Genius!

1000 words?!? What in the crap was I thinking? I don't have the time for this! OK, most days I do, and if I had spent the last hour typing instead of looking at news stories, I would have had more than enough time to finish 1000 or more words. But I guess it is Monday, and this day, more than any other has the ability to break many new commitments. Weekends are great for great ideas, and Fridays contribute to that. Being at the end of another long workweek, the mind can conceive of some pretty grandiose plans. Plans to make the next week better, plans for how to improve life as we know it. The weekend amplifies these ideas, making them seem even more intelligent, giving them even more attractiveness. But then, we wake up on Monday...
Monday dawns dark and drizzly. Rain pounds on the windows, and I must crawl up and over my two sons who cannot be convinced that their own beds are the place they should be. I stagger to the kitchen sink to suck down some stale water left in a cup from last night with my medicine. As soon as the water hits my stomach, it remembers what it wants to do first think in the morning, and I wander to the bathroom to take care of that. (I won't describe that, I am giving too many details as it is.) By the time I am done there, my eyes are pretty much open, but it is the shower that really gets my eyes open. After that, shaving (if I REALLY feel like I need it. The benefit of wearing a beard is that a little bit of stubble doesn't look quite as bad. In my humble opinion anyway.) Then getting dressed, and putting on my shoes. Why do I seperate these as two different tasks? Because I usually sit down at the computer to check e-mail while I put on my shoes, meaning that this takes at least ten minutes longer than it really needs to! Then, depending on how much time I have I will try to eat breakfast. I am not a big breakfast person, my stomach is usually kind of upset in the morning but if I don't I am lightheaded and ravenous by 9:00 so I usually toss down a bowl of cereal at least. Finally, it is time to go to work. I take my daughter to school first, which is an adventure in itself. First, I have never seen anyone who can find more to do between the house and the car than that girl! From stopping to pick up something interesting off the ground, to writing silly stuff in the condensation on the windows, she can make the trip to the car last for at least ten minutes. Especially when we are running late. (As usual.) Then the school... Oh the school! There is a serious shortage of parking at this place, and the dropoff lanes are always backed up. It is ridiculous how insanely crowded this place gets! The entire dropoff section is about one hundred feet long. There are two dropoff lanes, so that makes about two hundred feet total. Of course some parents believe that they cannot drop their little darlings off anywhere but at the very front of the line (heaven forbid they might have to walk fifty feet!) and so they sit there in line waiting to get to the front. Then there are the butters. Those parents who see a line of cars patiently waiting their turn to get into the dropoff zone, and buzz by on the left and jump in the line ahead of everyone else. Holy crow! Who died and made you the most important person in the world? Would the world stop spinning if you actually had to wait five minutes with the rest of the rabble to get your turn to drop off your precious little darlings? Geez! Go to the store and BUY some patience if it is lacking that much in your lives!
OK, so by now it is somewhere around 7:30 and my blood pressure is already climbing. Good think Paul Harvey is on now. His calm, steady voice helps me relax a bit. Until he starts reading some e-mail crap that has been disproved for YEARS as a new, real news story! Good Heavens Paul, don't you have some flunky intern running around the studio that you could assign to do at least the most basic Google search to find out that the story about the guy who straps a JATO (Jet Assisted Take-Off) device to his car is one of the oldest urban legends out there? OK, I will give you that it is a hilarious read. I actually prefer the version where he strapped it to a Pinto instead of an Impala, but either way, it is an absolute fabrication. Come on Paul! Take a little pride in what you do! And then Sam and Bob laugh at it, along with the stupid weather guy. Geez, the stupidity seems to be spreading!
So I slog on through the rain, through the security gates ("Good Morning! How are you doing? Great! I promise I am not a terrorist! Please don't search my car! It is not that I have anything to hide, but it makes me feel all stupid and nervous. What if you decide I am a terrorist, and I have to go live at Guantanamo Bay for a few years? I don't even know how to read arabic! Do they print the Koran in english?) Then to work. By the time I sit down at my desk, and boot my computer up I am in no mood to write one thousand words. I just want to sit here and avoid reality by surfing random news sites, looking at stupid pictures, and at least this time of year, reading all of the new posts at the NaNoWriMo forums. I can spend most of the day doing that, although the pace has slowed considerably since the first of October. Perhaps people are getting sick of it like I have. Must pace myself, must not get too involved.
Must type 1000 words each and every day. Because when November arrives, it will jump to 2000.
1067 words. That will do pig... That will do.

