Shakin’ it up

I’m not doing enough. Not writing enough, not exercising enough. Not creating enough pleasure in my life. Not getting enough juice out of life, as Tony Robbins puts it.

Also I’m not getting younger, fuck it anyway.  I truly believe that in the very near future our lives – that’s productive, vigorous, joyous life, not having my rotting husk kept in a terrible semblance of life by artificial intervention – will be extended greatly, possibly indefinitely, by the explosion of knowledge in the medical sciences which is already in progress. Even if I can potentially live another ten years, another hundred, another ten thousand, I am not guaranteed so much as my next breath. Nor is anyone.  And nor can anyone ever be.

So I need to get cracking. I am philosophically a hedonist. I believe the purpose of life is to experience as much fun-pleasure-joy as one possibly can.  I also believe we can only share what we have; and that inevitably we do share what we have. So by creating and enjoying pleasure for myself I bring it into the world.

Better that than more fucking misery. That’s my belief.

My greatest pleasure is creating, particularly – aw, you guessed it – writing. My consuming vice is fear, and I know which one:  fear of criticism. And my most destructive habit is denying myself pleasure.

If that seems strange to you, I’ll probably bore you at endless length about it. Later.

Over the years I’ve amassed a great many tools to live and create more productively – hence, joyously. The kick is getting myself to use them. I’m good at talking myself out of them, subconsciously if nothing else – a phenomenon I’ve dubbed The Evil Habit.

So now I need to give myself a kick in the ass.

I need to write at least 3000 words a day to deliver my Deathlands novel on deadline. I already know how I write best:  balls out.

I also know I can use Twitter to waste time or achieve wonderful things.

So here’s what I’m gonna do come Monday (Sunday’s task is something else – needful and productive, not germane.)

1. Commit to a minimum 3000 words a day.
2. Write in pulses of at least 1000 words each.
3. Time myself to see how fast I can crank out 1K – make a game of it!
4. Announce to the world via Tweet when I start and my goal – thus publicly committing myself.
5. Post updates when I break from each pulse.
6. Obviously, contrive to sit my butt down for a minimum of three happy, balls-to-the-wall pulses!

And what I’m doing here – you’ve no doubt guessed – is a form of the above:  committing myself to make it harder to get out of.

It’s experimental. It’s a good experiment, though:  think it has potential to serve me well. And of course I can fiddle with and fine tune it to make it serve better. (So screw that nasty old fear of criticism, eh?)

I’m excited. You?

So now: finish getting ready, let in the Em, give her her treat, gather up my Big Pot o’ Red Chile Pumpkin Soup, and hie myself hence to ASFS stalwart Kevin Hewett‘s townhouse way to Christ and gone on the West Side for our long-awaited Zombie Movie Night. Yay!

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