Happy New Year - or something like that

I never know what I'm going to write when I start one of these New Year's posts, but I always seem to find something to say - though, the quality of that something probably tends to vary. I mean, how often can a guy talk about all the things he fucked up the year before and all the ways he wants to fix it in the next year?

Especially since New Year's is such an arbitrary thing, and self-improvement and self-examination should be a constant and consistent process. It shouldn't be something we (I) do just as calendar rolls over to the next year. I mean - really? How many people actually keep their resolutions? How many people make serious and significant changes that stick, just based off a tradition that doesn't make a lot of sense when you look at it empirically?

It's sorta like deciding that you're going to fix everything about your life, one item at a time, one year at a time. If you're actually successful, you might actually have made some progress about the time you're stuck in the old folks' home, mainlining prune juice and praying you can remember the names of all the relatives who never come to visit you.

Hell, even if you make and stick to multiple resolutions a year, it still doesn't end up making sense. Why do people only seem to really want to change their lives as the new year starts? Okay. I get the whole idea of 'starting over with a clean slate' - but you really don't. All we really do is take a deep breath and hope that the next year is better than the year before it, despite that fact that all the problems we had in 2011 are still going to be there in 2012 - along with all the problems we haven't seen yet.

Yeah, yeah - I know. Old man Jayiin doesn't get it. What else is new? I rarely get it.

So, onto the part of this you've been dreading since my last New Year's post. Mostly, because I don't have many New Year's traditions (seeing as how I'm crap at holidays), so I might as well stick to the one I have and enjoy the fact I'm able to write something coherent in this blog once a year.

2011 was a year. I turned 31 and enjoyed the fact no one's taken a hit out on me yet.

Sick. Again,

I'm sick. Again.

I've been getting sick a lot lately. Sinus infections, viral gastrointeritis (stomach flu), migraine headaches (the first one in almost a decade) and now - a massive allergic reaction.

We're not talking the sniffles here. We're taking full-body hives, vomiting, choking, eye-watering, sinus-clogging, skin-burning, life-altering allergies and are requiring heavy hits of antihistamines and prednisone. (Nasty stuff...but it gets the job done.)

I'm not able to take hot showers, get hot and sweaty or even be in place where I'll get hot and sweaty. This is gonna make work interesting, beacuse there's not a day that goes by I'm not drenched in sweat.

I'll make it work, though. I have to.

When you're a kid, being temporarily sick can end up being kind of an adventure. Sure, you feel like crap, but you might just get out of school for a few days and spend the time playing games, reading, watching TV.

Yes, it can still suck and it doesn't always work out like that. It's a crap shoot that depends on parents, doctors and all the stars to align - but there is still the possibility that things can turn out to fun. It didn't often turn out like that for me or my brothers, but when it did, it made being sick worth it.

When you're an adult, it never works out like that. You end up missing work. If you're like me, that means you aren't earning much needed money. And if you're like me, it means you're going to end up behind on your work. You can't meet your obligations and end up leaving people high and dry - and they get rightfully put out at the inconvenience. They may not be upset with you, but they tend to be upset with the situation.

So. Here I am. Sick and messing things up because I'm sick. Not my fault, but frustrating non the less.

I'll admit, I'm frustrated. I went years without getting sick hardly at all. And during those years? I ate and drank whatever I felt like, as long as I wasn't allergic to it. Triple-meat bacon cheeseburger? Anytime I felt like it. Soda? Every day. Massive amounts of it. Ice cream and cake and cookies and - yeah. You get the idea. I was a glutton, feeding my belly and my taste buds whatever fat-laced, grease-soaked concoction sounded good at the time. I did so without a single iota of guilt, let alone a second thought.

Not only did I eat like a fat, happy king, I did so cheaply. Because stuff that's bad for you is cheaper than stuff that's good for you. Universal law, if there ever was one. I had endurance, physical strength and I wasn't even that active. I spent most of my time online. I read, I wrote and I role-played online.

It was a good time in my life.

Then I decided that I wanted to lose weight and change some things about my life. I cut out soda almost completely - now sodas are a treat instead of a staple. I've cut down what I eat and changed what I eat. I've lost some weight and I actually think about my health.

And my health is worse than ever. I'm sure there's lots of arguments that can be made about me reaping what I sowed during those good years. I'm sure there's some comments to be made about me getting older and slowing down. Or I've accidentally omitted some set of nutrients. And I'm sure it would all be correct.

But damn me if it's not frustrating and annoying and a right royal pain in the ass.

There's a lot of things I want to do for my health. Exercise is something I can't do while I'm constantly sick, not if I want to get better. Exercise is already hard enough with the fibro and arthritis, but - after dilligent research and some (painful) experimentation, I have a plan in place. Getting the chance to start said plan? Not yet.

Changing my diet is what I'm in the middle of. It's both harder and easier than I thought it would be. Part of the problem is energy level - I have very little these days. I'm constantly tired and drained, but that has as much to do with the fibro/arthritis combo as anything else. I think once I get my diet stabilized and my exercise started, I can reverse that trend...but for now, being tired means I tend to not have the energy to cook once I get home. Which means I'm tending not to eat as healthy as I plan to - healthier than I used to, for sure.

I'm not giving up though.

As my mother is fond of saying...our family is too stupid to know when we should give up.

Git 'er done

Getting things done.

I write a lot about this, because it's a constant challenge for me. (Or, I should say, whine a lot about this.) There are a lot of productivity articles, blogs, books, seminars, webinars, college courses, etc out there to help with it. They teach techniques, skills, tools and offer all kinds of advice on finding ways to accomplish tasks.

I'll admit it. I've read some of those articles, books and blogs. I've peaked at notes from seminars and webinars. I even attended a few of those free classes when I was in college (way back when). I've tried lots of different techniques, skills and tools. I've listened to and tried out all kinds of advice.

Yet, I keep finding myself behind. There's always stuff I'm behind on or haven't had a chance to get to. Some of it is mundane stuff - chores, filing, investigating this or that or the other. Some of it is pretty non-essential stuff - gaming errata, gaming itself, fanfiction, etc. And some of it is fairly important, such as research into my health insurance plan or remembering to bring something into work or remembering to pay something on time. (Sorry, ADC!)

The consequences for not getting these things done vary from task to task. Not remembering to bring something into work can make my job harder and sometimes mess things up for my co-workers. Not investigating my health insurance means I don't always know what I can do with it other than throw money down on co-pays when I get the sniffles. Neglected chores leave me with a disorganized, cluttered and occasionally dirty space and the need to be up late doing laundry when I should be sound asleep.