Monday October 16, 2006 - 10:44am (EDT)

© 2006 Tyler Willson. All rights reserved

1000 words on Saturday... Give or take.

Can I write 1000 words on Saturday?I mean, Saturday is a lazy day, the one day of the week when I do not have to get up too early, and go to work or church. Writing one thouseand words on Monday through Friday is relatively easy. I sit down at work, and type away. It even looks like I am busy with something productive. So here is my first Saturday attempt. On the nature of anger. Especially towards one you love. Why do we do it? I feel angry when she is angry at me, especially when I have done nothing wrong. But do you know what really gets me hot under the collar? When she is right. When I have done something wrong, and she is completely justified in her anger or frustration. If she is mad for no reason, then I can ignore it. Write it off to hormones, or whatever. However, when I have screwed up, and I really have done something stupid, and she gets angry at me for it, then what recourse do I have? I must admit that I am not perfect, I must admit that there is a need for me to change something, and I must then go forward to make that change. That is the painful part, that is the part that makes me angry! I don’t want to change, I don’t want to make an effort. I want my life to just flow like a river, I come and go as I feel is right. That is the fantasy. Problem is, I had that kind of life once, and guess what? Outside of the chemically induced periods of complete numbness, I was miserable. And the periods of numbness came with their own pain, once I began feeling again. I was miserable. I was even more stuck than I am now. I had much less freedom, much more loneliness, and much more fear. I had a crappy job, I had a crappy life, and all the money I had I poured into becoming numb once again. You would be surprised how much money you can blow at the club on Friday night. In not much time at all I might mention. I remember feeling the disappointment when the money I had allotted for my night of numbness had run out, and I was not yet completely numb. I remember wandering around the casino at Jackpot Nevada, not yet as drunk as I wanted to be, but out of money, and out of luck. (Which is a BAD thing to be in a casino!) I even threw my “luck” fifty cent piece into a slot machine, hoping to turn some kind of profit so that I could return to the blackjack tables and get some more free drinks. No luck. Literally. I had lost my lucky fifty cent piece. (And how lucky was it to begin with? Probably not that much, since I lost my whole wad less than an hour after hitting the casino…) I was miserable, bored, and wished that my friends would hurry up and lose their money so that we could go. But they seemed to be doing fine, they continued to win enough to at least stay in the game. When we finally left about two or three in the morning, all of us were tired, drunk (or semi-drunk, like me) and none of us had any business driving that night. Even the designated driver, who hadn’t had anything to drink fell asleep at the wheel a couple of times. I am surprised to this day that we survived that trip. One of my memories of that trip was being awakened by the violent swerving of the car as the driver snapped awake just in time to realize that he was headed off the road. Was I preserved for some reason? Or had I exorcised my bad luck by flushing that fifty cent piece down the slot machine? No, that probably has nothing to do with it. I remember another time when I almost died in a car, with this same group of friends. This time no alcohol was involved, just staying out way too late, too far from home and on the other side of a winding canyon road. This time I was awakened not only by the violent swerving as the driver pulled us back onto the road, but by the actual impact with the guardrail. The driver had actually fallen asleep, swerved into the guardrail, and then woke up and corrected. How did I survive that? We all should have been dead. Falling asleep in a dark canyon while driving is an almost certain death sentence. Why did I survive?Well, I will have to question that later. The baby is crying, and Emily has gone yard saleing. (No, that is not a typo. It is a word we have coined. It means wandering from yard sale to yard sale looking for items to be sold in our next yard sale.) I am pretty sure she just wanted to get away from me. She is mad at me. And has a good reason. How do you think I feel?Only 874 words. Close enough for a Saturday.

