Thursday Three #40

  1. I found the coolest thing: 4thewords. It’s a combined video game and writing tool. Basically, you write your project on their website, and the number of words you write allows you to create weapons and battle monsters. The only issue with it is that it’s only free for the 30-day trial. If you want to keep using the program, it’s $4 a month, which isn’t too bad. The idea is so cool that I’m actually considering it as a motivational tool.
  2. I’m reading Money: A Suicide Note by Martin Amis because I had heard good things about his writing (and because I got the book dirt cheap at a book sale). The genre is black humor, which often tends to go over my head, but I have been getting a few chuckles out of it. It’s about a man called John Self* who is (obviously) obsessed with money and (obviously) self-indulgence. The book seems like it’s a critique of the consumerist culture of the 1980s, and its lessons are still relevant (maybe even more so) today. I’d recommend it if you can stand some pretty X-rated sex scenes.
  3. I’ve resurrected an old project because I can’t not write fiction. (Come on, everyone needs a hobby, right?) Lest I jinx myself, I hesitate to say anything more about it, only that I’m really excited about it and hope to one day share it with you on here.

Hope everyone’s projects are going well, and that you’re reading some good books! 🙂

*The really weird thing is that John Self reminds me very much of Harvey Weinstein. It’s kind of creepy.

With Utmost Resolve

I didn’t make any concrete resolutions for 2018. When people ask what my resolution is, I tell them that it’s to be a good wife. I don’t know how you’d turn that into a SMART goal (specific, measurable, achievable, relevant, time bound), and by most accounts, resolutions and goals should be SMART. But I figure that if that is my only goal, then it should be OK. It is something I keep at the forefront of my mind all the time, and I don’t need any reminders to carry it out. I realized that if I make too many specific goals, I forget them or put too much effort into trying to remember exactly what they are.

The past couple years, I’ve been feeling guilty that I haven’t completed my resolutions to the extent that I would like to have done, so this year I want to let go of that guilt about arbitrary goals that don’t really matter all that much. I figure that if I focus my attention on the one goal that does matter, I’ll do better. After all, nobody’s perfect. Not even the company that made my planner:

A Year of Perspective Shifts

Almost everyone said that 2017 was terrible, what with all the shootings by those in pain, sexual transgressions by big shots in Hollywood, and hare-brained decisions by those in power.

To me, 2017 wasn’t terrible at all, unless you mean “terrible” in the old-fashioned, biblical sense of “formidable or something to be awed.” I found 2017 to be a year of perspective shifts. I’ve been away from this blog more often than I would have liked this year, and I’ve written barely any fiction at all—maybe a couple paragraphs here and there that I don’t think even added up to 5,000 words. The most writing I did was in my paper journal.

The strange part about all that is I don’t really feel much of a need to write fiction. I miss my characters, but I don’t really relate to them anymore because of this perspective shift. For the first time in my life, I feel like a true “adult,” and other adults are acknowledging me as one of them. I can relate to adults now, and I sympathize more with the adult characters in movies and books than I do with the teenagers. Yet I still don’t feel like I have the life experience needed to write great fiction or to portray adulthood accurately. I’ve been feeling as though writing fiction is somewhat pointless because all the great stories have already been told, and they have been told in much better ways than I could tell them.

I hope this is just a big stumbling block that materialized because of the perspective shift and that it will go away soon, but for now, I’m grateful to still be writing in some capacity, even if it’s not fiction.