Worse than consequences for me are consequences for other people. Often times, other folk are counting on me to get something done for them. When I do what I invariably do and drop the ball, I let people down or leave them hanging and I hate doing it.

I hate being the guy to drop the ball and I try really hard not to be that guy. Yet, I constantly find myself looking back and realizing I've done it again.

So much for evolution

You know, one of the reasons I'm not fond of the theory of evolution(1) is fairly embarrassing: it means having to admit the men in my family, myself included, are probably more closely related to cavemen than we'd like to admit.

It would explain a lot of things really. It would explain why, despite our adaptability, occasional (and surprising) calm, our general level of intelligence and our addictions to modern conveniences we seem to have the ability to tap into some primal depth that lets us go longer and work harder than circumstances should allow.

(Was that fairly arrogant? Yes. Am I sorry for it? Not really. I probably should be, though.)

It would also explain other things. That we tend to favor going through obstacles instead of around them. Why we have so much trouble dealing with social niceties like passive agression, dropped hints and small talk. Why we tend to be more interested in getting things done and being practical than making things pretty. (Why worry about interior decorating when there are chores and projects that need doing? Why sit and watch television when there is work waiting? Why play competitive sports when we can compete against others in 'number ot things accomplished in the shortest amount of time'?)

It would also explain why, without any real reason, the reptile hindbrain kicks into a high gear and sets us off on irrational, unnecessarily aggressive protective tears for no rational reason.

New computer is new

I'm a computer guy.

Some guys are car guys. They love cars. Even if they don't have a 'pimp' car, they know car stats and car stuff and they make psuedo-obscene monkey noises when an awesome car rolls by. For some guys, it's boats. Or guns. Or tools. Or whatever thing it is.

2011

This post brought to you a week late by computer failure, utter exhaustion and insane amounts of work.

I am thirty years old.

It's odd how much that surprises me. It's almost like I didn't expect I would make it this far - that somehow, reality would somehow stop and I wouldn't turn thirty. I can't even claim I didn't see it coming because eighteen months ago, I was pretty worried about turning thirty.

Why (w)angst over it? Because I'm supposed to! Didn't you know? Thirty is the beginning of 'middle age' and soon that slow, inevitable decline into decrepitude will begin. The fun, good part of life is ending!

Or, so I'm told.

Yeah. I call bullshit.

I once wrote about the new year being an arbitrary starting over point; most age milestones are the same thing. I often call it 'magic number theory' - the idea, propagated by popular culture and social conventions, that having lived a specific amount of time automatically confers necessary knowledge, wisdom and skills.

It's especially apparently supposed to be a bit like leveling up in a video/computer/role-playing game. There will be a cool sound effect, some lights, maybe some sparkles and - boom! - you just suddenly know and understand. When you hit the magic number, you suddenly grok life.

(Of course, when you hit this arbitrary benchmark and you don't suddenly get new knowledge, wisdom and skill, you can't very well admit to everyone else you didn't get your level up, now can you? After all, they obviously did. It is most imperative and important that you pretend, because no one should know you don't have it all figured out yet. But only for a little while, because surely next year will be the magic number!)

Just for the record - thirty is not my magic number.

Jayiin and the Crazy, Awesome, Very Insane Day

Okay, so I tried to parody the title of the book Alexander and the Terrible, No Good, Very Bad Day (I probably got the title wrong) and failed at parody. Does anyone else remember that book? I want to find a copy of it, but I never can.

I remember it being awesome when I was a kid.

So. I have less than an hour to write, edit and post what will prove to be one of my more complicated posts. Why will this post be more complicated? Because it's going to be my first real religious post, and that will open up a huge can of worms for me.

Really? My spiritual walk, my faith, my church - these are important, vital and central to my life. Blogging every day and not dealing with these topcis isn't something I can do - because of that, there will be posts centered on that. I've thus far managed to skirt it, even in posts where those factors played major roles. Mostly, I haven't touched on them much because I'm a coward. I haven't wanted to have religious debates on my blog or deal with some of the questions that might arise.

Until I now, I could get away with it beause I was a fairly casual blogger. However, at least until October 31, I'm a fairly serious blogger. Though most of my first few entries have been short on substance and long on failed wit, not all of them will be. I am not going to friendslock any of my blog challenge entries because that feels a little like cheating.

So. Read at your own risk.

I'll put most of it under cuts, so no one has to read. Those of you following on blogger or a blog reader that doesn't support cuts - you have been warned.

Today's service at church was one of those services where the Holy Spirit was working overtime. Usually, when a month has five Sundays in it, the Well has a contemplative prayer service. Usually, this combines mystical, liturgical, prayer and praise and is focused around directed personal time with God. Dreamsaint will lead off with an explanation of what we're doing and why, open us in prayer. We'll sing a bit and then get started. At the end of the service, we'll have Communion and break for lunch before having a Baptismal service.

This week, we already knew two of the kids were being Baptized. I've have had the privilege of watching several of my students accept Christ, which as been an awesome, humbling experience.

Today, the service was an Ignatius Examen, except instead of focusing on a single day, we focused on the first six months of 2009.

I wrote a lot in my journal and had some profound revelations about where my head is at. A lot of it, I liked - I needed to realize that I am doing better at focusing on Christ and acting as Christ than I thought I was, but I also needed to see the places where I have failed utterly or need to work on more. There's a lot more of the latter than the former, but that comes with the territory - none of us perfect. We're all broken in some ways. Damaged goods. No matter how hard we try, no matter how hard we work, how much we do and how far we go in our walk with Christ, we will never reach the pinnacle of what we are capable of, let alone reaching the goal of living and acting as Christ.

That's where Grace comes in. We don't have to. If we truly believe in Christ, then we're going to try. We're going to fall short, we're going to fail...but we're going to keep trying, because we believe it's the right thing to do. Because we believe, because we love Christ and because God keeps His promises, we're already forgiven. It's not about the end result - that will work itself out, one way or the other.

Except...once you've given yourself to Christ, once you've truly decided to believe and truly decided to follow Him, you know what the end will be.

But that just means the journey is that much harder, because once you set your feet on the path of Christ, then God will direct you, and sometimes it's harder to follow Him than it is not to. We follow, not because we're earning some Heavenly reward, but because we know it is the right thing to do.

Sounds corny. Sounds too good to be true. Just believe, and be given eternal life with God? To be promised Union (if you want to get Evelyn Underhill mystical about it) all because you believe?