Saturday October 14, 2006 - 10:48am (EDT)

© 2006 Tyler Willson. All rights reserved

Friday the 13th

Friday the thirteenth… Today, like many days, I am spending MUCH time waiting on computers. First, to boot, reboot, log on and log off. Then, to copy, then to move. That seems to be the story of my life. Waiting on computers. Perhaps that will be the title of my autobiography. If I could recover the time spent waiting on computers, perhaps I could accomplish some great thing… But this time is indeed recoverable, in most instances. Like now, for example… Instead of sitting here idly playing solitaire, I could be knocking out my 1000 words for the day. I could be studying something online, or I could have brought a book and be reading it while I wait. (Although sitting in the corporate office reading a book is not generally considered “working your way up the corporate ladder…”) Nonetheless, there are many things much more beneficial to my existence than solitaire with which I can pass the time waiting for e-mail messages to transfer from the .pst file to the .ost file and then synchronize with the exchange server mail box…

As a child, I always thought it would be fun to be a computer hacker type of guy. I even imagined I had some skills, when I took a computer class in seventh grade and actually learned to run some simple programs. However, I soon learned that the life of a programmer is a life spent searching line after line of code for that comma or period that is out of place and causing your program to crash. “Syntax error in line XXX” was the most common error I recall. So you go to line XXX and check the syntax, and find out why the computer thinks that you typed the wrong command. Maybe the most frustrating thing about it was that the computer was always right. An extra space, or a ‘t’ instead of a ‘y’ and the entire program came crashing down around your ears. Of course this is frustrating to humans, since we are so used to our imprecise and entirely inaccurate verbal method of communication. If I tell my buddy that I need one of those thing a majiggies that we used last time, he gets it. His brain is able to make the logical leap from what I said to what I meant. A computer on the other hand, will search its immediate vicinity for a thing a majiggy and not finding one, proceed to pout and display error messages until someone comes along and provides the exact location of the thing a majiggy as well as a detailed description of what it is, who is authorized to use it, and the parameters under which it may be used. Then, when any one of these several parameters are found to be inaccurate, the computer will once again, display a pouty error message, and promptly refuse to do anything further.

Even so called “intuitive” computers fall prey to the same problems, only much worse. They have been programmed to try and make that leap of logic, to guess from partial information exactly what the user wants. They then attempt to provide it before the user asks for it. The problem with this seems to be that such programs or computers end up being more trouble than they are worth, because as soon as they guess wrong, you have to figure out how to convince the computer that it has guessed incorrectly. For some reason, programmers always fail to make the turning off of the intuitive routine accessible to any but themselves and the privelidged few who are allowed to take the training they have created for their software. Otherwise, the user is forced to make a fruitless and highly frustrating search of every function and command in every menu until he or she finally locates that one magical button that they can push to tell the computer not to capitalize the first letter of every sentence. (or fix double letters, or change numbers into scientific notation.) Also, the cleaning up of the mess after an intuitive computer has modified your data is completely frustrating and can also be as impossible to figure out. Of course, the fool who cleans up the data before finding the magic button to turn the intuitive function off first runs the risk of having the computer simply guess, once again incorrectly, what you want your data to look like and changing it back for you.

