So the declaration was four blogs in three days. Unfortunately I didn't make it. I did however knock out the other 97% of the things I set out to accomplish this weekend.
I wrote three blogs. One about motivation, one about the wife being away and now this one. This one isn't going to be anything incredibly exciting but it will be my Doogie Howser M.D. journal entry of the week.
3 of 4 ain't too bad. I actually have reviewed about 9 chapters into my book and made some changes and additions. I have a chunk I need to add towards the beginning and straighten out some dialogue for Chapter 9, but it's looking really good. When I started this weekend I was at 27,000 words, I'm now at almost 33,000. The average book is anywhere from 80,000-120,000; Essentially I'm 25% there.
What if people actually liked the book? What if poeple loved it? What if they asked me to write another one? What kind of money do they pay? Would I have enough time to write while maintaining a full 40 hour/week job? What happens when that becomes a reality?
That will become a reality.
Writing is tricky but much like anything else, when you love doing something, it's hardly work. I even wrote out the outline for a whole new book this weekend. I dove right in and wrote the summaries for the first three chapters too, then realized time is money, so I focused on Book#1 before going any further with book #2. Now I have an option for when I'm done with this one.
Speaking of work, I have to get up in 5 hours. I love you bitches, but #3 will have to end with a good night.
If you guys have suggestions on any topics you'd like me to disect, let me know. "What's the deal with elevators?" lol...
Sunday, June 26, 2011
Weekend Warrior
Why am I writing this blog? Well, I’m not exactly sure. I know I told myself four blogs in three days. It was an attempt at making sure I stay on top of my writing. A new declaration of sorts. Well I wrote #1 last night. I would’ve liked to have sorted through the ideas in my head earlier today, but the day has come and gone and my many chores have been accomplished but I sit in front of my computer mentally and physically exhausted from the day and struggle to find a topic.
I suppose the wife being out of town puts an interesting spin on my weekend. I guess it’s normal as any other weekend, but when she’s gone I feel motivated to ensure that I accomplish stuff. Like she leaves the fort so I want her to know that when she gets back, shit has been taken care of. In putting that to paper I realize how much my wife does around the house. I was busy all damn day just getting stuff done around the house. But my wife, very much like my mother, likes to maintain a pristine domain. And I think we’re good for her imminent return.
I wonder if I can squeeze in 9 before I have to get her from the airport? Hmmm… Ah shit, I’ll be writing blog #3. I suppose that’s a good thing. I digress.
You know what’s funny? The house is clean now, but if you walked in this morning you would think there were three college students living here. I had left shit laying everywhere. Plates on my desk, dirty dishes in the sink (we have a dishwasher), my coat was on the couch. Pillows scattered around the living room (Thanks Kota), bed unmade, closets open… It was ridiculous. I woke up this morning and just getting fresh eyes on the house, I thought, “damn, I’m a fucking slob.”
After a day of knocking chores out with a Van Damme windmill kick, I got down to business and cleaned the house. Truthfully the day was not as laid back as I had pictured it. But I did realize the allure to when the wife leaves town. I think men are pre-disposed to have a variety of annoying habits that in small increments can be either charming or at the very least, a little humorous. But it’s when you start to string the annoying actions together that women start to glare.
The other night some commercial came on with a rather attractive female and I said “ooh”, she gave me the stink eye and my response was a boisterous fart. I thought it was hilarious but she did not. Now had I done one or the other, I think it’d escape that steal trap of a memory of hers, but instead she made a mental note that she married a pig.
The point I’m trying to make is that when the wife is gone I can connect every annoying habit together with a string of freedom. I shit with the door open, I had ice cream for breakfast, I watched Sportscenter in the nude, I blasted Ted Nugent for an hour as I roamed the house procrastinating before I attacked the day. And attacked the day I did. I had that bitch in a darse choke but when I spent an hour and a half taking my weed whacker apart because it’s a piece of shit, putting it back together then having the pull cord snap… the day escaped from my darse choke, rolled out and stayed out of my reach until the bell rang.
Overall the day was a success. I just wish I could’ve submitted that bitch.
In any case it’s late, I have my Beethoven Pandora channel playing and I’m writing this blog. I think I shall spend some time tweaking my book, then ending the night with a few chapters from Mockingjay (The Hunger Games part III). Great book.
Anyway I’m out. Hopefully you readers made it to the end.
I suppose the wife being out of town puts an interesting spin on my weekend. I guess it’s normal as any other weekend, but when she’s gone I feel motivated to ensure that I accomplish stuff. Like she leaves the fort so I want her to know that when she gets back, shit has been taken care of. In putting that to paper I realize how much my wife does around the house. I was busy all damn day just getting stuff done around the house. But my wife, very much like my mother, likes to maintain a pristine domain. And I think we’re good for her imminent return.
