Words

It's funny how we learn words to spell and remember them.  I have a list as long as my arm about how to spell this word or the other.  Some are really simple, others more difficult.  Then there are those stories which come unbidden along with certain words (look at doughnuts).

Just for kicks, today I thought to share a few.    

WORD

• Together—This one's simple.  To Get Her.  But every damn time.  That gets annoying after a bit.
• Doughnuts—I was in scouting when I was younger. We were planning a camp out and everyone wanted doughnuts for a meal.  When the boy writing the list asked how to spell it, one kid said "dog nuts" and he wrote it down as such.  Ever since then, I've thought "doughnuts", spelled "dog nuts" and had to correct it.
• Mortgage—For years, I couldn't spell this word, then it hit.  Mort Gage.  Now that's all I hear.
• Medieval—There was an old Playstation game called Medi-Evil. That stuck so, I just replace the correct vowels
• Principal—I misspell this often in order to get it correct.  Misspelled in my head (Prince E Pal) but correct on the page.  Go figure.
• Receive—I before E, Except after C or sounding like A as in Neighbor and Weigh.  So what the hell receive?  Re Ce Eve
• Duct Tape—Sorry, growing up where I did, this is and shall forever be Duck Tape. 

What words stick out in your head and why?

BlogBattle: Lola—A Story

This week's BlogBattle threw me for a curve ball.  Lola.

Didn't see that coming.

Therefore today I sat down and started writing about a girl and a guy, figuring that had something to do with a lola.  They meet, fell in love, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera.  It really wasn't some of my best work.  Frankly put, I was getting bored writing it, and we all know if the author's bored, pity the reader.

Then I got thinking, what's a lola?  Google is a great thing, and I soon had my answer.  I'm not one for slang and I found the answer was in an urban dictionary website.  Never would have figured it on my own.

So I sit back down with my story and start editing.  Fix a part here, add some melodramatic stuff there.  All in all, it was coming together nicely.  But I was still bored.  I didn't want to bore all of you either, so I had to do something.

That's when it came to me.  Somebody already wrote a fantastic tale about a lola.  I'll just share that.  Won't win any prizes, but if I cite the original work, there's no copyright infringement either.  No jail time is a win.

So I give to you, without further ado, Lola by The Kinks:

Lyrics

I met her in a club down in old Soho
Where you drink champagne
It tastes just like Coca Cola, C-O-L-A cola

She walked up to me and she asked me to dance
I asked her her name and in a dark brown voice
She said Lola, L-O-L-A, Lola, L-L-Lola

Well, I'm not the world's most physical guy
But when she squeezed me tight she nearly broke my spine
Oh my Lola, L-L-Lola

Well, I'm not dumb but I can't understand
Why she walked like a woman but talked like a man
Oh my Lola, L-L-Lola, L-L-Lola

Well, we drank champagne and danced all night
Under electric candlelight
She picked me up and sat me on her knee
And said, "Dear boy, won't you come home with me?"

Well, I'm not the world's most passionate guy
But when I looked in her eyes well I almost fell for my Lola
L-L-Lola, L-L-Lola

Lola L-L-Lola, L-L-Lola (Repeat)

I pushed her away, I walked to the door
I fell to the floor, I got down on my knees
Then I looked at her and she at me

That's the way that I want it to stay
I always want it to be that way for my Lola, 

L-L-Lola

Girls will be boys and boys will be girls
It's a mixed up muddled up, shook up world
Except for Lola, L-L-Lola

Well, I left home just a week before
And I'd never ever kissed a woman before
But Lola smiled and took me by the hand
And said, "Dear boy, I'm gonna make you a man"

Well, I'm not the world's most masculine man
But I know what I am and I'm glad I'm a man
And so is Lola, L-L-Lola, L-L-Lola

Lola, L-L-Lola, L-L-Lola

Lola, L-L-Lola, L-L-Lola

(Repeat)

Lyrics from MetroLyrics

Did you like that?  I always loved the song.  Perhaps that's why it fits best for this week's BlogBattle.  There's a fondness for me behind the lyrics.  I can't wait to see what everyone else came up with.  Lola isn't an easy—

Wait . . . .

