Tag: goals

Monday’s Theme Music

Counseling myself last night as I stepped out and hunted stars through the descending night fog, I thought about plans, and how easy it is to slip into a comfortable rut and let yourself stay there, successful in the rut to the detriment of everything else. I realized that I’d done that to myself. Easy to do, especially when the rut gives you joy.

My rut is writing. It satisfies me in so many ways, but it definitely steals energy from the rest of my life. I knew I had to shift myself out of my rut when I had my response to agents being interested in some of my work and my response was, meh. That’s just not right.

So I began hunting and shifting the mental and emotional levers to ply myself from my rut. More easily said, am I right? The duality of it all struck me. I’m a person that feels the darkness and rages about once a month, ready to shuck everything in fury and despair. Then that passes and I’m good to go again. I’m fortunate that I know my cycle and cope with it, but not fortunate that I have such a cycle. I’m fortunate, too, that I can see into myself and find the levers to change the cogs. This comes from being sixty plus and having friends and relatives who’d make comments to me that opened my awareness to how others see me, subsequently providing me with greater insight into myself. It comes from luck, too; others know these things but struggle more with it than me. (Yeah, and there’s a ton of other stuff, nature vs. nurture, socialization, genes, etc. We’re dynamic, complicated beings, always playing on the balance of a blade.)

Well, to the music, then, because this is about the day’s theme music. Into this crucible of thought flowed words from “Over My Head (Cable Car)” by The Fray (2005).

Everyone knows I’m in
Over my head
Over my head
With eight seconds left in overtime
She’s on your mind
She’s on your mind

h/t to Songmeanings.com for the lyrics, because it’s easier to get them right by copying and pasting.

It was that ‘eight seconds left in overtime’ that I keyed to, not that there was pressure, nor that time was running out, rather the impetus from the image of a sports game that something needs to be done. The goals are clear; now execute. Get ‘er done.

Laborious explanation for a song choice, innit? Happy Monday, campers. Cheers

 

1

The Watery Dream

I’ll not include all the dream’s tedious details, instead focusing on the few scenes, person, and essence that cling to my memory. 

Roger/Ronnie was there. Twins, they were my wife’s cousins. Born in Ohio, they adopted Georgia as their home, shooting as their mantra, and Fox News as their information source. They loved playing at being good ol’ boys.

Since I couldn’t tell them apart, one of them was in the dream. In the dream, there was trench full of muddy, milky water flowing through the middle of the house. We all accepted it as normal that it was there. The house itself was busy with people and activities but nothing that seemed significant. I could be wrong.

I went down to lower level in the house. It stank down there. I traced the smell to another body of water coming in through a trench in a wall. After more investigation, I figured that the upstairs water was emptying in such a way that it was sloshing back up this trench and into the house, where it pooled and stagnated.

Once I understood the cause, I went back upstairs. I knew something needed to be done about it and that I couldn’t do it alone. I needed help.

Here, I pause. I explained and showed people, mostly men, the stagnant water. I think I explained it to my late father-in-law. Mostly, though, I explained it to strangers, and Roger or Ronnie.

With Roger/Ronnie, they came in, took a deep breath and said, “Something stinks.” I told them about the water, and then showed it to them. They said, “You’re right.” I said, “We need to so something about that.” They said, “You’re right,” with a big grin, “but I can’t. I don’t have the time.” Feeling exasperated by that point, I decided that I was the only one that understood and cared, and that I would need to do something about it.

The dream ended.

I feel like my dream is addressing my restlessness and frustration. It’s bothering me multiple levels, and I understand exactly what it is.

 

2

The Selection Dream

There I am, in a bathroom with George Clooney.  We’re dressed in matching outfits: tight white shorts that end in mid-thigh, black knee-high socks, and blue Oxford shirts open at the collar.

I’m watching us from one side. That perspective never changes. The bathroom doesn’t have a fourth wall because we’re on a movie set. Clooney is filming and waiting to go out, and I’m sitting on the commode with the seat down, reading a book. He’s doing a series of scenes that requires him to go out, react to something or throw off a one-liner, and then return. We speak between scenes but I have no idea what was said.

The dream was about that quick, too. With a flick of the dream selector, I was now on another set. On this one, a woman in a sparkling silver suit escorted me to a man in a tuxedo at a control panel. Behind us was a huge wall of large monitors.

I was in a spotlight. The impression that I had was that I was on a television game show, which confused me. I asked about it, and the man and woman clarified, “No, this is your dream selection headquarters.”

Between the two of them working as a team, I was told, “What kind of dream would you like tonight? Prophecy, zombies, monsters, disasters, school, alien interaction, offbeat humor, adventure or thriller episodes, something mysterious or new-age? Name it, we have everything.”

My confusion remained too deep for a quick response. I needed to validate what I thought was happening. “I’m in a dream but in this dream, you’re giving me the option of choosing what to dream?”

The man and woman laughed. The woman said. “You act like you’ve never been here before.”

“Have I?”

“You come here every night,” she said.

The man said, “Yes, usually several times.”

“Why I don’t remember that?”

The man said, “It’s your dream. You decide what to forget.”

I was left then thinking about my recent streak of dreams. They’d been of the episodic adventure type. Sometimes I’m not even apparently in them but watch as others act and react. Then I asked, “If I can choose what to dream, why have I made the dream decisions that I did?”

