Sunday, January 27, 2013
Sunday, January 20, 2013
Tough week for an introvert; I've had to be "on," in conversation, engaged and present almost continuously. I didn't have to journey very far or do a lot of physical activity, but I feel more drained than I would if I'd been hiking all week. By Friday / Saturday, I felt distinctly like I was interacting with people underwater or from a long distance away - my brain had started wandering off the leash whether or not I gave it permission, the way it does when I haven't slept enough.
All of which to say - the words I have left, I should use for writing. To it, then.
Sunday, January 13, 2013
Source: Christina Kourkoulou
It's like walking up an elevated freeway exit. I spend a lot of my time focused on what's immediately around me, exerting effort and attention in a space that sometimes feels deserted, while the occasional threat of a serious problem or timesuck occasionally rushes me like headlights in the dark. And it seems kind of like a bad idea, or foolish, to be walking this way - one step at a time, while pros cruise by me as though I were at a standstill. I glimpse their faces on books and in interview articles like happy faces in warm, lighted car windows, going places I could never reach if I started running now.
Sometimes I look over the side of this ramp, and I can see...
I'm way up higher on this path, the path I always kept in sight, than I used to be. Surprisingly far. I can see all the lights in the distance, spread out in a map I couldn't have seen a year ago. Feels a damn sight better than being stuck in traffic where I was. When I'm not worrying about oncoming threats, I feel more peaceful up here. More in command of where I'm going. More able to taste the wind.
It feels good.
I can see signs for another exit coming up in a little ways. I'm starting to think about what comes next.
Got any suggestions?
Sunday, January 06, 2013
*Home Stretch Talk In The Mental Locker Room*
Come on, motherfucker. Get up and write.
Two entries yesterday. Some more today. Faster, not slower. Faster, not slower.
Get off your ass and type.
You're a bad 80 WPM sonofabitch with keystrokes for blood and a metaphysics theory engine between your ears. This isn't even focused work, this is playtime. This ain't shit. Quit sandbagging. Everyone you idolize has been doing this longer than you and better than you. There is no more time. One word after another, one two, one two three four, connect the dots. There is something alien and beautiful under the world's skin, and you are going to rip it out barehanded and show it to people, one dream at a time. Hup, hup, hup. Caffeinate, connect the dots, finish the pattern. Knock it out.
Go, you complete fucking dork. Go.