What?

Loop?  Who came up with that stupid idea? Loop . . . .

Oh.

Hi, Rachael.

Dashiell Hammett's Advice

Even though this week has been a busy one, and I've had a ton on my mind, I don't have a whole lot to say.  I'm still processing a lot of it.  There was a lot of good and a lot of bad.  Thoughts which make we want to give up writing (perminantly) roll though my head even as I write this.  Maybe the darkness will win out, maybe not.  I have no way to read the future.

Instead, I want to give you this.  I've written in a lot of genres since I started putting pen to paper, but my first novel is solidly detective/noir.  What I found one day was a list of rules written by one of detective fiction's great authors, Dashiell Hammett.  I wanted to share that list with you.

LINK

If you write mysteries, it should have several nuggets for you to look at and consider.  But if you don't, take a look anyway.  It has tidbits which can help all of us, Most of it is still valid.  Give it a lookie-loo and tell me what you think.

Full credit goes to the website and its writers.

How I Write a Blog Post

After the serious tone of my last post, I felt it was perhaps best I take a lighter turn this week.  So, today I present to you how I write a blog post.

Step 1:  What day is it?

Monday:  Don’t think about it.

Tuesday:  Don’t think about it.

Wednesday:  Don’t think about it.

Thursday:  “Oh, I need to write a blog post to upload on Monday.”

Friday:  “What should I write about?”

Saturday:   Mad dash to throw down 1000 or so words and send it off to my editor.

Sunday:  Imagine my editor grumbling about my timing and pulling her hair out because of me.

Monday:  Fix and polish edited blog post before uploading it the same day.

Spend the next seven days not thinking about the new blog post due in two weeks.

Step 2:  Pick a topic.

I have to admit it.  Rarely do I have any clue about what my blog posts are going to be about until I start working on them.  Perhaps that’s because I’m lazy.  That’s what K would say.  My personal point of view on it relates back to the type of writer I am.

We all know and recognize the two main writing schools: outliners and discovery.  Outliners plot out the book, the characters, the action, whatever, in greater or lesser detail so they know in advance what will happen.  Discovery writers do just the opposite. They take the stories and run with whatever feels right.  Some writers combine the two schools.  Brandon Sanderson is one such person.  He outlines the novel, but writes the characters using the discovery method.  There is no right or wrong way to do this, no matter what Mrs. Harris, your 3^rd grade teacher, said.

I am firmly in the camp of discovery writing.  If I plot out a single thing, my mind shuts down.  For example, in my current project, you get to meet Stephanie Hawthorne’s mother.  I only know a few things about her at this point:

1) You shall never hear me refer to her as Mom.  Too familiar.

2) She did a number on Stephanie and James when they were growing up.

and

3) You thought Stephanie could be a bitch?  Just wait. 

This will be fun.  I only just met the woman, and then only through a four-line letter, and I already dislike her as a person.  But she’ll be a blast to write. 

With that in mind, why should my blog posts be any different?  Most of the posts I’ve tried to plan out in advance have never been published, mainly because I never finished them.  And those that have been published aren’t my best work. 

Have I ever told you about Monty Python and how they did their scripts?  No?  Let me illuminate.  They, like so many shows, performed before test audiences.  The bad stuff?  It was pitched.  The good stuff?  That was where they differed from others.  If the skit performed too well, they threw it away as well.  So think about it like this: all the classic Monty Python we know and love—“Dead Parrot,” “The Spanish Inquisition,” “How Not to be Seen”—was actually mediocre Monty Python.  We’ve been laughing at their mediocre stuff.

Mind Blown.

Step 3: Writing

Self-explanatory.  Get computer.  Sit down.  Put fingers on keys and write.  Let the words flow, and don’t worry about where they’re leading.  The hardest thing you’ll ever do, but you wanna be a writer?  Just do it.

