Nick is two years old. I forgot to mention that last time; In fact Feb 28 is his birthday. It didn’t feel like his birthday, though, because we didn’t have anything going on for him on that day. I suppose it would be more correct to say that I didn’t have anything going on for him that day. Which is, I further suppose, indicative of one of the problematic ways I look at him. A selfish way. A me-oriented way. Whether he’s two or not, his birthday is his birthday, regardless of what boring adult business I have going on. He’s a kid. It’s his job to throw things around and stick his fingers in his food and fling it at the walls and generally to act as a self-contained cell of entropy floating around the house, throwing into disarray everything it brushes up against. My struggle against the entropy won’t stop it. I can only contain it for a brief moment before he smashes something else or tosses another stack of bills all over the floor or somehow gets hold of a drink we left on the table and spreads it across the thrice-DonDrapered carpet in the living room.
I got distracted. Anyway, I’m seeing him through my lens, not his lens. I don’t know if that’s a bad thing or not, but I literally just this moment in writing these words made myself aware of it, and I can’t make myself unaware of it, so I’m going to try seeing things his way and see if that changes things for me (or him) any. At any rate, he’s two now, and that’s pretty cool and exciting while also being laden with gravity and making me keenly aware of the fact that I’m not getting any younger over here, myself.
Weekend update, in other news:
Running is still in the ditch. My heel feels strong enough to run again, but I am going to give it a few more days – probably until the weekend – to make doubly sure that it’s back up to speed before I get out there. If I start up again and I start having this pain again, I’m afraid it’s going to be doctor time. In fact, let that not be a fear – it WILL be doctor time. This is past me shaking a finger at future me, if in fact that’s a future we arrive at.
Writing: I need to engross myself into a project rather than just dancing around the issue and writing inconsequential Sharknado that won’t matter. Not that a little piece can’t have some good fallout, but it should be supplemental to something rather than trying to stand on its own. Which is not to say that a side piece can’t stand… you know what I’m saying, don’t you, me? I’m not going to do anything with the “small stuff” if I don’t have a “big stuff” to carry the day and help me start to build an audience. So there are three options.
1) Accidentally Inspired. It works as a book. The problem: Do I know it too well to have it be a fresh writing experience?
2) Villainy (or whatever I end up calling the superhero thing). It’s probably a cooler idea, and certainly one that I can expand. The problem: Might it not be better saved until I’ve cut my teeth and have a bit more confidence?
3) Unknown new project that I haven’t conceived yet. None of the drawbacks of the first two ideas; it’s perfect! The problem: What the hell is the idea?
They say that you have to put deadlines on your dreams, so here’s me setting one. By next week at this time, I will choose a primary project. In fact, I’ll go one step further. Said primary project should be, at the very least, finished – first draft or beyond – by the time school starts back in the Fall. Bold added for emphasis and so that future me can find this and remember it later, when he would rather slack off.
Ohhh, Sharknado. I’m going to have to get to work.
One thought on “In which I make a first post and perhaps overzealously set a summer writing goal”
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