The Major Change
For the last thirteen years I have been a physics major. Just ask anyone I’ve met over that period of time, they will all verify it. I’ve kept that major for some crazy, stubborn reason which eludes me today. And while I still love physics as the mother of all sciences, I just don’t find myslef excited about it every single day. At least not the way I was thirteen years ago.
On the other hand, let’s talk about a computer. We have all seen these. We all know by now, I hope, how to locate the power switch and command it to do the most basic of functions. Most people are not excited about a computer. For most it’s just another tool of their trade. But for me, well, my darling sit down and let me tell you…
The world of computing is a very exciting place for me. This is not just about the humble desktop pc. I’m talking about the entire gamut from desktop to laptop to palmtop, gizmo to gadget, and everything in between. It’s very hard to explain how it is that these inert machines of plastic bits, silicon boards, and copper wires trigger an endorphin rush much like new clubs for a gofler or opening day for a baseball fan. “Mmmm….Samsung Q1….[drool]”
Anyway, the whole point is this: yesterday my academic advisor confirmed what I believed; that after a change in major, it is no longer necessary for me to make the ninety mile round-trip commute to the university, once or twice a week, to finish my degree. The university has a satelite school here and an agreement with the local community college. With the classes offered between these, I will graduate from the university with a CS BS without ever leaving the city limits. Peachy says me. As of right now, that’s the plan.
I’ve known this for four years. So why didn’t this occur to me before? Why did I stress over possibly quitting a lucrative job and leaving my great apartment, all in the name of higher education? Was a degree in physics so important to me that I was willing to give up everything to get it? Am I really that dim? God, I hope not.
Another Post About Writing
Why shouldn’t I be a writer? They get the coolest tools and utensils — fountain pens, leather bound journals, heavy-weight papers, laptop computers, stained/seasoned coffee mugs, alcohol and nicotine addictions. There is such an aura of literati intelligence surrounding a writer, I’m envious.
Why can’t I be a writer? I think I must be far too uptight to let all the good stuff out. Aren’t the best stories the ones about the deepest, darkest bad side inside us all. Because writing is so cathartic, then to get at all that soul gold I must be able to dig it up and, in my current stuck-up state, that’s just not happening. Maybe I could take some improv acting lessons to help me learn to get to the juicy heart of things at a moment’s notice. I’ve seen those guys. The stuff they come up with at the drop of a hat is absolutely incredible.
What if I were a writer? I would have to give up my cushy, decadent lifestyle. No more eating out five times a week. No more hundred-dollar spending sprees for no reason. No more oil changes for the car (ok, maybe not that extreme). But, certainly, no more flying out of town for an overnight trip to see +LiVE+ play in some random East Coast city. That would be a bummer. I’ve come to enjoy my jet-setting groupie ways. And the awe and admiration that radiates from someone when you tell them what you did last weekend; that’s the BEST. Well, if I were a writer, that would be no more.
How do I know if I’m a writer? I’ve been told the only way to define yourself as a writer, is to WRITE. Produce, produce, produce. Always be writing. Always be drafting new stories or fish-tales or humongous lies.
September 14
What about not berating myself anymore? What about not beating myself up for being non-perfect? What about taking it one baby step at a time? It would seem I’m having trouble with the fundamentals lately: getting to sleep on time, so I can get out of bed on time, so I can do what I need to do in the morning, so I can get to work at a good time, so I can leave at a good time, so I can do more when I get home and go to bed on time. See how this cycle works? If one of these is off schedule, it throws the whole cycle out of whack.
When I’m no where near a computer or pen and paper, my mind is flooded with ideas for great short stories. As I sit here right now, I’m completely blank! Where have all the good men (stories) gone?
I really liked the last chapter of McCourt’s “Teacher Man”. He is preaching to his students the presence of creative writing in every single day. He is absolutely correct when he says anything can be a story. Every decision you make is writing: making a decision is writing a small part of the future in every moment.
In the next 30-60 minutes, how would my future look (what decisions am I faced with in the next hour or so)? Shall I decide to continue tapping away at this document, or shall I choose to return to the lesson? Shall I finish this sugary French vanilla coffee and get another or shall I savor it a little longer? And when I finish it (surely within an hour) shall I get a tea or a watered eight-ounce half-caf? If someone comes into this cubical and asks me to help them with a project that I deem silly and tiresome, will I agree or will I defer them with some imagined, priority project? When the pop-up reminders come up again, will I defer those for another thirty minutes or will I choose to tackle the tasks I’m supposed to be doing?
Writing
Writing
Is it possible to write 3,000 words in the morning? How fast would you need to type? What kind of product do you get for writing like that. Something good, or something cheap and forced and crappy. I suspect the latter, but before dismissing this method entirely, I shall try it! Who knows, maybe something worthwhile will surface.
I didn’t realize Edgar Allan Poe was a short story writer more than anything. I picked up the complete works yesterday at Border’s and it appears a lot of his stories are between five and ten pages. Although the collection says it includes his “poems” I haven’t been able to find any. I vaguely remember that Poe wrote as many essays and criticisms as he did actual fiction. Maybe this is a direction I could go in — short prose and essays. With my short attention span lately, it would make more sense. I don’t know if I have the stamina or the vision to draft and complete a novel or something equally grandiose. I can’t even imagine where to begin with something like that.
I would like to be the modern queen of short stories. There are TONS of ideas in my head, mostly people-to-people interactions. Mostly drawn from my own life history and experience (of course). I would like to incorporate my life story into a series of short stories. This would allow me to embellish to my little heart’s desire. Originally, my intention was to just write my life story as if it WERE a novel. But that would be so boring, I don’t think even I would want to read it. But later it occurred to me I could use my life’s story as fodder for many other stories. Because — really — my life up until a few years ago has been pretty interesting. It has been quite stagnant since January 2004. Except for the skydiving in July 2004. But that’s it. Stagnant.
I’m going to try to force myself to write more than 424 words every day. If I wanted to write 3,000 words per day, then at 45wpm I would be typing non-stop for a period of 66 minutes. This isn’t so bad, but would put some serious cramps in my wrist, and may just end up wringing my brain dray. What do you say for 66 straight minutes per day, everyday? I have never been a really big talker (unlike some people I know whose name I won’t mention, but starts with Y and ends in vonne).
Someone Else’s Words
From http://www.paulgraham.com/love.html
No one wants to die. Even people who want to go to heaven don’t want to die to get there. And yet death is the destination we all share. No one has ever escaped it. And that is as it should be, because Death is very likely the single best invention of Life. It is Life’s change agent. It clears out the old to make way for the new. Right now the new is you, but someday not too long from now, you will gradually become the old and be cleared away. Sorry to be so dramatic, but it is quite true.
Your time is limited, so don’t waste it living someone else’s life. Don’t be trapped by dogma — which is living with the results of other people’s thinking. Don’t let the noise of others’ opinions drown out your own inner voice. And most important, have the courage to follow your heart and intuition. They somehow already know what you truly want to become. Everything else is secondary.