Step 4: Editing

Again, self-explanatory.  When writing, we don’t see the errors, but if we go back?  Like a baseball bat to the face. We’ve all been there.  Someday, I should post for you the first draft of some of the stuff I’ve written.  The final work looks much different from what is originally placed on the paper.  That is, by necessity, a good thing. 

I’ve heard stories about people—Rex Stout, to be precise—who never edited a single thing they wrote.  Somehow, I don’t believe that, but even if it’s not true, I’m not of his caliber.  There are those you look up to for inspiration, for education, as role models.  He’s one of mine. 

So I edit.  Go through.  Reword and rework phrases, sentences, and paragraphs.  You know what I mean.  Make sure it comes through clearly.  As the writer, that’s your responsibility. 

Do your job.

But here’s one of my little tidbits for you when it comes to my editing and writing.  Unless I am trying to prove a particular point, the same word never begins any sentence within the same paragraph more than once.  Look at this one.  No word begins the same sentence twice.  It makes things “work” better.  Also, if you can arrange it in the same pattern for your paragraphs, you’ll be in great shape.  I haven’t perfected that one yet.  

Step 5: Post it

Ok, I skipped a few substeps there.  Send it off to the editor.  Follow her suggestions.  Add pictures.  Tried that a few times.  Not sold on the practice.  Whatever those substeps are, do them as needed.  Me?  I just listen to my editor. 98% to 100% of the time, I agree with what she suggests. Then post.

The big thing is to be aware of what you’re saying.  You are ultimately responsible for your content.  Stand by it or don’t post it.  If I have concerns about something I’ve written, it is removed during the editing process.  I stand by what I’ve written, even if it isn’t pretty.

So that’s about it.  Maybe you’d call this fluff, but, hey, it’s what I got.  Welcome to my little world. Till next time.

Sorry I've been away.

It feels like forever since I wrote anything substantive here.  There’s plenty of reasons for that, but none worth going into.  Though I will say that a damaged finger doesn’t help matters any.  It’s doing better, though I will have a scar.  Most definitely a scar. 

Unfortunately, I don’t have 1500 words of wit or wisdom to pass on today.  Life’s been too heavy for that lately.  Instead, I give you my second miscellaneous blog post (the first one being my second or third post).  It’s just the odds and ends going through my mind right now.  And to start it all off, I give you—

Money:

Yes, the infamous denomination which makes the world turn.  It’s been getting to me lately.  To be more exact, though, it’s the lack thereof which is getting to me.  Not like I can’t deal with my current level of income.  I can.  But it wasn’t until recently that I understood what lenders meant when they called my debt-to-income ratio too high.  Oh God, is it!  Maybe this isn’t the place to be discussing it, but it’s on my mind, so it shows up here.  The good news is that I have a plan.

Many of you have probably heard of Dave Ramsey.  If you haven’t, look him up.  Your life will be better for it.  If you have, you should know where I am going with this.  Mr. Ramsey has a foolproof method for getting out of debt.  Or maybe not.  I’ve screwed it up once before, but that was on me, not him.  It is sound financial advice, which I suggest you consider.  The gist of it is this: work hard, apply your money to your debts smartly, and build financial wealth.  Oh, and don’t accrue more debt.  I fell short in a couple places.

But I’m back on it now.  It’s hard, but I’m more motivated than ever before.  So I’ve started selling my stuff on eBay.  I’ve got lots of it, so it can go.  Things are things, but peace of mind is more important to me right now.  Besides, I can always re-buy all of it later if I truly miss it.  I doubt I will.  

The Red Dress:

Well, despite my finger being injured, I’ve finished it.  My first novel, The Red Dress, is done.  Don’t be jealous.  Okay, you probably aren’t.  But I finished it last week.  Or it’s done until and unless I want to get a copy edit done on it.  I’m not sure I can do that—from both an impatience aspect and a financial one (see above).  Either way, it’s a great relief, to say the least.  I am done (for now) with Stephanie Hawthorne.

