I occasionally have a problem I like to call ‘magpie mind.’
I try to focus on one thing, then I get a phone call or think of something interesting, or funny, or sexy and bam, my mind’s elsewhere. I have to wrestle it back into place and it’ll stay there… for a bit.
This could be some form of undiagnosed ADHD or simply a manifestation of the typical gamer’s attention span. It could also be my desire to break out of day job routines that has me mentally meandering. Either way, it can be detrimental to getting things done on time.
This ‘condition’ along with the few of dayjob projects I currently juggle caused me to fall behind on my blogging routine. Better the blog suffers, however, than my day job performance. I still need the paycheck, after all, and the blog doesn’t give me one. Despite efforts to provide a service people will pay me for through this portal, I’ve only gotten special requests a few times. That’s the way of things, I suppose, and it’s not going to stop me from trying.
I can’t help but feel like I’m letting you down as readers, however. I want to post interesting, relevant, thought-provoking and occasionally humorous things here, be they thoughts on writing, reviews of movies or critical cage matches. There’s more of that to come, I promise.
It just isn’t going to happen today. I keep getting distra- ooh, shiny.
You may be looking at that subject line and wondering which terrible screenplay or abominable novel I’m going to discuss. Oh no, you might be lamenting, is this another rant on Meyer? No, it isn’t. I’m not going to be saying any particular writer is an idiot. Except perhaps myself.
I’ve never really wanted a career outside of writing. Some people have gotten into working with their hands right out of high school – they build our houses, maintain our cars, keep our water flowing and run the machines that give us light at night. Other people went to business school and studied science and busted their asses to get into a career. Neither of those options ever really appealed to me. Since I was a kid I’ve lived inside my head and I’ve wanted nothing more than to show others the worlds that drive me to distraction and get paid for it. Pretty idiotic, wouldn’t you say?
There are plenty of other, better ways to make money. If I’d really applied myself to my programming from the outside, I’d probably be making about twice what I make now in that field. I wouldn’t be struggling to make ends meet. I wouldn’t be passing up great opportunities to get my work seen, critiqued and commented upon because I can’t afford a night’s stay at a hotel. I know what I could do to have a more comfortable lifestyle, but I refuse to do it. Idiotic.
Then again, village idiots weren’t necessarily immediately considered worthless. They contributed to the social fabric of the village. They made children laugh. They made adults think, sometimes, or at least appreciate their more comfortable situations. And for doing this, they were taken care of – bread, shelter, water to drink and occasionally some clothes that weren’t torn up and smelling of shit. They didn’t have to pay anything for them. While others in the village toiled in the field or on rooftops with shingles or stood guard in the hot sun, the village idiot was just allowed to be him or herself.
Who’s really the bigger idiot, there?
Unfortunately I can’t argue outright stupidity in my case. Sure, I’m a dumbass from time to time. I can neglect to plan ahead. I’ve never quite gotten a grip on the most effective way to use this shoestring on which I and my family are living. It’s likely that my biggest claim to idiocy is this notion I have that, sooner or later, things will work themselves out and I’ll be able to pursue my desired career without needing a dayjob. To some, that’s optimism. To others, it’s idiocy.
And you know what? I’m okay with that.
If being dedicated to writing for a living (and fiction at that) and finding a way to do so as my primary and perhaps sole means of income makes me an idiot, then slap a dunce cap on me and I’ll go cavort in the village square. I’ll be proud to do it, too. I’d prefer telling off-color jokes to random passersby and juggling horse turds to false smiles and sales-oriented gamesmanship.
Nobody ever said chasing your dragons was easy. But when you wear shining armor, keep a white horse and fancy yourself something resembling a knight, what the hell else are you going to do? America doesn’t have a monarch and I don’t have any peasants to oppress.
Every so often, Chuck engages in a little “search term bingo.” I don’t have as many to deal with, but let’s see some of the more interesting ones from the past week.
ariadne inception
This one comes up a lot, since I do have a deep affection for the film. But it gets me thinking: who would want to “infect” Ariadne with an idea? And what would that idea be? If I had more time and less self-esteem, I might write a fanfic about it. But World of Warcraft satisfies any unnatural cravings I might have in the fanfic department. Speaking of which…
wow troll, troll warcraft, troll female
I think they’re awesome. Warcraft, and the trolls therein. I’m just wondering why the biggest search term draw is related to…
…oh. Right. Troll tits.
jason statham with hair
Statham’s lack of hair is like Chuck Norris’ beard. It’s the source of his power. I mean, he can still rock a flick he’s in (like Revolver) when he’s coiffed, but it’s better when he rocks his bald of awesome.
velvet and gay vampires
Enough interesting questions have been asked about me. This doesn’t help.
There used to be a time when I let things slide. Mediocrity would slip right by me and I wouldn’t even notice. Or maybe I’d wave at it. My point is, I didn’t have standards. What I did was good, regardless of how good it actually was.
Looking back, I shouldn’t have been surprised that my first attempt at a novel got so many rejections. For one, I now know that rejections are good. They show you’re doing something. But more importantly, it was crap. It was predictable. It wasn’t written all that well and I didn’t go to the pains I go to now to revise and edit things. I had help in the second go-round, sure, but it still wasn’t all that great.
I know, now, that the problem might be that I spend too much time revising. Trying to get my work to be perfect could consume all of my time. It’s not going to be perfect. It’ll never be perfect. The idea will be to get it to a point of “good enough to not suck.”
I approach role-playing in games the same way. I used to let myself get away with things like “my character is the son of a god” or “ye olde powerful dragons blessed me with immortality.” I realize now how silly, unnecessary and downright juvenile those ideas are, and I’ve ranted about it at length.
Like my manuscripts, I’m worried about my characters being good enough to not suck. This pertains to both their backstories and how I play the game. It’s a lot easier to avoid cognitive dissonance when the tank of the party messes up a pull and wipes the group, when their character’s description has them being a beautiful, all-powerful, liked by everyone and lust object of all NPCs Mary Sue. “So you’ve seduced the Queen of the Dragons and kicked the Lich King’s ass in single combat, but can’t keep the aggro in the first pull of this dungeon. Right.”
Maybe I’m being too harsh. Maybe this is coming off as me being a bit of a dick. I know this is stuff some people don’t want to hear. They don’t like the notion of somebody disliking their special little snowflake of an on-line avatar. And I might get told that not sharing my knowledge with others who don’t have as much experience as I do with this sort of thing is rude, even mean.
But sitting down across from a struggling writer and helping them get a better idea of how to frame their narrative, breathe life into their characters and have the plot make sense is one thing. Dealing with strangers who can’t be bothered to use proper fucking punctuation is another.
Maybe it’s pretentious to have standards. Maybe I’m a mean-spirited puppy-kicking old man for not wanting to waste my time being forced to role-play with people who fail at it. Maybe I’m going to while away the rest of my life mumbling to myself as I pore over the 137th draft of my manuscript because I don’t feel it’s good enough, yet, and I assume everything I do sucks.
Just a reminder, kids. If you’re going to expose yourself to the daystar for an extended period of time, especially if you’re near a body of water – like, say, the Delaware River for example – put some sunscreen on.