I wonder if I can squeeze in 9 before I have to get her from the airport? Hmmm… Ah shit, I’ll be writing blog #3. I suppose that’s a good thing. I digress.
You know what’s funny? The house is clean now, but if you walked in this morning you would think there were three college students living here. I had left shit laying everywhere. Plates on my desk, dirty dishes in the sink (we have a dishwasher), my coat was on the couch. Pillows scattered around the living room (Thanks Kota), bed unmade, closets open… It was ridiculous. I woke up this morning and just getting fresh eyes on the house, I thought, “damn, I’m a fucking slob.”
After a day of knocking chores out with a Van Damme windmill kick, I got down to business and cleaned the house. Truthfully the day was not as laid back as I had pictured it. But I did realize the allure to when the wife leaves town. I think men are pre-disposed to have a variety of annoying habits that in small increments can be either charming or at the very least, a little humorous. But it’s when you start to string the annoying actions together that women start to glare.
The other night some commercial came on with a rather attractive female and I said “ooh”, she gave me the stink eye and my response was a boisterous fart. I thought it was hilarious but she did not. Now had I done one or the other, I think it’d escape that steal trap of a memory of hers, but instead she made a mental note that she married a pig.
The point I’m trying to make is that when the wife is gone I can connect every annoying habit together with a string of freedom. I shit with the door open, I had ice cream for breakfast, I watched Sportscenter in the nude, I blasted Ted Nugent for an hour as I roamed the house procrastinating before I attacked the day. And attacked the day I did. I had that bitch in a darse choke but when I spent an hour and a half taking my weed whacker apart because it’s a piece of shit, putting it back together then having the pull cord snap… the day escaped from my darse choke, rolled out and stayed out of my reach until the bell rang.
Overall the day was a success. I just wish I could’ve submitted that bitch.
In any case it’s late, I have my Beethoven Pandora channel playing and I’m writing this blog. I think I shall spend some time tweaking my book, then ending the night with a few chapters from Mockingjay (The Hunger Games part III). Great book.
Anyway I’m out. Hopefully you readers made it to the end.
Friday, June 24, 2011
Motivation
I love the feeling of motivation. It’s an odd little emotion that can be very elusive at times if you’re not careful. It’s that point where you set a goal, no matter how small or large. You focus on that goal and envision the path to accomplish it; Motivation is that feeling that makes you take that first step towards your goal.
Motivation comes from all types of sources. It can come from a television show. It can come from a failure of some sort or it can even come from a big accomplishment. It can simply be an outlet for passion; a gift that should not be taken for granted.
For some a drunken night that landed themselves in the pokey might be the catalyst to get your shit together. Maybe you’re competitive and your brother is going Pre-Law so you up your game and go Pre-Med. Maybe a loved one got sick and motivated you to live healthier. Maybe you’re tired of monotony. One that I’ve seen be a good motivator is finding out you’re going to have a baby. I’ve seen fuck ups transform to great people and parents in a span of nine months.
Motivation.
The downside to it is that it can be a slippery son of a bitch.
The trick of keeping yourself motivated is being conscious of your progress in life. Are you making progress or are you content with going through the motions? Go to college, get your degree, go get a job and get promotions… Yeah, that’s the cookie cutter path that we’re told to live. Apparently I’m living it. But for some reason there’s a feeling inside me that I can’t shake. I love my job, but I’m almost positive I’m not meant to spend my life in a cubicle working with suppliers in Asia for customers in Europe. My progress in life can be moving much faster. My life has been spent looking at things with a different perspective. And as egocentric as it may sound, that perspective needs to be seen. So fuck it… I’m motivated.
Last year I took a workshop with hometown comedian Kyle Cease and comedian legend Louie Anderson. It was a workshop about being a stand up comedian. I’ve always thought I’d like telling jokes for a living and it just so happened that I considered Kyle Cease one of the smartest and most witty comics out there so I was intrigued to peep it. And at the end of the day, I’m not sure I can juggle the commitment that it takes to be a stand up and provide for my family. I can however use every single thing he taught and apply it to my writing.
So this is sort of a declaration. I started a book about three years ago. Somewhat of a sci-fi book akin to things like The Hunger Games and the many Graphic Novels that litter my book shelves. I sunk about one year into it and got through the first act no problem, but we bought a house, we got married and we’ve been playing Mr. and Mrs. Homeowner. Well now I want to pay this house off.
So starting right now I’m dedicated to writing at least 20 pages a month. I’ve even begun laying out an outline for a new book. I’m also dedicated to writing at least one blog every other week. It’s not hard, it’s very doable; I just have to do it. Motivation… I got your ass.
Listen folks- motivation is one of the most useful tools one can possess. You set some goals for yourself, no matter how small or large, lay out a path to achieving that goal and use your will power to take that first step toward your goal…. I promise you will benefit. And when all is said and done the feeling of accomplishment cannot be matched.