But this raises the next question:  what to do with it.  As my wife sees it, there are two options.  I can publish it or get smothered in my sleep for wasting all the time and money involved with the process.  I also see two options, but they are a tad bit different.   I could try to publish the novel through traditional means.  That would mean query letters, publishing companies, agents, more editors, and, I’m sure, more headaches before seeing it in print for the first time years from now.  The other option is to self-publish, which as anyone can tell you, has its own set of difficulties. 

I’m just not sure which one I’d prefer to crack my skull over.  It’s going to be a hard decision with a lot of work behind it, regardless of my choices.  The worst part about all of it is, I just want it done and out there and in your hot little hands.  

I’ll post an excerpt or two soon.

Writing:

So with the end of The Red Dress, I find myself free—free from that novel but with the desire to write something new.  All of us creative types know the joy that feeling brings.  And I’ve been planning on something for a while now.  Been world-building and planning out every little detail for the setting (I never plan out the plot.) for probably two or more years now.  Think of it as a cross between Jim Butcher’s Dresden Files and the movie Ocean’s Eleven.  Last week, I even started writing it. 

Then there was last night.  Actually, it was two nights ago.  And two nights ago from when I wrote these lines, not when you’re reading this.  What happened?  I’m glad you asked.  Stephanie FUCKING Hawthorne is what happened.  You want to know?  Let me tell you.

FYI, I feel like a late-night infomercial right now.  Heh.

So I go to bed.  It’s late.  I’m tired and asleep almost before my head hits the pillow.  But I did have two thoughts before I drifted off to La-La Land.  The first was a single line which I shall not mention here.  The other, mere milliseconds before I fell asleep, was: “That would make a great opening line for a Stephanie Hawthorne novel.”

Fast-forward to the next morning, when I wake up with the first chapter plotted out in my head. 

ARGH!!!!

As of right now, I am pretty solid on the first paragraph—as in, it’s scripted out in my head without me putting a single line on the page.  I mean, that’s good, right?  It is, but knowing me, by the end of the week, it’ll shove everything else aside.  Honestly, it’ll probably be tomorrow.

My Silence:

This one I can’t be as glib about.  As some of you who keep track know, I’ve kinda disappeared for a bit from the web, from this blog, and from Twitter.  Things have been hard for me professionally, personally, and in all matters of my life for the past month.  There are plenty of reasons for that.  For part of it, look above at the whole get-out-of-debt thing.  That gets to me a lot.  So do . . . other things.

I’ll try to be online more, but those other aspects of my life do take precedence.  My wife, my job—those win over everything else, including the writing I love so much.  Actually, truth be told, I’m getting the writing done at work during my lunch periods.

Yay for hour-long lunches!

But I promise to try.  Hopefully, we’ve turned a corner this week.  I’m looking for the end of the rainbow, that yellow brick road. 

Okay, some nights I’m just looking for a glass of wine.

Characterization: Part Deux

Last post, I talked about characterization in a single, specific case and applied the generalization as a rule. Obviously, it's a generalization, and won't work for everyone or in every case. That's the nature of generalizations.  It's a lot like profiling and valid only as long as its guiding tenants hold true.

Which, as I figure it, is a 50/50 chance.

But there's one aspect of characterization that holds true most of the time. And I say most of the time, because I think there's only one rule in writing that's true 100% of the time: no verb, no sentence. Don't ask me to explain that one, though. I couldn't diagram a sentence if my dinner or my life depended on it. You'll just have to trust me.

No, the rule I'm referring to is that we, as writers, have to make our characters "real." I'm sure you’ve heard that one before. It seems to be a core tenet of creative writing. Think on it and consider how many times you've heard that one preached. Personally, more times than I can count.

Yet, I can't stand this rule. It just doesn't work for me. Hear me out, now. I can see you scoffing and questioning my credibility. Not that I haven't made some bold claims before now. Well, I don't think of them as bold, but rather as questioning what I see as the blindly accepted rules of basic writing. Or something like that. Take it for what you will.

I'll let my finished writing stand for itself.

Anyway, what I have issue with is the absoluteness of the rule, that we must follow this rule at all times when designing characters. It's unconditional. But I have a single question for you:

 What is the definition of real?

