Sit Your Ass Down and Write Part Two

I finally sat my ass down and chipped away at my novel, revising the first couple of chapters that establish the two protagonists. My total page count is 59 double spaced pages, but I'm not ready to start on page 60 because the first 20 or so still need work. I've made a bit of progress which I'm happy with. I just needed to allow myself to get started. It's like when they say that the hardest part of working out is actually showing up to the gym.

I started playing a Barry White album on my turntable. That was just a random choice. You normally put a Barry White album on because you have a girl over, but in this case, I just needed a cool record to play from start to finish so I could have some tunes playing while I work. I also wanted to see if I could write for the length of an entire album. I decided to write for at least the length of Barry White's I've Got So Much To Give LP. I will only get up from my writing desk to switch sides. A few minutes pass. Hey wait, is the album over already? How much have I written?

I shuffle through my little record collection one more time. I put on Charlie Rich's There Won't Be Anymore. That album ends just when it seems to have gotten started. How much writing have I accomplished now? I'm trying to lose myself and be in the zone. The hands of an invisible clock, the length of an album, the Pomodoro timer on my phone that I use to time my productivity (25 minutes of work, then a five-minute break.) become almost static. For at least a short period of time, I have achieved perfect focus.

The great thing about self-isolation is that it calls bullshit on my excuses. I've got nothing better to do. My laptop is there, or a pad of lined paper and a pen if I prefer. All I have to do is set the environment to my liking so I can write. Turn the lights down low, put another album on, pour myself a cup of tea, or a pint of Guinness, and get to it. If I get stuck, I'll just go for another walk. It's 10:30 at night, but so what? I have all the time in the world, and there are plenty of Barry White albums.

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Sit Your Ass Down and Write - Part One

Last year I started writing my first novel. Fast forward to the present and I'm only 50 pages into a very rough first draft. Without going into details, I'll tell you that I have two main characters, two men with extremely different career paths and backgrounds, who nonetheless are very close friends. One is in his mid-30s and the other is around 50. It's a big brother/little brother relationship. It's a "bromance", a road story where a vintage muscle car serves as their chariot through a long, strange trip through the open road towards Death Valley, one of the hottest places on earth. That's all I'll tell you about the story, as half baked as it is at the moment. Today I finally came up with a working title, "I'm Driving As Fast As I Can." I may throw that title away, but in the meantime, don't steal it. I came up with it during one of my daily walks through the neighborhood. Now that I think of it, "I'm Driving As Fast...

ANxIETY with a Lower Case 'x".

It's just weather, really. Looking at my emotions as objectively as possible, I can judge them merely as constantly changing bits of energy that come and go, like moving clouds; Why become attached to the clouds? When you ask the average person how they're doing, you know they'll respond with, "I'm good." regardless of the truth. When people asked my father how he was doing he would often respond with, "Sunny with some cloudy periods." The old man could be incredibly astute and honest when it was easier to be banal. I'm pre-disposed with Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, as well as Asperger's Syndrome. At least they told me so when I was a child. It helps to get a diagnosis for the pervasive anxiety that follows you throughout your life. It rationalizes the irrational. When I was a kid, I experienced distressing, intrusive thoughts. I still do. I once read that the difference between people who have OCD and people who don't is that peopl...

One Foot In Front of the Other

It's cold outside, but I'll still trek out for a long walk. Being obsessive-compulsive ignites my monkey mind and plays my most neurotic greatest hits like a jukebox that only plays a handful of brittle 45s. It's ok, the simple act of taking a long walk helps to purge my thoughts. I don't drive. My G-1 expired last September and my fear of running over schoolchildren keeps me away from the driver's seat. Besides, buying a car is a lousy investment that I can't afford. Walking is fine. It's always served me well. Walking in silence is good for you, and most people are malnourished when it comes to silence. We spend so much time plugged into The Matrix that we forget how boring activities have simple gifts in store for us. Going for a walk or just sitting and meditating for a few minutes can open your mind to insight and you can solve problems that have been gnawing at you. The mercurial muse might even appear, offering inspiration for a creative project that...

Andy Speaks

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