Motivation comes from all types of sources. It can come from a television show. It can come from a failure of some sort or it can even come from a big accomplishment. It can simply be an outlet for passion; a gift that should not be taken for granted.
For some a drunken night that landed themselves in the pokey might be the catalyst to get your shit together. Maybe you’re competitive and your brother is going Pre-Law so you up your game and go Pre-Med. Maybe a loved one got sick and motivated you to live healthier. Maybe you’re tired of monotony. One that I’ve seen be a good motivator is finding out you’re going to have a baby. I’ve seen fuck ups transform to great people and parents in a span of nine months.
Motivation.
The downside to it is that it can be a slippery son of a bitch.
The trick of keeping yourself motivated is being conscious of your progress in life. Are you making progress or are you content with going through the motions? Go to college, get your degree, go get a job and get promotions… Yeah, that’s the cookie cutter path that we’re told to live. Apparently I’m living it. But for some reason there’s a feeling inside me that I can’t shake. I love my job, but I’m almost positive I’m not meant to spend my life in a cubicle working with suppliers in Asia for customers in Europe. My progress in life can be moving much faster. My life has been spent looking at things with a different perspective. And as egocentric as it may sound, that perspective needs to be seen. So fuck it… I’m motivated.
Last year I took a workshop with hometown comedian Kyle Cease and comedian legend Louie Anderson. It was a workshop about being a stand up comedian. I’ve always thought I’d like telling jokes for a living and it just so happened that I considered Kyle Cease one of the smartest and most witty comics out there so I was intrigued to peep it. And at the end of the day, I’m not sure I can juggle the commitment that it takes to be a stand up and provide for my family. I can however use every single thing he taught and apply it to my writing.
So this is sort of a declaration. I started a book about three years ago. Somewhat of a sci-fi book akin to things like The Hunger Games and the many Graphic Novels that litter my book shelves. I sunk about one year into it and got through the first act no problem, but we bought a house, we got married and we’ve been playing Mr. and Mrs. Homeowner. Well now I want to pay this house off.
So starting right now I’m dedicated to writing at least 20 pages a month. I’ve even begun laying out an outline for a new book. I’m also dedicated to writing at least one blog every other week. It’s not hard, it’s very doable; I just have to do it. Motivation… I got your ass.
Listen folks- motivation is one of the most useful tools one can possess. You set some goals for yourself, no matter how small or large, lay out a path to achieving that goal and use your will power to take that first step toward your goal…. I promise you will benefit. And when all is said and done the feeling of accomplishment cannot be matched.
Sunday, June 19, 2011
The Trifecta
Glasses? Check.
Wallet? Check.
Phone? Check.
Hangover? Check, check and check.
This is how my morning began. Waking up on a couch unsure when you got there is usually an indicator that you had fun last night and that you're bound to feel like shit for the next few hours (at least).
Growing up as an adolescent my best friend introduced me to a child hood friend of his that had moved away when we were younger. All three of us eventually became about as close of friends as I feel comfortable with without removing any clothing. Here we are 13 years later and I still consider these two jabroni's my best wingmen.
Unfortunately D-bag #1 moved 9 hours away to Idaho so in order to see him we had to put a road trip in. Getting on the road as early as we could Kenny and I made decent time when treking across three states en route for an evening of watching Ninja Assassins and eating cold pizza. Actually though, I haven't laughed as hard as I did that night in a LONG time.
Night number two comes around and Willy somehow convinces two 29 year old guys that a house party with people he doesn't really know is an acceptable plan. Upon arrival, it was the exact kind of party I'd like to attend... If I knew the host. Live band, swimming pool, lots of food and drinks and friendly people. However it felt alot like I crashed a family reunion. Upon getting introduced to various people I found out that everyone was related to someone in one way or another at this party. If you weren't the brother, you were the brother-in-law. If you weren't the brother-in-law, you were the mechanic that fixed daddy's car for 20 years. In any case, the people were friendly as hell but I felt out of place like porno in the cartoon section of the movie store... Then again I suppose there are cartoon porns.
In any case we end up at Cowgirls later in the night. Complete with a roach coach out front (which I definitely utilized, I just don't remember what I ate). A few shots and crown on the rocks later and the night has begun. Honestly I'm not much for dancing but get me a comfortable seat, a witty friend and I can simply people watch for an entire evening. The night is cracking, people filed in like it was the only club in the area (which I'm guessing is not far off).
