Science fiction, fantasy, mystery and what-not
We saw ‘Captain Fantastic’ yesterday. Although we’re Vigga M fans, the story didn’t draw us. However, the writer & director, Matt Ross, is an Oregon product, a graduate of a little town’s high school, so there was a lot of local hype.
I won’t say that ‘Captain Fantastic’ was enjoyable, because that’s not really a word (if you’ve seen the movie, you understand) or interesting, for the same reasons, but the actors were well cast, with excellent deliveries, and the story compelled me to follow and root for Captain Fantastic (Vigga) and his children, and wonder, what will happen? Some scenes caused post movie discussions. It was two well spent hours, and I recommend taking it in.
Afterwards, we went to Louie’s on the Plaza by the creek for food, as we’re both off the green cleansing smooths, where I enjoyed my first beer in two weeks and a wrap. My wife will continue on a modified cleansing smooth beginning today. I might do the same, something I need to decide later today.
There are sign that the seasons are changing and tempus fugit. Looking around, I’ve discovered we’re almost at the August’s finishing line. The schools’ marquees have announced the first days, and they begin tomorrow with new student orientations, full orientation following the day after.
My wife is planning an end of summer picnic in Lithia Park. We’ve scouted locations and brainstormed ideas. She checked a few schedules for vetting and then launched invitations. Friends are planning overnight visits, so an attention list has been compiled, that is, a list of things requiring our attention before they arrive.
Cooler weather is gracing us, and the temperature has stopped stirring itself past 95F. Importantly, the temps drop into the low fifties at night so windows can be opened to air us out. Most of our area fires are contained or out. We watch and worry about those in other areas, especially down in SoCal, which is suffering a terrible season.
But I’m on a treadmill, walking, writing, eating and sleeping, with ancillary tasks like cleaning and feeding the cats, and other chores, taken care of but not really my focus. Sable posted about his ToDo list and its lackings. Between that and Kate’s post about the business side and my awakening that time has pissed by without me really attending the business side, I’m creating my own Todo list for the business side. JR’s comments about not doing those things caused me to think more deeply about what I’ve done and not done, but more, why I’ve not done these things.
So with the signs of change taking place – the NFL season almost upon us, school starting, the leaves turning, the nights cooling, the World Series shaping up, Formula 1 moving toward the schedule’s bottom half, and eight out of the twelve months gone for another year – time to do more than just cross my fingers, write like crazy and hope for the best. I must work on the dreaded reviews, the dreaded marketing and advertising, and the dreaded website.
Time to begin addressing the business of writing.
Just read Kate Colby’s post on writing every day. And I’m going to post an excerpt here from her:
And as an independent author, I mean B–capital IZ–ness. There’s a lot to do. I’m currently editing my second novel, plus writing and publishing a series of nonfiction booklets. Add in this blog, my author newsletter, social media, organizing promotional opportunities, emailing my cover designer … you get the point. There’s a lot of shit to do (I say “shit” lovingly – being an author really is the best job in the world to me).
So, can I find time to write every day? Yes. And you can, too. If you really simplify your schedule and overcome your laziness, you can write every single day. And we absolutely should. Every word we write makes us better.
And I’m like, yes, absolutely. My problem is the converse: making/finding/dedicating the time to the business end.
There is the website. Nothing done on it. Marketing. Well, I’ve poked a few FB ads, some Amazon ads, with a smattering of results. Haven’t pursued reviews, haven’t gotten more aggressive about it.
It comes down to this basic dichotomy within me. I enjoy reading and writing, and all the books out there are manna to me, but I dislike the grubby business side. I’m a retiring guy, self-effacing, who shuns the spotlight.
Yet I want the spotlight, too, want to be validated by other writers and readers as contributing something worthwhile to this eternal conversation about what is, was, might have been, and what might never be. Plus, my steadfast wife deserves rewards, like some payment back for the moody, snarling hours when she wants to do something — or say something — and I clip her with, HELLO, I’M WRITING. Even the cats are subjected to this response (although they, one, do not accept my response, and two, seem to know when I’m writing, like they’ve been put on alert to stop me). I’ve become better at not acting like this (because my awareness increased, not only of my behavior, but its impact on my life and relationships) but my writing brain never seems to be completely turned off. It – they – the writers, editors and readers within – are always pouncing on things seen, read, heard, thought, felt, and treat it like a gold medal starting gun, racing away.
And I know all of this about myself, see it as clearly the Perseids over Crater Lake in the dark morning’s softest hours, but I seem to be able to change it as much as I can change that sky.
Yet I know…I must. It doesn’t make me happy.
Yeah, in my dream world, I have dual, even triple lives, where I’m writing all the time, I’m published and receiving income and doing all the right accomplished author shit (borrowing from Kate), and yet I’m still living a full and healthy life as a functioning husband, and not a writing zombie.
Colby finishes her post with encouragement:
Editing counts. Revising counts. Outlining counts. Writing that dreaded book description counts.
The only thing that doesn’t count? Ignoring your book and denying the world your art.
There you have them, your marching orders. Now go move forward today.
Yeah, yeah, yeah, I read you, Kate. But for now, I’m going to drink my mocha – four shots, thank you – and write like crazy, at least one more time.
Michael Seidel, writer 