Yeah. That's all there is to it. Except, it's hard to admit you're broken and you can't make things work on your own. It's hard to admit you're wrong about things in your life, that you can't succeed, you can't become all you need to and should become without God. It's the most brutal, visceral kind of humility and it comes on you like a metric fuckton of acme anvils hurtling from the sky as if they were meteors on a crash course for an extinction-level event in your brain, heart and soul.

It doesn't matter if it's a slow, gradual thing like it was for me or a blinding instant of realizing - for a moment, you're standing naked in front of the Creator of the Cosmos and you realize how small, frail and hurt you really are. You're buried under the weight of everything horrible you've ever done. Drowned in all the things you can't do. Crushed by the undeniable and utterly horrific fact that you are empty, alone and there is something awe full and awesome missing.

For that moment, it's just you and God.

There's no words to describe God. There's no words to describe that moment - and conversion is the greatest Mystery in faith, I think, because it's so different for every person. So personal and individual that no writer or artist or poet or philosopher is ever going to codify it any more than we can truly codify people. There's no way to explain all the factors or moments or decisions or thoughts that push and shove and nudge a person toward that moment where they accept Christ. It's a cosmic Butterfly Effect so personal and powerful and unique that you almost never see it coming until you don't know what to do about it.

Accept Christ. Now there's some hard words to write about. You accept Christ is real. You accept God is real. You accept you are broken. You accept you are flawed, imperfect and unable to ever escape that. You accept Christ loves you. God loves you. God not only loves you...God likes you. He wants a relationship with you because you are His creation, you are His child. He wants you in his existence. He wants to know you, to talk to you, to listen to you, to help you. You accept that love as something bigger, greater and more consuming, more powerful and overwhelming and incomprehensible than you can ever grasp.

You accept God knows more than you ever can understand. You accept God's leadership, guidance and authority over you. You accept the only way to make being broken truly livable, the only way to be free of it, to face it and to make it better is to accept God's love. God's sacrifice.

You accept God is right and you are probably wrong about how your life works, where it should go and what you should do with it.

Talk about hard. No one likes to be told what to do, least of all me. I hate havig people in charge of me, telling me who and what I should or shouldn't be. I hate rules that say what I can or can't do, what I can or cannot be.

You've all heard me say it at one time or another.

But.

I am broken. I am flawed. There is more wrong with me, more ways I am a horrible, no good, terrible, very bad person than I can ever write or speak or tell in any way.

God still loves me. God still likes me. God still wants me around.

God.

The Creator of Heaven and Earth. The beginning and end of all things - alpha and omega. The being, force, power, Prime Force - the center of the universe, the all-encompassing ineffable, indescribable, incomprehensible, omniscient, omnipresent, omnipotent Lord and Master of All Things loves and likes me. The fat, stupid little geek who spends too much time writing and reading fanfic who can't get out of debt and can't help but fuck up everything he does.

Today, I got to see that moment on the face of my brother and on my friend.

At the end of the service, right before Communion, Dreamsaint did something he almost never does: he offered an invitation for people to stand up and say: "I need Christ."

I know the invitation is pretty much tradition in most churches, but the Well doesn't usually do it, because we don't work that way. We try not to push people, pressure people or put people on the spot. We don't want to make them feel uncomfortable or like there's something wrong with them if they aren't ready to stand up in front of the church and deal with that moment with dozens of strangers they might not want to have to talk to about it.

But Dreamsaint said he was 'under orders' to give the invitation today, so he did. He said his piece, almost in tears because of the sheer presence of the Holy Spirit being there, working on us all...but my brother stood up.

So did my friend.

My brother has been coming to the Well for a couple of years now, off and on, and has been moving towards this for awhile, I think. My buddy has been dancing on the edges of this for a few weeks, too.

We already had the robes. We already had the service planned. It was the easiest thing in the world to add them in the line-up.

Off to Barton Springs spillway we went. Now, I know some people don't hold with the idea of Baptism, because once the decision has been made to accept and follow Christ, the act of Baptism is just a formality, a ritual - a public confession of faith (which is necessary for accepting and following Christ, but that's a topic for later). There are lots of ways to publically confess, lots of rituals and symbols and formalities.

It's true. Once the decision is made, that's it. You're a Christian. You're a follower of Christ.

But there is something truly transformational about Baptism, and it has to be important, because otherwise, why would it have such a prominent place in the Bible? Baptism is part of the mystery of conversion (and conversion happens whether or not you're raised in the church. Every Christian is born again and a convert.) Baptism is part of that process. What part is plays...I'm still working on that. It's different for every person I've talked to. For some, it was just a formality, like signing your name to a contract or shaking hands when you meet someone. It didn't do much for them...but other things did.

For others, Baptism was a profound and life-altering experience with profound consequences for their Christian walk.

I'm glad I was there when my brother was Baptized. I'm glad I was there when my buddy was Baptized. I don't know what role it will play, but I'm glad was there. I'm glad to have been there when my students were Baptized.

It was humbling and inspiring and full of awe. Did I mention humbling?

(Just for the record: I claim no part in their coming to Christ. It was all God working his miracles. If I did play a role, it was incidental at best.)

I will say, however, that Baptizing in public like we did was something of an experience. We do things this way for several reasons. For one, we aren't going to hide who and what we are, and people seeing folk being Baptized and seeing how we treat it, seeing us - as normal people, with kids in swimsuits playing in the water. Seeing us drinking sodas, smoking, laughing and enjoying hanging out, just like they are...but also seeing us as Christians.

It's a way for us to be incarnational and to try to be a part of the community.

It's also practical. It's free and convenient. We don't have much money and we don't have space of our own, so we have to find a way. The Barton Springs spillway works as well as anything we've tried, and better than some.

None the less, it's not easy for me. I am not an outdoorsy person. I know, a lot of people scoff when I say that, and think I'm not appreciating nature or think it's because I'm fat or lazy or just don't care to try to enjoy it.

Maybe they're right.

Then again, maybe not. I'm allergic to nature, for one. I have fibromyalgia for another. It's painful to walk down the trails to the spillway, and it's no picnic navigating the rocks and wet out there. I'm hot, sweaty, itchy, hurting and generally miserable. The water is cold enough to make me hurt when I get in, and the amount of energy walking down there and walking back up take is simply staggering.



Needless to say, I've ended up with hives, a limp, and a bit of a sunburn.

Not too high a price, really, for getting to be there.

I have, however, finished re-writing CH6 of HPU.

I still need a haircut.

And I still want my new computer to come!

Awkward. (And happy birthday xdrumrboi

Why yes. Yes, this is a backdated post.