The DJ announced for the girls to get up on the bar for a little dancing and leading the pack was a woman that likely played D-Line for Boise State at one point. If you've ever been to Cowgirls you know that girls get up on stage and dance to some songs a few times per evening; And above the bar is a long pipe or bar with ropes to hang on to as you dance so you don't eat it. Well this lady got into position and was hanging on that rope so heavily that the bar started to move a little. I see the bartender tap his buddy on the shoulder and for a few moments they stay near this lady as if to be unofficial spotters incase that support bar is not up to code. Although, you're looking for trouble if two skinny dudes with feaux-hawks are the only thing between her and the floor. No deaths occurred, not even an interesting mis-step, but being from Seattle, it occurred to me that only in a city like Nampa, Idaho would you find a proud Girlcow shaking what the good lord gave her.
The night continued on drinking and bs'ing with random people, ending with the lights getting turned on to usher people out the door and Kenny and I stand there scoping the club to ask eachother "where the fuck is Willy?"... Well, the kid I've never seen two step to his favorite songs was out on the dance floor looking like Antonio Banderas teaching a salsa class to a shoe-less volunteer.
Needless to say there was one more person in the vehicle as we made our exit. Truthfully that was about when my memory of the evening faded away. I remember raining 3's from the couch into the Little Tykes hoop in the living room and wondering if the Sock Bandit would strike later that evening... But my recollection of anything at that point is reserved for the quiet that filled the room as she made the Walk of Shame. The Sock Bandit struck again.
But here it is about noon Mountain Time and my hangover is a little subdued and I'm ready to start the day. I'd drive 9 hours for a weekend like this anytime. I just might slow my alcohol consumption down...
Wallet? Check.
Phone? Check.
Hangover? Check, check and check.
This is how my morning began. Waking up on a couch unsure when you got there is usually an indicator that you had fun last night and that you're bound to feel like shit for the next few hours (at least).
Growing up as an adolescent my best friend introduced me to a child hood friend of his that had moved away when we were younger. All three of us eventually became about as close of friends as I feel comfortable with without removing any clothing. Here we are 13 years later and I still consider these two jabroni's my best wingmen.
Unfortunately D-bag #1 moved 9 hours away to Idaho so in order to see him we had to put a road trip in. Getting on the road as early as we could Kenny and I made decent time when treking across three states en route for an evening of watching Ninja Assassins and eating cold pizza. Actually though, I haven't laughed as hard as I did that night in a LONG time.
Night number two comes around and Willy somehow convinces two 29 year old guys that a house party with people he doesn't really know is an acceptable plan. Upon arrival, it was the exact kind of party I'd like to attend... If I knew the host. Live band, swimming pool, lots of food and drinks and friendly people. However it felt alot like I crashed a family reunion. Upon getting introduced to various people I found out that everyone was related to someone in one way or another at this party. If you weren't the brother, you were the brother-in-law. If you weren't the brother-in-law, you were the mechanic that fixed daddy's car for 20 years. In any case, the people were friendly as hell but I felt out of place like porno in the cartoon section of the movie store... Then again I suppose there are cartoon porns.
In any case we end up at Cowgirls later in the night. Complete with a roach coach out front (which I definitely utilized, I just don't remember what I ate). A few shots and crown on the rocks later and the night has begun. Honestly I'm not much for dancing but get me a comfortable seat, a witty friend and I can simply people watch for an entire evening. The night is cracking, people filed in like it was the only club in the area (which I'm guessing is not far off).
The DJ announced for the girls to get up on the bar for a little dancing and leading the pack was a woman that likely played D-Line for Boise State at one point. If you've ever been to Cowgirls you know that girls get up on stage and dance to some songs a few times per evening; And above the bar is a long pipe or bar with ropes to hang on to as you dance so you don't eat it. Well this lady got into position and was hanging on that rope so heavily that the bar started to move a little. I see the bartender tap his buddy on the shoulder and for a few moments they stay near this lady as if to be unofficial spotters incase that support bar is not up to code. Although, you're looking for trouble if two skinny dudes with feaux-hawks are the only thing between her and the floor. No deaths occurred, not even an interesting mis-step, but being from Seattle, it occurred to me that only in a city like Nampa, Idaho would you find a proud Girlcow shaking what the good lord gave her.
The night continued on drinking and bs'ing with random people, ending with the lights getting turned on to usher people out the door and Kenny and I stand there scoping the club to ask eachother "where the fuck is Willy?"... Well, the kid I've never seen two step to his favorite songs was out on the dance floor looking like Antonio Banderas teaching a salsa class to a shoe-less volunteer.
Needless to say there was one more person in the vehicle as we made our exit. Truthfully that was about when my memory of the evening faded away. I remember raining 3's from the couch into the Little Tykes hoop in the living room and wondering if the Sock Bandit would strike later that evening... But my recollection of anything at that point is reserved for the quiet that filled the room as she made the Walk of Shame. The Sock Bandit struck again.
But here it is about noon Mountain Time and my hangover is a little subdued and I'm ready to start the day. I'd drive 9 hours for a weekend like this anytime. I just might slow my alcohol consumption down...
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