Writing Start: 9:48
Total New Words (est.): 0
Edited (est.): 7100
1. Book Three Melody: Off
2. Fractalverse VI: Off till 4/16
3. Dreamcatcher: Edited what I've written in chapter four so far
4. Cheapery St. Heroes Book Three: Fifth primary edit of chapter three
5. Firefly: Off
6. Angel: Book Three: Off
7. Stories from the Quiet: Third primary edit of the first story
8. The Good Place: Off
Transcribing Montaigne: Off
Thought of the Day: I was raised to believe that I am a perpetual slacker, lazy and un-industrious, a shoo-in for a one-way ticket to hell. It was my father (so called) who literally beat that into me.
And so I have spent the balance of my life always feeling like I'm not doing enough; that if I were truly devoted to my work, I'd be pounding it out sixteen, eighteen, twenty hours a day. I'd stop taking care of myself, grow my beard out, and start drinking heavily and doing serious drugs, maybe start violating little boys, because, when you're a tortured author, it's perfectly okay!
The models that are held up as paragons of industry or creativity or hard work are seriously fucked up, folks. They really are. The Protestant work ethic is a nightmare and is, as we speak, destroying this world. Our relationship to our work, let alone each other or the world, is so out of whack that when you attempt to right your own ship, you are faced with the messages, both emanating within and pounding your soul from without, that ... you're a perpetual slacker, lazy and un-industrious.
I've been at this writing gig for seventeen years. I have made less than $500. But I persist. I persist because this is what I want to do with my life.
My (so-called) father owned his own masonry contracting business, made millions of dollars, worked for almost forty years at it, and hated every single second of it. He told me.
So which one is wise--millionaire Dad, who hated what turned out to be almost half of his life, or me, who loves what I do but have made virtually nothing? Save me the lectures on "pragmatism" and "practicality." When you think of it, those are just societal messages hand-crafted by the robber barons who control our entire culture and who have brainwashed almost everyone into spouting them off whenever faced with a question like this one. They are messages accepted by almost everyone, because they provide a ready-made excuse for one's cowardice.
Your life is finite. It will end. There are no guarantees that you'll get to live on in some afterlife, or come back, reincarnated; the true and ultimate practicality is actually, authentically realizing that, then making the enormous changes to your existence that such a fact--the only relevant one, it turns out--almost certainly demands.