Looking amused, the man and woman shrugged. “What can I say?” the man said. “They’re your dreams. You decide where you go.”

Dream end.

 

0

Rough Diamonds

I’d hoped to have finished editing An Undying Quest, the fifth novel in the Incomplete States series by yesterday. Only two chapters, forty pages remained three days ago.

Issues were encountered. The chapters suffered from being the last ones written. As the final chapters, they’d not been polished, edited, and revised as the others had. They were raw, beta chapters. They needed work.

Among the issues encountered were a brief POV change and a few matters of grammar and punctuation. Dialogue needed tidying, but most critically, details were needed.

I love reading details in novels. I think they often add immense value. That’s how I tend to write, then. Not in the beta draft, though.

In writing’s first rush, I capture scenes and action, coloring in broad, fast strokes. It’s an intense rush. They’re here, they’re there, they did this, and then that, which resulted in this, but unexpectedly —

The writing is bang, bang, bang, bang. Even when they’re action scenes, more is required after that first rush to help the scenes breath and flow together. Sometimes changes are required to adjust to the characters’ past, and sometimes continuity matters exist.

I instantly realized that I’d not polished the chapters. The difference was clear because the reading cadence was mildly askew. That realization tempered my approach. I read both chapters completely before doing anything except fixing the most basic errors in spelling, punctuation and grammar. Everything else was left untouched until I knew the entire picture. After reading them, I’d established strong ideas about what to addressed, and then began reading, revising, and editing the chapter again.

So, An Undying Quest isn’t fini yet. I’d hoped to complete it by Christmas, and then by the end of the year. That may still happen today. I won’t rush it. I don’t want to be hasty or lazy. Number one, I enjoy the process. Number two, I don’t want to sabotage myself for such a silly, random idea as a self-imposed deadline.

Time to edit and write like crazy, at least one more time in 2018.

0

The Goal Problem

Goals are great. I establish them to help create a direction for me, motivate me to keep going, and to keep on track. They help me measure progress, providing a tangible foundation for examining how I’m doing.

My problem with goals I’ve found is that I think of them as the destination. Then, I reach the goal and discover it was just a milestone to somewhere else.

That doesn’t reduce their effectiveness, but it is a reminder for me that I don’t always appreciate the larger situation. That works out, though, because setting goals that are small enough to achieve are great in helping me gain confidence and traction.

What I’ve realized is that goals are not the end, but I tool toward reaching for the end.

5

Sick, Compromised, Logical, and Wrong

I confess, I’m not a good person to have as your driver on vacation. Yes, I’m safe, aware, and involved, but I’m also goal oriented. I’m driving for that destination. Stop to look at the view? That’ll slow us down. Eat? What? You have to pee? Are you kidding me?

Yes, once I put a goal into place, it’s hard to abandon. It’s true with my driving and my writing. What is a strength is also a problem.

I’m debating about a sixth book in the Incomplete States series. (The working title, The Final Time, came to me as soon as part of the brainstorm that inundated me last night.) It’s a logical decision to me, as though I’m in control of the whole thing. Yes, and no, of course.

First, I acknowledge, I’m a little sick of working on the series, sick in the sense that I need a time-out. Sick, as in the sense that I was eager to work on something different. I have a goal in mind, and I’m almost there. I don’t want to turn away from that goal. I see and understand that about myself.

I thought that maybe I could compromise with myself and my muses. I will write some on the side, maybe, maybe not, we’ll see (he said, hedging his commitment), and continue editing full-time. Yes, that sounds like a good compromise.

Yes, I’m pretty stupid at times, thinking that it’s all about logic, control, and goals.

That’s not it at all.

I forgot that I write for myself. I write for myself in the sense that I am my number one fan, and my number one reader. I write for myself because I want to know what I think. I want to know the story. To now think of the story and try to apply the brakes is ridiculous. I want to explore it; I want to know.

That means I must write it.

That might all fizzle out, of course. Perhaps as I begin exploring it, the story will peter out. I’ll conclude, there’s not anything more to write and learn here. I might write some and realize, well, this is really just part of the last book.

I don’t know. It’s foolish to waste time contemplating what might happen or whether I have a decision to make. I’m a writer, and must write, and then I’ll decide what to do with it.

My coffee is at hand. Time to write and edit like crazy, at least one more time.

 

0

Monday’s Theme Music

Today’s music is “In My Blood” by Shawn Mendes. It was released this year, 2018.

I’d been thinking about the work left in my series, Incomplete States, just to finish the beta edition, and then the revisions and editing left to take it to publication. I was also thinking that it has a strong chance of being read by few to no people. With all that to do, and other writing projects and life opportunities in limbo while I’m working on it, I thought, why not give up? Give up writing this series, and write something simpler and smaller. Why, in fact, write at all, with the odds so heavy against me?

Then the lyrics from “In My Blood” streamed in.

Help me, it’s like the walls are caving in
Sometimes I feel like giving up
No medicine is strong enough
Someone help me
I’m crawling in my skin
Sometimes I feel like giving up
But I just can’t

It isn’t in my blood
It isn’t in my blood

h/t to genius.com

Researching the song, I discovered that Mendes had written it in response to his struggles with anxiety disorder. Once again, as often happens, I became revitalized by reading of others who struggled and succeeded. If they made it, so can I.

So, thank you, Shawn Mendes.

 

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