It's not cheating, because I haven't gone to bed yet, even if the calendar changed from May 26 to May 27. I'm still awake because xdrumrboi and I went to see a late showing of X-Men Origins: Wolverine.

Happy birthday, bro.

So, I've been thinking about this blog challenge I've set myself and all the things I'm doing to make sure I keep it. Blogging before I surf the net, keeping a list of back-up topics and taking it one day at a time instead of thinking about just how long it is between now and Oct 31.

I'm not thinking about all the things I have to get done between now and then.

A list of 'backup topics' you ask? Why yes, yes, I really am keeping such a thing. Most of them are boring rambles, and some of them will 'expire' after awhile. None the less, I have them for days when I have nothing else. But so far, I seem to have a lot more to blog about than I thought. In fact, my brain seems to be writing the posts as I walk around during the day. Hopefully, I don't need to tell you that everything sounds much better in my head and I can never remember how things were worded when I finally sit down to pound on the keyboard.

The problem with having more to blog about than I thought? That means my lack of blogging in the past wasn't due to lack of content, as I've been pleading for years, but intellectual laziness, which is more than a little embarrassing.

*clears throat*

Enough about that. We can explore all the ways I humiliate and embarrass myself in later posts. There's plenty of time between now and Oct 31 and there's no reason to rush into things, now is there?

I thought not.

But since I think it's cheating to have an entire post about blogging about about my challenge, I figured I'd find something more interesting to say. I could review X-Men Origins: Wolverine or any other movies/books/comics I've partaken of lately. I could talk about birthdays and what it means to pass milestones and get older and get gray hair in your beard. (Not that I know anything about that.) I could talk about family traditions, hanging out with my brothers, or even about being a comic geek going to a comic book movie.

All kinds of good, psuedo-deep stuff that would make me feel intellectually superior and make me think I'm actually saying something important.

It's way too fucking late at night for that kind of intellectual masturbation, so I'm going to tell you about Madi instead.

Awkward moment was awkward.

So there I was. At work. (No one die of shock, now.) A customer comes in the door. Obviously female; has all the right curves. Has boobs. Nice make-up, if a bit much of it for my taste. Earrings, pale green nails. Headed straight for the yaoi manga.

Yep. A girl. Probably the annoying kind, too.

Nope. Wrong. A guy dressed as a girl. Now, this doesn't bother me. I work in Austin, TX. Normally, it doesn't even phase me or make me think about it. I do the customer service thing and move on. Well, Madi wanted to rent anime. After I gave him/her excellent sage addvice on what to rent ("go ask someone who knows what they're talking about. I don't like much anime, let alone watch it."), I gave her/him a rental form to fill out.

She/he does. (Sorry about the pronoun thing. I really don't know the etiquette here, and no one I've asked has ever explained it logically. Since I don't know what pronoun she/he prefers, I'm erring on the side of caution.)

I check the ID and the credit card. The name? Not Madi. A decidedly male name. Definitely his/her ID, though.

So I look again. I get that faint throbbing right behind my eyes that always happens when I have to have an awkward social moment with someone because they've done something that means I have to cross one of those invisible lines people aren't supposed to cross in the social context of retail clerk and customer. (I never get the headache in non-work situations. I suppose because I'm only making me look like an ass outside of work. At work, everyone else looks like an ass, too.)

But I have to tell him/her. It's policy, after all.

The name on the ID, card and form must all match. I tell Madi so, apologetically. I don't use the 'sir' or 'ma'am' I normally would, because - pronoun confusion. Since the ID indicated an age less than mine and I have gray hair in my beard, I pulled rank and used 'Madi' instead.

When I told Madi she/he had to use the other name, the look her her/his face was so hurt, crestfallen and disappointed I felt like a right and utter prick. But it wasn't my fault this time! It's store policy! We have lots of people with odd nicknames they go by. Toaster. Pumpkin. Bumper. They have to have their real name on official documents too!

Madi, to her/his credit, didn't argue. Just changed the name and signed with the correct name.

I hate making people feel bad when there's no reason to.

Like I said. Awkward.

The Rule of LAW

The Rule of LAW is simple: He (or she) who writes the fewest pages buys the beer.

'tis a good incentive to write every month, really. Especially when you make as much (read: little) money as I do. LAW, of course, stands for Lazy-Ass Writers. It's a writing group started by a former Dragon's Lair colleague of mine - The Red Haired Ninja.

No. Really. She's both a red head and a ninja. Just ask her and she'll tell you Hopefully while smoking a cigar. (Which is a story for another time, I think.)

Regardless, I attended my second LAW meeting tonight, and did not have to buy the beer. The (former) Bounty Hunter, the Red Haired Ninja's fiance, had to buy the beer. It's good to get into a writing group agian, especially one where I'm not The Guru or the Newbie. It's a good fit and a lot of fun to have a nice dinner, some cheap booze, and talk about writing until long after we all should have gone home and gone to bed, especially considering we meet on Monday nights.

It's a very writerly thing to do, really. Especially since it's just a 'we'll meet on a Monday roughly every three or four weeks'. No set date. No set schedule. Keeps us on our toes, because we never know when, exactly, the next meeting is, so it's hard to schedule a serious speed writing session. It's kinda like NaNo-lite all year long.

Oddly enough, it seems to happen the Monday right before payday (I get paid every other Tuesday).

It's a helluva lotta fun. Oddly enough.

And to my dismay, fanfiction doesn't count. Because really? If it did, I'd never have to worry about losing. I could just keep churning out HPU and steamroll everyone. I mean, the story is over 500k words and I haven't even gotten them to Hogwarts.

Also: yes. Anyone bothering to read this is NOT imagining things. I am blogging two nights in a row.

Why, you ask, am I tormenting you with more drivel about my boring, geeky life? After all, you've gotten by just fine with my quarterly epics for some time now, avoiding having to pretend to care about my existence for most of the year.

Well, bad news. I'm going to try to blog every night between now and October 31, 2009.

I'll fail, of course. You know that. I know that. But it'll be fun to try, while adding another level of delicious, self-imposed stress on my already strained brain. I figure it's both good training for LAW, NaNo and in brevity. Because if I dole out my life and thoughts in a miserly manner I am unaccustomed to, I might have enough almost interesting, psuedo entertaining thought vomit to make it from now until October 31.

My inspiration for this noble quest? Aggiebell90 has blogged every day since September 2008. I figure if she can do that while managing Phoenix Song, ringing in a couple of handbell choirs, singing in a choir, working a full-time job and raising four kids, I should be able to churn out a post a day.