I am now almost finished waiting on this particular computer. Of course, it is difficult to tell, since the helpful “Time Remaining” counter continues to fluctuate between 60 seconds and 60 minutes. I understand the reasoning why it does so, but that does not make it any less frustrating to watch. When these counters are running, they are evaluating the time required to transfer a certain amount of data. After watching a few standard sized units transfer, and computing an average time and rate of transfer, it then evaluates the amount of data left to transfer and extrapolates a time remaining. Of course, this is not a foolproof method, and has little to do with how much time is actually remaining. Different types of data transfer at different rates, and transfer rates vary widely depending on the hardware, and network or hard drive traffic at the time of transfer. To further complicate the issue, I am moving a folder containing many subfolders. The time remaining displayed on the dialog only indicates the time remaining for the current sub-folder, not for the entire folder. So when it says fifteen seconds remaining, and I watch excitedly as it counts down to one, it will suddenly jump back up to sixty minutes, when it begins transferring the next sub-folder. This is the primary reason that I don’t like to watch while the computer transfers files. Not only is it as exciting as watching paint dry, it also teases with the promise of a quick finish and then torments with the highly inaccurate calculation that you have hours remaining rather than minutes.

Well, I managed to use at least a part of my wasted time today to accomplish something. 1036 words. That IS something!

Friday October 13, 2006 - 04:12pm (EDT)

© 2006 Tyler Willson. All rights reserved

Day One...

Day One: The new writing requirement.

Beginning today, I am committing myself to writing at least 1000 words each morning before I get to work (or play) on anything else. I have always had a desire to be a writer. Sometimes the desire burns and itches until I can think of nothing else. Other times it is nothing more than a dull ache deep inside that is easily ignored in favor of the other outstanding realities of life. Nevertheless, it is always present, always there. Life’s tragedies tend to bring it to the front, as do its little victories. I want to share my sadness or my triumph with others, to make them feel what I am feeling. Sometimes I even sit down and begin, a page, two pages even. More often, less than a paragraph before I am distracted by something else that may not be more important, or even more desired, but simply more urgent. And writing gets shoved, once again, to the back burner where it simmers, boils dry, and finally turns rotten and sour.

So today I begin a new commitment. Inspired somewhat by something I read yesterday. A recent acquaintance has a website, which I was idly perusing. He remarked, that sometimes it is hard to force himself to sit down and write, but that when this is so, he will simply set a goal. 1000, 2000 words, whatever is appropriate, he will force himself to sit down and type until the word counter hits the appropriate goal. So I decided to plagiarize this idea and make it my own. Now, when I come into my office, I will sit down at my desk, turn the computer on, and before checking e-mails, before reading the news, (meaning the comics…) before checking the NaNo site, I will pound out 1000 words. Any subject, any form, any genre. Even if, like today, it is nothing more than a silly ramble on an inconsequential topic.

Because to become a writer, one must write. Before anything else, one must write! I can dream of being a writer, I can wish to be a writer, I can even learn to be a writer, but until I actually start writing, I will never BE a writer. Perhaps out of sheer habit, I will get better at writing. Like the old saying that a million monkeys typing for a million years will produce at least one copy of the complete works of Shakespeare, one writer, writing 1000 words per day for the rest of his life, might conceivably produce something worth publishing. And if I never do, at least I will have developed this talent. I will have done something with it. I will have scratched that deep-seated itch and ache that torments my nights.

November will be a good month for this. National Novel Writing Month is the catalyst that has brought to me the importance of actually getting in front of the keyboard above all else. Sure, the internal editor will scream that I am writing pure crap. Of course, the chatterbox that hates me and all that I stand for will yell that I am wasting my time. That I am incapable, that what I am writing is crap. (At least the internal editor provides specific criticism.) I suspect however that they are working together. Nevertheless, I am not focusing on quality. I am not focusing on getting published (for now.) For now, I am like the out-of-shape person who decides to get back into shape. I don’t need to go out and run a marathon right now. I don’t need to start out with a ten-mile run. I simply need to start with getting up each day and strapping on my running shoes, and putting rubber to pavement. Each step is an improvement over sitting at home telling myself that I *SHOULD* get out there and do something. TO HELL WITH THAT! I am tired of being the weak-minded procrastinator! I am through wishing that I could be more this, or more that. I WILL begin here and now to change my life. I will begin here and now to become what God intended, whatever that is. I will never discover what by sitting back in the shadows listening to my chatterbox tell me how incapable I am. How I have a lot of talent, but unfortunately never learned self-discipline, that I don’t have the motivation to do anything about it. Bull… All of those things are decisions that I make each day. All of those things are internal to me, not the result of some external force.

