And I’m on my own.
Spreading my wings. Still learning, taking tentative steps, shaky in the knees, and all that.
But luckily, I have a headache and exhaustion to go with it.
Target: 300 words
Written: 146 words, novella: The Mungk
Read: Sex Rx, Lauren Streicher
Comics: Sex Criminals 21-24
Music: Jimmy James - Single EP, Beastie BoysIt’s 7:34AM and I feel like I’m already spent.
Granted, my day starts typically at 4:50AM, so I’ve been up almost three hours.
I’ve written a bit, did some yoga and some meditation, thought about the state of world, wondered why the hell so many of these insane right wingers continue to get away with shit that is clearly illegal and no one appears to be even considering charges, wondered if I’m capable of writing humanity changing works, but it won’t matter because climate change and divisive, authoritarian politics will kill us all before it can make an impact, wondered if aliens would find these pages years later and not be able to understand a damn word, showered, maybe thought about sex a little (because I do so roughly every three minutes) and then peed, ate breakfast, made coffee, fed the dogs, let the dogs out, gave the dogs their joint medication, fed the cats, unloaded/loaded the dishwasher, played Wordle and Worldle, a game of Go on a 9×9 board with a 8 stone handicap (because I need it, apparently), then sat down and went over my to-do list, what’s left of it.
And I’ve a whole workday ahead of me.
Shit.
Target: 300 words
Written: 227 words, novella: The Mungk
Read: Sex Rx, Lauren Streicher
Comics: Sex Criminals 17-20
Music: Jimmy Buffett Essentials, Jimmy Buffett (fuck you, Jimmy rocks)I was really hoping, thirty-seven days into this new year, that the first draft of the first novel (well, novella) I wrote in the canon of me would be a real banger.
Instead, it’s a steaming pile of dog feces.
I suppose we must walk before we run, crawl before we walk, and lay around screaming incoherently before that.
Weirdly, we end that way as well, most of us. We come in screaming, and go out spent, withered husks.
Hump day positivity, folks.
Target: 300 words
Written: 193 words, novella: The Mungk
Read: Face It, Debbie Harry
Comics: Sex Criminals 13-16
Music: Jesus Of Suburbia, Green Day (like 3 separate singles)It’s one of the funnest parts of being a writer – the first draft.
Just freeform flow, letting your mind go wild as you pour out whatever it is you’re trying to get across onto the page.
It’s the act of creation, in one of its purest forms.
It also produces utter shit. Sure, there will be a few gems in there, but ninety-nine times out of a hundred, the first draft is little more than a really, really detailed outline, which then is ripped apart and reconfigured to get rid of all its inconsistencies and mistakes.
It’s a flabby slob getting liposuction and a makeover.
It’s the raw body before the nose job and the tummy tuck. The trick is adjusting only just enough to enhance one’s appearance and not turn it into one of those plastic surgery freakshows that show up on the television far past their prime, more Elephant Man than aging beauty.
Natural beauty has its place, and natural solutions to look better are always better than going under the knife or injecting chemicals into your face.
That’s how you lose the capacity for emotion, after all.
I think I’ve lost the plot, and this metaphor, first draft that it is, has gone into the toxic waste pile, with the rest of the fat.
Target: 300 words
Written: 524 words, novella: The Mungk
Read: Face It, Debbie Harry
Comics: Sex Criminals 9-12
Music: The Jerky Boys, L7 (what can I say? I've been busy.)Back into it. I guess I must be doing okay at work, since they’re offering me extra work most people don’t get (or want, perhaps).
It’s not the greatest job, but as I learn more about who does what in the government and our division, I’m beginning to see that there may be other options.
I mean, as long as this writing thing isn’t paying the bills, which it’s not.
I’ve made exactly zero dollars thus far.
Of course, I don’t expect to make anything off poetry and short stories. Maybe comics. Maybe the hip little ditties if I compile them into a larger volume.
A book of short stories or poetry might work, but I’m a long way from that, and let’s face it – it’s not going to land me on the moon.
That’s the novel prerogative, and even then, it’s dicey. You gotta be good to be great and great to make any cash, which is bullshit.
We massively undervalue art in this world, always have. The absolute cream can make a living; the rest of us are scraping by.
And I don’t believe in the starving artist. I do believe that too much wealth corrupts.
But making a living?
That shouldn’t be something we have to fight for.
Target: 300 words
Written: 176 words, novella: The Mungk
Read: Face It, Debbie Harry
Comics: Sex Criminals 5-8
Music: Jeremy - EP, Pearl Jam (have we deciphered the actual words to Yellow Ledbetter yet?)Quick’ems.
Fun weekend, too much food, too many snacks. My blood pressure and my waistline have suffered.
My soul has not.
Children are good for the heart.
Grandchildren even more so.
Target: 300 words
Written: 239 words, novella: The Mungk
Read: Face It, Debbie Harry
Comics: Sex Criminals 1-4 (I wish I was Fraction)
Music: Jello's Revenge (Bootleg!), Dead KennedysUntil the daddy puts the T-Bird away, I think. Or, in this case, the granddaughter.
Man, that kid is something else. Total ham, smart as a whip. Freakin’ adorable.
Starting to go through that “big feelings” stage, where she’s trying to learn how to deal with things beyond the absolute basics.
Really didn’t like the idea of being a “pre-schooler” soon. I hope one day I’ll be successful enough as an author, so she can say, “My Bop-Bop wrote THIS” and then be ashamed by all its darkness.
Wait. Was this a good plan?
Target: 300 words
Written: 689 words, novella: The Mungk
Read: Face It, Debbie Harry
Comics: The Necromancer 5-6, The Necromancer: Pilot Season 1
Music: Jefferson Airplane Takes Off, Jefferson AirplaneWe are off to see the wizard tomorrow. And by wizard, I mean granddaughter.
And by off, I mean, I’m having massive anxiety about leaving our new rat terrier for the first time. She’s a nervous girl, and absurdly attached to me, so I think she’s going to have a meltdown or panic attack when we go.
Luckily, it’s just two days, but man, poor girl. Her pain (or my assumption of her pending pain) is breaking my heart. Naturally, she’ll probably just super-attach herself to my brother, after a short period of being a real fraidy cat.
Best case scenario really, but man, is she going to be stoked to see us on Sunday. Or not.
Maybe she’ll be pissed.
Target: 300 words
Written: 1832 words, novella: The Mungk
Read: Is Your Genius At Work?, Dick Richards (Dick Dicks is the man, great book)
Comics: The Necromancer 1-4
Music: Jah Won't Pay The Bills, SublimeHallelujah!
I was worried I tore a muscle or had one of those fucking impingements like I had in my twenties, caught blocking a spike in a beach volleyball, that lasted roughly eight years, before I decided to do physio.
(Also, benefits – I didn’t have benefits for a while, and booze was a more effective use of my money than physio. Numbs the pain and/or makes it irrelevant, plus, you know, fun!)
The pain is still there, but way less than it was yesterday, so wherever it was pinched, it’s better now.
Hallelujah. Back to work then, without the pain, and hopefully, with better focus (although, it’s not looking good).
Maybe booze would help.
Target: 300 words
Written: 812 words, novella: The Mungk
Read: Is Your Genius At Work?, Dick Richards (Dick Dicks!)
Comics: Fight Club 3 10-12
Music: Jar Of Flies + Sap, Alice In Chains (I mean, No Excuses and Got Me Wrong are straight earworms, right?)