Now I have one of those and hopefully I will be able to capitalize on it.

So, I didn't write, in essence, because I lack the focus to realize the impact of the changes I am making and proactively deal with them.

Sunday and Monday (BONUS)

So, it's not really a bonus, I just forgot to even do my widow work on Sunday. Sacrilege. My wife and I both woke up with different types of pain on Sunday morning. Church at the majority of the day and then we came hope to simply rest and recover. I am not sure how much of either we truly accomplished but it was a good afternoon. There were a couple things around the house which we had intended for the day that actually did get done. Otherwise, we just relaxed. And grumbled. Because of the pains.

I just now looked up and realized it is verging on one in the morning. Tomorrow it is back to the regular schedule, so I can't really afford to be flippant about how late I stay up tonight, or going forward. The nice holiday time is over. Back to work. Today, much like yesterday, was spent in resting. Mostly involuntary resting. Some of our pains became overwhelming while other circumstances conspired to deprive my wife of any sleep at all Sunday night. Motivation was well out the window.

Despite this terrible foundation, we did manage to accomplish even more household tasks, which makes me somewhat proud of us. No writing came of the time, though. I don't, on this day, feel like I am even working my way toward writing. However I know that is not true. I am writing this after all. There was a moment, before I sat down to compose this that I thought I might just head off to sleep and ignore this task for today. I overcame this feeling.

So that's a positive. Onward to another day.

Nothing today

No writing, but not nearly as terrible a day as I was anticipating. I did manage to get a decent amount of sleep despite my indiscretions. Although I didn't write anything, I did manage to get quite a lot accomplished on the homestead, leading to a happier existence overall and a satisfying sense of achievement. I think this is actually the right path toward writing, as long as I eventually end up writing.

I did wake up with a new and terrifying pain in my back, which we have worked hard with stretching and exercises to day in an attempt to work out. It is still there, but I think we are actually capable of making progress on fixing it. I think the chairs that I have to use at work at just horrendously terrible on my back and have led to some serious problems. I can only hope I am able to get into a doctor appointment soon so that I can take steps toward getting this situation resolved. I am not sure what those steps might be, but just starting at some point would be a big help.

All of that being said, I have some serious doubts about whether or not I will actually write anything tomorrow either. It is a Sunday and filled with churchy things. I don't know that there will be much of an opportunity for prose, but one never knows. Best to keep trying, no doubt. Books don't write themselves.

As you can see...

This is being written on the wrong day. Alas, I went to work early today in order to have the privilege of getting off early. This was a good investment. However, now I've overstayed my welcome on this new fantastic keyboard and it is far too late to hope for any decent amount of sleep. I think I have made a dire mistake in my timing. What was only going to be a half an hour's experiment ended up taking a full two hours - two hours I really can't spare. I must get better at managing my time.

Since it already is tomorrow, I have to say that the reason I didn't write today (yesterday) is because time got away from me. I was busily spending wonderful time with my wife, and I failed to manage my time well enough to allow for writing.

Now it is very late, which does not bode well for the morrow. We shall see what comes of it, but I doubt a full night's sleep is what is in store for me.

Another day and very little sleep to start it with

Honestly, I am frustrated. I had a wealth of inspiration last night at about two in the morning. That happens to be when I finally made my way to bed after serenading my fingers with the sounds of my wonderful new keyboard. I can't now say whether the things which fascinated me as I lay drifting off to sleep were, in fact, worthy ideas, but I can say they were very inspiring. I ought to have been able to capitalize on the moment, except I was very tired. I continued to be very tired today. Only six hours of sleep, as it turns out, is not enough time for me to feel very rested. I once again found myself making excuses for napping during the morning.

So, nothing was written today. Another day of apathy. At least it is noted now. It is likely I will spend the rest of my day attempting to remember what had me so enthralled last night - or, actually, very early this morning. Perhaps I will remember it and find a chance to write some of it down. Perhaps not. Either way, it feels good to at least write about why I didn't write. If nothing else, at least I am writing.

The more one writes, the better the writing becomes. This is actually very true. Writing is actually a very difficult task to accomplish. Even unimpressive authors are at least impressive for their diligence in producing a product, no matter what the resulting opinion of it might be. Weeding through the distractions of life is no small task, but practicing any form of artistry is another skill altogether. Shamefully, I have been perpetually defeated by the combination of the two. I shall soldier on.