For today, a slightly angry ramble about what I want to do and where I want to go. Tomorrow, who knows? Perhaps a short story that will germinate the seeds of a novel. Or many short stories that can be compiled into a collection. Poetry used to pour from me at will. Why can I no longer find that voice? Because I no longer call for it. It is lost back there, somewhere in the attic of my mind behind the Christmas decorations. I have piled years and years of responsibility and respectability on it until I can no longer summon it. I am cleaning out my attic. I am taking back my talent. Even if it never goes farther than this, at least I will have done something. I will have made the attempt.

What to write tomorrow? An epic poem? A short story? Finally put to words my ideas for the “Except for Me Syndrome”? Whatever it is, it may be great, or it may be crap. But it is MINE, and mine alone. And at least I did something with it. At least I uncovered it, dusted it off, and showed it to the world. What they do with it is up to them. My worth is not decided by the opinions of others. I am who I am, my art is what it is, and they are who they are.

One thousand, twelve words. Not a bad start…

Thursday October 12, 2006 - 09:37am (EDT)

© 2006 Tyler Willson. All rights reserved

Municipal Liason

I finally got the "Official Title" of Municipal Liason today. What does this mean exactly? Well, for starters, the official word: http://www.nanowrimo.org/modules/cjaycontent/index.php?id=16For me, this means working to generate interest in the event, coordinate live events for people to meet in person, and helping any lost NaNos who might be wandering about in distress in Central Texas.This is a big thing for me, since I am usually a hermit, and generally prefer to remain in my cave day and night and avoid human contact when I can. Also, I LOVE NaNo and really want to share the insanity.

Join us! Resistance is futile!

http://www.nanowrimo.org/

Monday October 9, 2006 - 12:35pm (EDT)

27 days or so...

27 days or so...
I am so excited for NaNo this year that I am having trouble accomplishing anything at work except constantly lurking in the forums waiting for someone to respond to one of my posts!
GAAAHH!
I have volunteered to be an ML this year, although Erin has not yet responded to bestow this singular honor upon me. There is another in my area, so I guess I would actually be a Co-ML which actually makes me feel much better. I spend all of my time (not spent lurking) daydreaming about the spectacular space battles that I will write and the surprising plot twists that I can create. Of course, I learned last year that it is difficult to anticipate where a story will go once you jump in. Quite often they have a mind of their own, and end up places where you never expected them to go. So all of my advance preparation will most likely go out the airlock the first time my MC takes the stick of his space fighter. (Murphy's laws of combat: No plan survives the first thirty seconds of contact intact... Also applies to NaNovels!) But that is the fun of it! Since I am more concerned with knocking out 1700 words per day than I am sticking to the outline, I am free to explore this world and not get stuck in chapter one when I can't figure out how to make a kid born on the wrong side of the tracks get into the prestigious space academy. If I get stuck on that, I can just skip to the space academy, and re-write in February!
OK, I have rambled on enough. It is time to actually earn some of that salary I get.
Happy Noveling!

Wednesday October 4, 2006 - 10:00am (EDT)

QOTD

From the FAQ on the NaNo site:
"Art for art's sake does wonderful things to you. It makes you laugh. It makes you cry. It makes you want to take naps and go places wearing funny pants. Doing something just for the hell of it is a wonderful antidote to all the chores and "must-dos" of daily life. Writing a novel in a month is both exhilarating and stupid, and we would all do well to invite a little more spontaneous stupidity into our lives."
http://www.nanowrimo.org/modules/xoopsfaq/index.php?cat_id=13
Nuff said...

Wednesday October 4, 2006 - 04:01pm (EDT)