All sarcasm aside, it's been awesome to watch her dedication to her writing and to be part of her cheering section.

(Considering the absolute flood of comments I've gotten on the last two posts, I'm sure I'll be cheered on.)

(So much for putting sarcasm aside. Sorry!)

I've got a few ideas on how to do this, other than not writing everything that comes to mind every time I blog. I can blog before I start surfing the net and checking my sites, because then I won't be distracted. I can blog right when I get home, before my body has had time to realize how tired I should be. And I can take my copious notes about the world and use them as blog material. Because talking about myself all the time?

Well, there's a reason I normally blog about once a quarter. I'm boring.

Now the rest of you? Are just good material.

Or, at least, I hope so. Otherwise, I'm gonna end up buying the beer.

Brain Dump 2008

Once again, I should be getting into bed and falling asleep, because I have work tomorrow morning at 9 AM. Once again, I'm sitting at my computer, writing.

Every year, I do a bit of reflection about New Year's in my journal, but this year, my hands are hurting too much to write it by hand, so I'm sharing it with the rest of you.

Have you ever thought about how arbitrary New Year's is? Or what it really means? Everyone talks about New Year's the same way they do about birthdays and anniversaries, only - there's less reason for it.

Birthdays and anniversaries mark events that are celebrated. We've lived/been together/done something for another entire arbitrary 12-month cycle. Still, considering it's human nature to impose artificial order on anything and everything, it makes sense. Though, why twelve months?

I know there's a historical reason for it. I might even have known it at one time. Still, here we are. One number up on the
millennia.

Maybe because my birthday and the New Year are so close together, I've never really seen the New Year as a big deal - or that I don't want to go out and get drunk in a huge crowd of people. Because me and crowds? Never a good idea.

Getting drunk in a small group of people? Probably also not the best idea, all things considered. Most of the folk I hang out with these days aren't too keen on getting quietly drunk, and those that are probably wouldn't like a melancholy drunk.

I'm just not much of a partier. No big revelation there.

Getting drunk on my own? That's just lame.

So, New Year's for me usually consists of writing in my journal, avoiding driving, hiding in my room with my pipe, and pondering why everyone else is making such a big fuss over something that's never made much sense to me.

Which is to say, it's much like any other day for me, except more people are drunk.

Somehow, though, I've found myself rather superstitious lately, seeing signs and omens, patterns and tides and tendencies.

I'm sure it says something I took my last dose of antibiotic, got my tax form, and had my mother visit the store for the first time all on the last day of the year.

But I suppose it does me no harm to sit down and reflect on the big picture a bit, no matter how depressed it gets me.

(Huh. Now I think I see why so many people get drunk on New Year's. Thinking too much does that to you.)

2008 was the first year since 2001 I haven't been in college in one form or another, and though I missed it, I think it was good for me to try to break away from academia, at least a little bit. Even though Austin Community College is no St. Edward's, it's not as bad as some folk make it out to be.

I've discovered a great love of comics and the stories therein; which, if you know my love of stories, you know is a huge deal for me.

2008 is also the first year in awhile that I've had full time employment for the entire duration of the year. At the same place, even. I know a lot of folk fuss at me for working too much, but I actually like my job. Dragon's Lair, despite paying stale peanuts, is a fun place to work with decent co-workers, great management, and awesome customers (99% of the time).

And damn it feels good. I got my year review recently. Aside from my perfectionist annoyance at not being perfect, I'm pretty pleased with what was said.

And amused. Apparently, I'm a very methodical, detail oriented person. Who knew? /sarcasm

2008 also saw me get Baptized (in a hot tub, no less) - I know some of you want pictures, or even the illicit video someone took, but I'm probably never gonna post that stuff online. Now, I'm on Church Council at the Well, teach a kid's Bible class (really young kids, too), have discovered a talent and affection for dealing with babies, and I have yet to burst into flame or be struck dead by lightning from Heaven.

Which goes a long way to proving God's infinite forgiveness in my book. I woulda' smote me a long time ago.

I've lost weight, learned that I still have the strength and endurance to hold down a job even with the fibro and arthritis. Managed to even start getting up on time without needing a cattle prod.

While these are all laudable things, and things I'm proud of, truth to tell - 2008 has been a total and complete failure of a year for me.

Talking about the big picture here?

I'm 28 - closer to 30 than not - and I'm working a job that doesn't pay a living wage, living with my parents, still being partially supported by them (and yes, there are many extenuating circumstances, not the least of which is my health and my mother's health), still without a degree for all my troubles and money on college.

It bothers me more than a little.

Looking back at my life, I also realize that I have no idea where I wanted to be when I was this age. Marriage was always a vague idea, but considering my luck with women and having seen the hell my parents' marriage is, I never really considered it a serious option.

Kids? I don't know if I'd be a good father until I get at least one book published. Seriously - I think I would resent the amount of time a kid would take and how much effort and pain taking care of a kid would cause me, to say nothing of passing my genetics (fibromyalgia, arthritis, and everything else) on to another human being...

Yeah.

A bigtime job making lots of money, with a fancy car and a ritzy place to live? Never wanted it. I never saw money or status as worth all that much. Money buys me food, books and a place to live. Other than that, it's just a lot of math and a lot of misery to earn it. I'd rather have my job that pays nothing and the contentment that comes from it than a job I hate that pays well.

Been there. Done that. Got the baggage.

Worse yet?

I haven't really succeeding in much of the writing I wanted to do this year.

Why not, you ask?

Discipline.

Back before college, I had lots of it. I could discipline myself, make myself write even when what I wrote was crap. I was able to sit down and just pound out a few hundred words every day.

Not so much anymore.

I used to be able to stay organized, stay focused, and make myself do what I needed to do, when I needed to do it, without whining, bitching, moaning or ignoring it. I could do chores, keep my commitments, and still have time for a read and a wank before bed.

Not so much anymore.

This year, I've missed opportunities to do great things, dropped the ball on commitments I've made, and left some folk hanging in a lurch; friendships have faded, with little to take their place. I've missed opportunities for what could be great friendships (or, at least people I could help out a bit), and been unable to step up all the times I needed to.

And that bothers me, more than a little bit.

The shift hasn't happened overnight, or even over the course of a single year.

I partially blame it on college. Going to Stedwards was a good thing for me, because I learned a lot, discovered I had fibro, got engaged, got dumped, got voted off the island, and discovered I really just might have the skill to be a successful writer.

But going to Stewards required a different kind of discipline than I had used before. When I was living at home, my parents didn't ask me to do chores - they asked me to do homework. My grades were fantastic and reflected my academic discipline. It was okay to be a bit frazzled and a bit disorganized.