By that, I mean what is real and what is false? Is Clifford real? You know Clifford, The Big Red Dog. What about Elrond Half-Elven? Harry Potter? Marty McFly? Shawn Spencer? Bruce Wayne? The list goes on. Is Garfield any less real than the Corleone family or Jake Blues?

Hopefully, I've set up a rhetorical question. Perhaps not. But are any of these characters real or even realistic? The Corleones are realistic enough, in a literal sense, with Marty McFly and Jake Blues trailing just behind. But what about the others? Magical characters don’t exist; elves don't live among us. And a rich man pretending to be a bat? At least dogs are real, though not so large. And definitely not so red.

But each character is real enough. Important difference, that. I feel it's necessary to mention the difference between real, real enough, and, as I think of it, real within a form.

Real should be easy enough for us to understand. These characters are real in a very physical sense and fit the finite, specific definition of the rule. Their actions, responses, and options apply within the physics of this universe. There's no cure for death. A thrown ball has certain demands on it that must be met. Reactions are finite. It all has to make sense. This is what we all strive for. This is the world that Hemingway, Cather, and Woolf introduced to us. We understand it and grasp it inherently.

Real enough is what I consider all those people trying to sell us stuff on TV. The walk-off role. Do we care about their motivations or how they'll react to an alien invasion of lower Manhattan? No. What we want from them is the momentary interaction, and then they can disappear back into the mold that created them. And that's about all we care for them, too. As long as they react believably, we're good. They really don't even apply to the rule, but I mention them only for the sake of being thorough.

Then there's the final type: real within a form. Okay, I could use another term for them, too: stereotypes. This ran rampant in early cinema, but it predates that. Look back at Shakespeare. It's ALL stereotypical. Every play. Doesn't make it less fun, though.

The thing is, we still use stereotypes in our writing. Sherlock Holmes. John McClain. Every sitcom father ever. We're okay with that, too. Otherwise, explain the success of The Big Bang Theory. The characters are all stereotypes.

I recently asked my wife if my characters in The Red Dress were realistic. She said no and I felt horrible. Then she went on to say that they're not meant to be. Extremely realistic characters wouldn't work in that book. It's too stylized. Insert the characters from The Walking Dead into The Big Bang Theory.

Not working for you either?

Then I’ve made my point. As writers, we need to be aware of how well our characterization fits within both the world we create and the style we write. Real is relative. 

Failure is . . . Wait—What?

Lately, I've seen a lot of blog posts and articles about failure.  No matter what we do, everyone is aware of it.  It’s a constant risk, but one that we live with every day—in every aspect of our lives.  Should writing and publishing be any different?  The thing is, some people seem to be taking it to an extreme lately, including a blogger who expounded on the idea that “failure is our muse.”

Wait—What?

I hope you had the same reaction to this as I did.  It’s defeatist and makes no sense.  Talk about pessimism.  Have I ever experienced failure?  Oh God, yes.  Every time I try to run a mile, eat at Chili’s, or try to get a tan.  But calling failure my muse?  No.  I’m sorry, but if failure is your muse, then you are in the wrong fucking profession.

If that seems a bit harsh, think of it this way:  Does failure serve as inspiration for a surgeon whose patients die under his knife?  What about the mechanic whose newly-repaired cars blow up?  The architect who designs a house that collapses? 

The concept just doesn't fly with me.  It doesn't work.

Now, in the author’s defense, I understand what he was trying—but failing—to say.  Not muse, but motivation.  Dictionary.com (used since I can’t seem to find a copy of the OED without driving five hours) defines muse as verb meaning “to meditate on.”  There are other definitions as well, including “to comment thoughtfully or ruminate on” as well as the noun form of the word in reference to classical Greek mythology.  But not one of them means inspiration. 

I can’t think of a single instance when it is a good thing for anyone to meditate on failure.  Reflection?  That’s good.  We all need time to stop and look back on what we’ve done.  Time to see our path and correct our course.  But meditation implies a focus to the exclusion of everything else.  And where would hope and success be but with the all inclusive everything else? 

