Tuesday, July 16, 2019

Pierwalker Log: July 16, 2019

Writing start: 8:58 A.M.
Finish: 4:30 P.M.
Total new words (est.): 1000
Edited (est.): 7000

1. Failure: Off till 8/5

2. Book Three Melody: First primary edit of chapter sixteen

3. Angel: Book Three: Off

4. Random Chance Book Two: 300 new words
Notes: Looking for an end to this chapter.

5. Port Story: Off

6. Hidden Bookmarks: 400 new words
Notes: So far, this is a really good chapter.

7. LOTR: Read-through of chapter eight

8. T-Bag: 300 new words
Notes: I'm going to have fun with this chapter.

Special Projects: None today

Extra notes: A new social media site that I might be interested in: Thinkspot. It's still in the beta stage, whatever that means, so it's not up and running yet. But, from what I've read, it definitely looks promising: a social media site that proudly exists along the "long tail" of social media, not concerned with numbers but with content.

That's what this blog is all about.

I despise this culture and its endless push for conformity and popularity. And I despise that through my stat tracker I got sucked up into that bullshit. I despise that I let a giant corporation dictate whether or not I felt good or not on any given day given a bunch of meaningless bullshit numbers.

It's going to take me a while to get over this.

The last two days have been very freeing. This blog is a labor of love, just as my novels and poetry and non-fiction are. If "the world" never discovers it, or them, doesn't, and won't, make a damn bit of difference to me. That's the central lesson in all this.

"Happy is the man who does not want his things to please the many!" exclaims Balthasar Gracián. That declaration is a million times more important in today's world than it was in his, because in today's world, everything is about conformity and popularity. Everything. Which is why giant corporations and advertising agencies attempt to sell you fat-asses non-conformity, because you think by consuming you'll stand out from the herd you cling to with two clutching, trembling fists.

Fuck you and your unliving contradiction of a life.