Not so much anymore.

I really sat down and noticed it a few weeks back, right around Thanksgiving when I had some time off work, and I didn't manage to get a single freakin' thing done.

So I tried to figure out why. At first, it was easy to say I was resting and recovering from work, and I was tired and hurting. But even though I was, I still had energy to go play and read fanfic and watch B5 DVDs and read books and generally slack.

Which really? Isn't me.

So I took a look around, and what I saw disgusted me.

My room was a mess, disorganized and cluttered. My desk was messy, and my books are all over the place. My writing notes are scattered, and I haven't been journaling the way I need to. I've got plans-a-billion, but no action or execution or even plans to get my plans moving.

I didn't even have a 'to-do' list or an active calendar. My whiteboard was blank. My laundry was piled up, my room covered in dust, and I was drinking more soda than tea again.

Some of it is complacency on my part. Sitting on my fat ass and getting falling into a routine of feeling sorry for myself because I don't make much money and I'm always tired and always hurting.

Wah. Woe is me.

I'm better than that.

So I pulled out a fresh notebook and set about doing what I should have never stopped doing. I wrote down everything I needed to get done. But instead of doing what I've always done before and color-coded it or
categorized it or anything else fancy, I just wrote it down in pencil.

It's a fairly extensive list, and every day, I notice something else I need to add to it. But then I realized, a lot of things on there were things that I've let slip by or things that I should have been doing all along.

I also realized it's been over a year and a half since I re-organized myself; every six months or so, I used to spend a couple of days just putting myself back together. Clearing out
detritus, clutter and shit I didn't need, doing a deep-clean of my room. I would sort out my papers and files and books and would re-prioritize.

This sounds so corny, I bet. And I know my brother is sitting there shaking his head and laughing at me. My 'resets' always annoyed the fuck out of him - and for good reason.

In truth, most people do this to a certain extent; I was just more deliberate about it. They way I taught myself to deal with my learning disabilities was to control my
environment. If my brain wouldn't accept the outside systems already in place, then I would just create and impose my own systems.

Resetting those systems was a good way to keep them from falling apart around me, streamline them, and keep me from going crazy. Spring cleaning for my brain. See, part of my problem is that my brain doesn't process information the way a 'normal' brain does. It's the whole dyslexia/dysgraphia/dysplaxia thing. Most people have a mental filing cabinet, with folders and labels that are mostly organized (to a greater or lesser extent, depending on the person).

I don't.

Things don't get filed unless I force my brain to do it; and even then, small things build up in piles around my mental office, things I miss or forget or just don't need to worry about. In order to clean all that out, empty the mental trash cans, I have to consciously do it.

It also helps control the depression. Changes things up a bit, keeps me from falling into the complacency and bad habits that I've developed. Helps me take stock of things, notice tendencies I've developed and take steps to correct them.

The problem?

I can't do the physical part of it by myself anymore. I need help to get in a move things to clean and I need help to figure out where I've gone wrong, because I don't always see it.

Getting that help is the problem. I could probably recruit one or two people from the church, but honestly? They'd end up spending as much time talking to my mother as helping me. She's something of a figure of mystery and interest there, because most of them have never met her, but they have heard about her.

And the Well is about people - and my mother isa person in great need of help.

So I can't really blame them for that or ask them not to do what God may ask them to do.

Still, I have a list. I have plan. Get back on top of the day-to-day crap first. Then figure out what I'm going to do about the rest of it.

So there's 2008. A waste of an arbitrary 12-month cycle.

The good news?

If I'm going to put any stock in omens, portents and symbols, the last day of 2008 has given me a few to think on.

When I woke up this morning, I felt like shit. I hurt, I was exhausted beyond belief, the depression was kicking my ass in a bad way, and I had no idea how I was going to get through the day without breaking down.

It was so bad I even posted on LJ. If you only read my nonsense on Blogger or Inksome or who aren't on my LJ flist, you missed it.

(Thanks to everyone on LJ who commented on my post this morning. I needed the support.)

Yet, today went well. Good weather, so my pain got a bit better once I started moving. My co-workers pitched in and we kicked ass on getting things done. The store looked good when I left.

I got to go home early, even. Not for a great reason, mind, but I still got to go home early.

One of our customers, a lady I'll call B, asked to read the Katheryn story and actually overcame the Curse. She brought in a printed copy with notes on it this afternoon. She and her boyfriend ZD are awesome, and I think might end up being friends outside work.

Hell, she even wants to check out HPU and read some of the Katheryn story history.

My muse was awake today, and gave me plenty of thoughts for both of those stories, especially once BL and I chatted a bit about the Katheryn story.

She came in specifically to see me and talk to me about the story. She lives very far south and didn't have to drive all the way - but she and ZD did.

After I got Mom settled tonight, I went out to my favorite place to eat - Whataburger. I'm friends with some of the people who work there, and one of them hooked me up with her discount.

I got gas at the Valero next door to Whataburger and filled up the tank of the Mazda for $15. I accidentally gave the cashier too much money and didn't notice it - he could have easily taken the extra $20 I gave him and pocketed it and I would have thought I'd lost it somewhere.

Instead, he gave it back to me. Seems silly and incidental, but good service and good deeds seem to be in rare supply these days.

Tiny things, but - good omens, I would think.

And right after the New Year starts, I'll get to see a couple of very good friends I don't get to see often at all. I'll spend a whole day chilling with a guy who can always help me get my head on straight.

People talk about resolutions around New Year's, but I think I would prefer to talk about plans. Resolutions are what I've been making all year, and it's gotten me nowhere. I'd much rather have a plan and know how I'm going to get back on track.

Time for me to figure one out, I think.

In all truth, I don't know where I want to be this time next year. I think making those kinds of plans for me never work out; instead, I always end up someplace I never expect to end up. The long term goals are still the same - write, get published.

Instead, I think I'll focus on smaller plans, plans that will help me take things step-by-step to get to the larger goal.

I can still point to 2004 as being one of the worst years of my life; 2008 is nothing more than a blip compared to that.

So 2009? Just another arbitrary 12-month cycle that will see me writing another boring brain dump as it, too cycles out.

Hopefully, my brain will be in better working order, though.

NaNo November Ruminations, HPU and other worthless bits of my brain

Welcome to the latest installment of 'Jayiin thinks too much.'

I should be sleeping, because I have book pull tomorrow, but instead, I'm blogging. This is the post that should have gone up where I had 'Placeholder.' JH, your patience has been rewarded. I hope this is worth the wait.

