Got out of work by 4:30pm today. Came home, changed clothes (okay into my pjs), swept the bathroom floor (didn’t really sweep it, just maneuvered a strip of toilet paper around to pick up the hair & dust the way I do every couple of days), reminded myself that these afternoons are not for house cleaning (as if cleaning house has been the thing standing between me and a writing career), poured some baked Cheetos into a bowl, grabbed a pair of chopsticks for said Cheetos (not my idea, but so ingenious) and took my non-orange fingers on over here to the keyboard to start my 2nd day at my 2nd job where I’m the boss and Miles Davis plays as loudly as I fucking want.
This is my new commitment. To leave one job and come here to write every day, Monday through Friday from whenever I can leave the earlier gig until at least 6pm. Although, I’m already finagling my schedule for Thursday afternoon when I have a girlfriend date. What’s the rule going to be? Allow stopping at 5pm 1x per week for fun? Ishhh, I don’t know. Discipline’s the key here. That doesn’t sound very disciplined. Perhaps I can leave the day job even earlier on Thursday to get in a minimum of 90 minutes of writing. I’ll think about it on Thursday. In the meantime, currently in the middle of the 1st draft of a 300-400 word piece I want to send off to The Sun’s Readers Write. I thought that would be a not-too-intimidating assignment to start with. And it’ll get me in the habit of sending stuff out.
I also need to make time for serious reading. I’ll never forget how eyeopeningly awful I felt when I forced myself to read that Annie Proulx story last winter. What was it? “Half-Skinned Steer.” It wasn’t the plot that brought me to I’ll-never-be-able–to-write-anything-one-one-hundredth-as-good-as-this-!-choking-guttural-sobs. It wasn’t the content at all. It was Proulx’s sheer brilliance with words. When I recovered enough to actually pay attention to the story, yeah, that’s when I finally thought about the meaning of the words “Half-Skinned Steer.” Real feel good day that was.
What can I glean from this? A quick google & stop at Wiki tell me (perhaps incorrectly?) that Annie (Edna!) didn’t publish that much at all until she was in her late 40s—-RUTH! Stop this. Get off of Wiki. Get off of the comparisons. GET TO WRITING.