Ask a scientist what makes us human.  Depending on the field, the answer differs.  Opposable thumbs.  A developed brain.  The ability to create tools and adapt the environment to our needs rather than we to it.  Ask an artist, the answer differs just as much.  Ask yourself.  What makes us human?  For me, it’s a one-word answer:

Hope.

Sure, we’re the culmination of so many adaptations that it’s impossible to narrow down humanity—and what it means to be human—to just a single concept.  And I would agree with that.  I agree with the opposable thumbs and the concept of self.  But for me, hope is the single theme running through the lives of untold trillions who have walked this earth.  That’s why it’s such a terrible thing when someone loses hope.  And what is the antithesis of hope but failure?  Or at least musing on failure.

Honestly, I am no better than anyone else.  I muse over failure much more than I should—much more than is healthy.  It’s part of my psyche, embedded there like a rusted nail.   But I can’t let it rule my life.  None of us can. 

Using failure as a motivator?  Sure, I can understand that—saving that patient, building the perfect house, creating a better vehicle.  Writing the perfect sentence.  It won’t ever happen, but it’s a goal.  My goal. 

But hope isn't my muse.  That would prohibit my understanding of the darker sides of life.  I wrote a murder mystery, for crying out loud.  I need those aspects in my writing.  If I focused solely on hope, then the story might look something more like this:

“Who killed Andrea?”

“I don’t know.”

“Man, I hope she’s all right.”

Andrea sits up.  “I’m good.  It’s ok, (REDACTED), you didn’t have to shoot me.”

And everyone lives happily ever after.

That would sell a lot of books, wouldn’t it?  To be a writer (or anything beyond an automaton), you need to understand the many different facets of humanity.  We can’t just focus on hope, or failure, or charisma.  It simply doesn’t work.  Imagine a rainbow of just one color or a forest that’s slate grey in the fall.  The bark, the leaves, the plants and animals—all just grey.  Boring, right?

Instead, we must take everything as a whole and notice the subtle differences.  Like when each of us looks at a picture and sees a slightly different image. 

So sure.  Use failure.  To avoid doing so would only make you a failure.  Failure is how we learn.  But don’t let it rule your life.  Motivation I can get, but a muse?  Hell no.  Rather, I would argue to avoid muses; focus instead on the wide world of color around you.  Notice how it shifts and changes within each person at different times.  None of us are red all the time, but can flow into yellow or blue at a moment’s notice.  And don’t forget the subtle shading.  Is that sports car the same color as the apple you ate for lunch?  No.  And we are the same way.

Unless you’re two years old.  Then your apples and sports cars can be the same color. 

Gloriously so.

The Child

I wrote The Child about ten years ago now, around the time I graduated from high school. This is probably one of the oldest finished pieces I still own and is the only one that I am willing to share without a complete re-edit.  I hope that you enjoy it.

The Child

As I walked down the street,
Just the other day,
A wondrous sight caught my eye,
As I saw a child at play.

He couldn’t have been older,
Than five or six,
And down at his feet,
Was a puppy of indeterminate mix.

The child had not a care in the world,
On that spring day,
As the dog with the kid,
Played and played.

My mind had been pondering,
On things often sought
About the world’s problems,
And things we have forgot.

I thought of Jews in concentration camps,
Nazis, and things we all hate.
I saw guitars and Elvis,
Woodstock and the music to which we all relate.

But the boy played on….

My mind was all a buzz,
With Martin Luther King,
With Hitler, Washington, and Armstrong,
And what these people mean.

But the boy played on….

I pictured Cold War politics,
And brother against brother,
Of Mickey Mantle and Babe Ruth,
And the wishes of the Father.

But the boy played on….

As I watched the boy and his dog,
Far from my head were thoughts of Nuclear Holocaust,
But as I watched the boy play on,
I had to wonder when our innocence was lost.

Time: The Great Clock That Rules Us All

Time.