This post has been brewing in the back of my skull for awhile now - two or three weeks, really, but as with most of my writing, it needs time to gestate. As a further - and somewhat random - note, I have a new blog (which, for the moment, will just be a mirror of this one) over at Inksome - it's a fandom friendly blogsite using Livejournal's open-source code. The ever-wonderful mackzazzle got me an account there.

So, for those of you who read on LJ, a Friendslist-friendly cut! Because long post is long. For those of you reading on
Blogger - well, you're stuck.

Most of you who know me, know every November, I participate in NaNoWriMo. Most of you know, this is my yearly thing. I spend hours in front of my computer (well, more hours than normal), eschew activities I might otherwise participate in (okay, so there's a chance you'll find me doing something else other than writing. I do occasionally visit the outside world. Just not often, and not without protection.) and otherwise focus in on a new story.

I'm good at NaNo. I'm good at writing. Usually, I blaze through NaNo like a hungry teenage boy through free pizza.

This year was no different. There was a brief period at the beginning of the month where my work schedule and my writing met and clashed and didn't work well together, and I actually fell behind most of the people who watch me blast past them in word count. I whined like an emo schoolgirl and my boss, being gifted with compassion, patience, and a sense of humor, patted me on the head and moved heaven, earth and the rest of the cosmos to re-create her carefully crafted schedule into something where I could write.

There aren't many bosses who would do that. Lots of folk I know bitch at me about working too much, giving up too much of my time/energy for the store, wearing myself out, etc - well, what AB did for me with the schedule was better than a raise or a prize or anything else of the sort. Very few people in my life are willing to do as much to help my writing and very few of those willing to help are willing to face down a horde of geeks whose precious 'sit and do nothing' time would have to be rescheduled for two whole weeks. My boss did.

I didn't waste the time she gave me. I won on the 17th or 18th of the month, and after validating tonight, I got this shiny new picture that says I'm a winner.

I have never lost NaNo.

That said, this year was hard. I had lots of ideas, some of them better than others. I chose one that I thought would be fun, but it sucked. The story was flat, the characters were 2-dimensional, and the plot had more holes than rotten cheesecloth. Yet, in the spirit of NaNo, I went ahead and kept writing until I hit 50K - and then promptly closed the document and left it alone, because I hope I never write anything that crappy ever again.

Why was this year hard? Because I was writing crap. I understand the idea behind liberating yourself from your internal editor and just flying with literary abandon. I get it - and normally, I revel in it during November. But I've never written this kind of crap before. I know I quote Anne Lamott a lot and babble on about how every writer writes shitty rough drafts. But this? This went beyond bad and into the realm of absurd. It's so bad I couldn't even salvage it by turning it into a farce.

Unsurprisingly, November brings up all kinds of thoughts about things I already know, at least about writing. First and foremost, writing is a discipline. Just like any spiritual discipline, physical discipline or lifestyle discipline, it takes effort, will and determination to make it work. Bum glue. Glue your bum to the chair and write.

I think I finally learned what that means. To just push through and keep writing, even when it's crap. I don't like it.

I think of writing as a craft; just like carpentry, blacksmithing or any other craft. There is technical skill and then there is artistry. A person with technical writing skill can create a well-written, grammatically correct, correctly spelled and logically sequenced piece of writing, just like a carpenter can create a functional, sturdy and usable chair. However, a craftsman is always trying to make things better, to make that chair or that piece of writing more fun to use or to read.

I fall into that category. People often ask me why I can't write all year like I do for NaNo, and the truth of it isn't some kind of horrid mental block or any of the other dime-store psychological platitudes people dish out to me when I talk about why I get stuck with writing. It's a completely different dime-store psychological platitude.

It's craft. I want to craft my stories - build them, work with them, make them work. Every time (aside from NaNo) I try to write without working on craft, I end up stuck. The times I do my best work are the times I sit down and am willing to craft every sentence or paragraph or agonize over words. When I'm willing to go back and play with a chapter or a scene until it fits - when I'll scroll back over a hundred pages to change a single thing to makes sure everything is consistent.

If I'm really called to be a writer, as I've theorized, I need to treat what I do with respect and irreverence at the same time. I need to take the idea behind NaNo - writing the story, telling the story, no matter what and synergize it with the idea of crafting the story as I write it. Even though a well-crafted rough draft will still be shitty compared to the final product, it will be something I can feel comfortable with having written.

I don't know if I'm an artist or not; I don't think of myself as one, but I know there is sometimes artistry in storytelling or character or even a turn of phrase. Some folk, like homicidalsh33p have it fairly often. Sometimes I even think I do...but I'll leave the final decision to my eventual readers when I get something substantial published.

Strangely enough (or maybe not), it was HPU that led me to that conclusion. Oddly enough, most people on my LJ Flist haven't read HPU, even though I've been working on it off and on since 2004. For that matter, most people on my LJ Flist haven't read the Katheryn story, either, even though I started writing it in 1995. These stories are a major part of my life, and some of what I'm going to say won't make sense if you don't know those stories. So, for those of you who don't know what I'm talking about, time to tune out and go back to the rest of your regularly scheduled internets. For the rest of you who have a clue and still give a damn, read on!

Writing HPU has been an adventure in self-discovery. I could rant about the fanfiction aspect of HPU and spend a lot of time defending fic, but I won't, because most of you have already heard it already, read fic, or stopped reading at the last paragraph. HPU is the first story I truly gave free reign to and it's turned into a monstrosity. Over 760 pages, 220,000 words...and the story is not even to the halfway point. It's got a lot of writing I'm proud of, a few places I want to cleanse with fire, and some bits and pieces I know I could do better (and will eventually tweak). But I've learned more about how to tell a story through HPU than through anything else I've ever written, just like the Katheryn story has taught me how to build a universe in such a way that I don't drown myself or kill the story with the details of cosmology.

Frankly, I'm not a good enough craftsman yet to tell the Katheryn story, but if anything will get me there, it'll be HPU. If you think reading this entry has been hard, try making an admission like that. I'm not good enough to tell the story I most want to tell.

I will be, though. Even if it kills me.

For the most part, everything I've learned about writing, I've learned on my own. There are a few notable exceptions to this, most of them coming from random places. Anne Lamott taught me about letting go of false expectations in Bird By Bird. One of my professors at St Edward's taught me a new way to think about writing.

Everything else? I've taught myself. Mostly, because getting people to actually read is very hard. Getting people with my level of knowledge and who are willing to sit and discuss is even harder.

