Skip to main content

Out with the Old

I'm not really sure I have anything relevant to say, but this is the last chance I will have to do this in 2014, so I thought I might just list a few goals and lay out a tentative plan for the coming year.

1.  Find a home for Antiartists.  I'm still not sure what this means.  Whether I find an agent to represent it, or if I find an indie publisher that accepts unrepresented manuscripts, or decide to pull the trigger and e-publish, I think it needs an audience, needs to get out there, so I can move on and let it go.

2. Finish the new novel (working title: Flagg).  I've got 25,000 words so far, and I would like to finish it sometime before the end of 2015.  If I can work with any semblance of discipline, this seems to be a pretty modest goal.

3. Develop some kind of network of readers and writers that I can feel comfortable sharing with.  This is important, I know.  Ugh.  Other people.  Gross.

4.  Stay positive, and keep moving forward.  Obviously. 

 2014 has sucked on a massive scale in both a global and personal sense.  Crashing planes and murdered children and riots and protests and wars and death.  The world, as I have known it, seems to be falling apart around me.  My family has experienced and endured profound and painful loss.  I personally cannot remember a time when we as a people have seemed more ready to destroy ourselves with greed and ignorance and willful malice.  I'm getting old, I guess, and things seemed better back when I wasn't so connected to this unwanted influx of information.

BUT:

I am humbled and eternally grateful for my family who have all been incredibly supportive and beautiful and brilliant.  I have a good shot I feel at making something of this writing thing.  I mean, holy shit, I finished a novel.  I WROTE A NOVEL!  This is literally one thing that I promised myself that I would do before I died, and it is done.  And it is good.

We started this thing last year at New Year's Eve, we got a jar, and we would write on a slip of paper all the good things that happened throughout the year and when New Years came around again we would dump them all out and get a chance to remember all the great things that had happened to us that year.
 
I can't wait.  Mostly I filled it with silly stuff; they released a new version of my all time favorite video game, my team won the Super Bowl (GO HAWKS!), and things like that.  But also in there are real life events.  My kid learned to ride a bike, he learned to tie his shoes, I finished writing a novel.  And I bet there are things in there that I just forgot, cool things that passed me by and fell out of my memory and blew away on the wind...

I think going forward here, in addition to writing about writing and trying to publish, I will also put up some things that I have written that have no home, that just need some eyes and minds and hearts to read them.

You are out there, readers, I know it.  You are mostly silent and watching, but I can tell you are there by your glowing eyes in the dark (and by my view counter).  Speak up, let me know what you think, just say hey, whatever.  Take a moment. 

Take care of one another, be safe, love each other through hard times and good times.  Let people know how you feel about them.  Smile more, love more.  If the world wants to crumble into dust, I will not go out crying in despair, or screaming in anger and hatred.  I will sing and laugh and love until I have no more breath.

I will not give in.

I will keep trying.

Have a happy New Year. 

Welcome 2015, you brand new beautiful bastard.

Still Writing, RP            
   

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

The Dance of the Sand Hill Crane

 It is Saturday morning in Feburary and here in Michigan it is clear and cold.  The sun has risen a while ago but there are still streaks of red in the sky, lighting up the clouds, high and wispy.  I am standing by my car after completing some chore, cleaning something or retrieving something and I am slow breathing, trying to calm my heart. It has been a difficult week. My son has a fight tonight, full contact MMA, his first, and I am full of conflict and anxiety about it. Not because I don't believe he will do well, because I know he is as prepared as anyone can be for such a thing, but because I am a father and I feel like I should be protecting him from the violence of the world. Even though he turns nineteen in a few weeks and is stronger both physically and mentally than I could ever hope to be, he is still my boy, and I am scared for him. My other son is fifteen and this week was embroiled in some stupid conflict at school, a misunderstanding that had led to meetings with th

One of the Best of Us

In the stifling heat my breath comes fast and heavy. What the fuck am I even doing here? What the fuck am I trying to accomplish? I'm sitting on the mat, maybe dying, a forty something dad playacting at being a fighter. This is my mid-life crisis, this is so, so stupid. This has to be the end for me, assuming I can get my heartbeat under control, assuming I don't just peg out here on the mat.  I can't do this anymore. "It's okay man, it's okay, you just need to breathe through it. You're fine, you're okay." The voice of my training partner, gentle and kind. My partner, the maniac that drove me to such a state, that I think I might die, he sits next to me and shows me how to breathe, how to calm my body. He teaches and guides me through it, and in a few minutes I actually am okay, the panic settles down, and maybe this isn't my last class after all. "You're alright?  Okay. Now lets get back to work."  And back to work we go. There

Fighting for Clarity

There's this to be said about fighting: while you're doing it, you don't have room in your head for anything else, not your busted ass car or your worries about your family, not the leak under your bathroom sink, or how you're going to pay your bills.  There's only breathe one two, step out of range, shift off the center line, move breathe one three two slip the jab level change three to the body check the low kick counter one two...  it is a better escape than most, and I've tried most of them, believe me. I don't know what the fuck I'm doing here. I get humbled and beat up at every session, I don't understand why I even go. I'm feeling defeated; everything is so fucking hard for me, and I don't know why I'm doing it. I should just quit, right? Fuck you.  I'll show you motherfuckers what I am capable of. I'll show you-  And then I go and I try and my knees give and I get pummeled and twisted and what the fuck man how humble do I