It's unique. I cannot think of anything so fundamental, yet fleeting, as it is. Time can never be reconstructed.  With infinite control and perfect knowledge, everything else can be rebuilt. Your first car can be saved from decaying into rust. Bring back every burned piece of paper. That perfect moonlit night of your first kiss. But time? Once used, it's gone.

Why bring this up? Because I'm running out of it.

Sure, in some metaphysical sense, we are all running out of time. Death waits for no man and all that mumbo jumbo. But that's not what I'm getting at. Rather, I have goals and deadlines to meet, yet my worst enemy—procrastination—sneaks up on me and takes hold.

Not fun.

That, I suppose, is why we budget our time, hording it like Scrooge McDuck. But for me, it goes beyond that. I always seem to be running, never quite at a standstill.  My body may be stuck in one place, but my mind never shuts down. Ever. I’m always thinking about something or doing something, all because it needs to be done.

I'm not saying that I'm the only one in this predicament.  In fact, I tend to think that most of us are. And that's a shame. But it's also part of being an adult. I look at my life and often wonder where my time went.   Where’s the time to be myself and relax and be a husband and be an individual? It disappears faster than we ever realize.

Now, I’m not complaining—not much, anyhow.   This is something we all have to deal with.  For right now, though, it has come as a startling slap in the face.  It all stems from my work on my novels.  First and foremost, I am sending off my novel—The Red Dress—to my editor in August (Thanks Susan!).  But before I do that, I have a little more work I want to get done on it.  The usual stuff—tweaking lines, deepening character development, description, description, description—but even though it may be simple-ish, it still takes time. 

The second reason is simpler.  On my new novel, I really thought I’d be further along than I am.  Oh, there are reasons for that.  Mainly, it’s that I can reliably write about 500 words a day, but often lack the time and energy to do more.  It’s hard to write when you are—literally—falling asleep at the keyboard.

Time surrounds our lives, dictates our activities, and either provides opportunities or shuts them down.  We find time for those things that are important to us, which is why I spend time with my wife, I spend time writing, and spend time working—so I can afford to spend time writing and with my wife.  Our obsession with it really should be no surprise.  

Perhaps that is why almost every science fiction show I’ve ever watched deals with it in some way.  Strike that.  Every show deals with it, though it’s most obvious in sci-fi—with all their talk of time travel and paradoxes and polarity reversals—to such an extent that it is expected and almost always horribly done (If you don’t get that, watch a season of Star Trek.  The solution always seems to be reversing the polarity.  Sci-fi tropes will be another post some day . . . when I find time to write it.).If you know anything about time travel theory, a bad soap opera is often preferable. 

But sci-fi isn’t the only genre with a heavy emphasis on time, just the most obvious.  Imagine, if you will, a serial killer on a spree, and the cops and their writer friend have to stop him before he kills again (Castle).  Or how about the looming wedding that one character is having second thoughts about (How I Met Your Mother)?  Traveling to space for the first time and coming back to Earth to find that your friends have moved on while you’re out playing astronaut (The Big Bang Theory). 

The entire plot of 24.

The list goes on.  And I can go on.  Toss in movies, books, video games, sports.  Hell, just about everything in our lives, entertainment or otherwise, centers itself around time.  All of it to prove just one thing.

Don’t squander it.

It’s a maxim we heard how many times growing up?  Thousands?  Millions?  And we don’t stop hearing it.  Always do your best with what you have.  Learn as much as you can and always give your best effort with the time you have.  It almost makes you want to toss it all away and do whatever you please.  But we know we can’t.  Ignoring bills won’t make them go away.  All it does is get our gas shut off.

So we are going to keep minding it.  Keep following every tick of the clock and relishing those moments.  To do otherwise is to die.  Literally. So, as much as I hate to do it, I will buckle down and get back to work.  That novel won’t write itself.  And I can’t expect my editor to do all the work for me.  If that was the case, then she’d be the author, and I’d be the bum on the street, people watching.

Who am I kidding?  I am that bum on the street people watching.  But I just call it research for my next book.