The other night, I was writing a bit of HPU, and I realized that, despite what I'd been telling myself, I was stuck at the same place I always get stuck. The last two weeks of summer, after Harry has woken up from the attack at the gym but before his return to Hogwarts. I can't get past this same place; I get bogged down because there are so many details, so many things to reveal, so many things to build and to put into place to make the rest of the story make sense. When I stopped trying to limit chapter size and stopped trying to keep other characters from having a strong voice and role in the events, I was able to start moving things forward.

Then I got stuck again. The only way to get unstuck, I think, is to push through like I did with this year's NaNo. Only, slightly different. Instead of focusing on quantity, I need to focus on quality - I need to make sure to spend the time crafting and building these chapters instead of rushing through them to get to the 'meat' of the next part of the plot. Patience is a major part of good craft, I've been told.

I have patience, just not with myself.

It all comes back to the Basic Speed Law, as applied to life. Which is to say, you can only go as fast as conditions allow.

Not too long back, back, I was driving to Dragon's Lair on a Wednesday morning. That particular morning was beset by fog - fog like I haven't seen in awhile. It was thick and horrid stuff, like cold steam. When I was a kid, I learned fog was just a cloud that had settled close to the ground - if so, then this was a particularly aggressive and stubborn cloud that refused to be the wispy fog we central Texans are used to.

The frustrating thing about this fog wasn't the inability to see a whole car-length in front of me, or even the need to drive to work. It was the way the other drivers seemed to be ignoring the fog. Now, I'm not usually one to bitch about traffic. I leave that to my father and Iridanum - they're much better at it than I am. But that particular morning, the other drivers were beset by a particular and special kind of suicidal stupid.

It reminded me of learning the Basic Speed Law in Driver's Ed all those years ago. I remember Mr N browbeating us with it. "Only drive as fast as conditions allow." It was on every test, every quiz, and, if you got that question right on the final, you were sure to pass (if only barely).

As much as I hate the dumb 'life as a road' metaphor with all the deep, dark and unpleasant parts of myself, it works here. Everyone has goals - things they want to do. Ambitions, hopes, dreams, etc. We have thousands of movies and stories about people achieving their dreams, just because it's something everyone can connect with. Because there's no one in the entire world who doesn't have at least one impossible thing they want to accomplish before they die. (Impossible, of course, being relative to the situation and person.)

You can only get there as fast as conditions allow.

Even as I write that, I hear all the outcry, the screams and the rants and the lectures about that being a horrible excuse for letting things get in your way or slow you down, and while there's some truth to that, there's a lot more truth to this: sometimes, there are things that get in the way and you have to navigate them with care. Sure, you can claim obstacles are just excuses, and they can be - but only if you're not trying to get around them. Moving slowly and carefully around an obstacle so as to not make more of a mess is different than using an obstacle as an excuse for not doing something.

To say nothing of how your goals compare to what other people think your goals should be - but that's another post. Probably my next one. Maybe. Maybe not. I'm learning not to make promises about my blogging, because - let's face it. The blogging fairy only pokes me one and a while. *cough*New Moon blog.*cough*

In my case, I have a whole host medical issues - fibromyalgia, rheumatoid arthritis among other assorted minor problems, to say nothing of the varying forms of dyslexia I have (which is pretty much the whole set). This means it takes me three times as long and three times as much effort to do normal, every day things.

Such as remembering which way doors open. Or which faucet has the hot water (when they aren't marked). Or finding my way around a room that's been recently re-arranged. However, some of my issues mean I don't have as much energy to put into effort as other people. That means I have to choose what I do and when I do it and how I do things very carefully. I live my life in a constant state of discipline just to make it through one day to the next.

Everything I do is very deliberate, very purposeful. I've discovered I work best when I apply that to the rest of what I do. Another HPU lesson. When I'm deliberate in my writing, I do better - but I can't plan too far ahead (IE - outlines!), because there's no way to predict things or plan for things too far out. In life, that means I might not have the energy to run to the store after work to get food I can cook, but I can plan to eat dinner after work. Sometimes, that means cooking. Other times, it means hitting up the usual.

Recently, a few things have happened to make me think about my life, its direction and the goals I have in it.

My boss, at the beginning of November, sat down with me and had a chat with me, because of a personnel shake-up at work. Suffice it to say, JKA - who I helped train! - got promoted to manager. At first, I was a bit upset about this, mostly because I felt overlooked. Truth to tell, I don't want the job he has. I'd be miserable, because it would take all the fun out of my job! But my boss, showing wisdom, patience and compassion well above and beyond the call of duty, made sure I understood what was going on.

I hadn't been overlooked. In fact, I'd been considered. However, my talents and skills are of more use elsehwere. Truth is, I'd make a poor manager. Hell, I remember not being able to handle being a safety patrol lieutenant in elementary school, and I've not grown up enough since to get past some of the stupidity that makes me a bad manager.

Still, being an irrational creature, I got upset. I'm proud of how I approached the situation. Instead of throwing a fit, I was able to feel happy for my co-worker's promotion, and actually approach my boss about it rationally and calmly and talk to her. I'm glad I did. (Though, a couple of hours of praying about it before I did anything had a lot to do with that bit of maturity).

I can't reveal much about future company plans, but suffice it to say (yes, I like that phrase. I'd say 'sue me', but I have nothing of worth), that Dlair is a franchised chain now, and if I play my cards right, I could be the press agent/medial relations guy for the chain. Not just one or two stores...but a lot more than that. I could be a part of something pretty big. Not a huge corporate chain or a major force in the comic publishing industry - but I could be part of growing a small homegrown business into something more substantial.

All I have to do? Prove I can do it.

Okay, so I've proven part of it. I can do the writing part of the job in my sleep (and, considering when I write most of the store newsletters, I sometimes do). The press agent the owner had on contract for awhile didn't do much writing - she just stole the articles I wrote for the website and used them as press releases until I said something about it. Then, people just had me write the press releases.

Now, her contract ran out and I have a chance to show folk I can do all of her job, not just part of it. Here's hoping I can pull it off, yes?

Considering I'm something of a professional failure so far, I'm pretty sure I have a fifty-fify shot of fucking this up royally. Which is to say, I'm going to try, going to try to discipline myself enough to get the job done while trying to untangle the rest of my life.

It won't be quick or easy, because most of what I need/want to accomplish with this are things that take time and require me laying groundwork. Here's hoping I manage to get it done before the owner and my boss run out of patience with me.

In the mean time, I'm going to keep slogging through HPU.

And hopefully, get enough sleep to function tomorrow.