Memoirs of a slacker
Yeah, yeah ... "Where da f$(* you been, Kev?" It's true. I have, of late, been slack-tastic. My Chron blog is out of date (just posted a new entry), and this one ... well ... it's pathetisad.
I'll just sum up the past bajillion years this way: I am the Word Slinger.
Need more? Ok.
A few weeks ago I was hit by a realization. I actually am a professional writer. I know what you're thinking, "Ummm ... prove it." Or possibly, "Ummm ... wha?" But it's true. See, I get paid to write. I even have nifty business cards that label me as "Mister Write," which is my funny little code for "Copywriter."
Sure, it's not the kind of writing I had in mind when I penciled my first "book" at age five (10 pages, single-spaced, front and back, written on notebook paper in pencil). Then again, I do that kind of writing, too. I get up at 5 a.m. to make sure I have time to peck a short story or novel into existence.
I've been taking it for granted that I have a job that actually pays me to write. I kind of forgot about it, actually. Crazy, huh? I think it's because I'm not sitting in a coffee shop writing fiction eight hours a day, and instead sit in a cubicle writing ad copy. But it's still writing, it counts, and, frankly, I've learned a lot since starting the job.
One thing I've learned is that I want to write more fiction.
For the past year or two I've become somewhat surly. Angry, even. I never really understood why, until two things happened. First ... I reread "The Alchemist," by Paulo Coelho. Yes, you should read it. From that book, I locked on to the notion of seeking out my "personal legend."
Second, I started writing my own stuff again.
Not only did I start, I committed. I dove in. I made the conscious decision to be obsessed. I dedicated myself to the idea of writing as a lifestyle, not just a hobby (or even a job). I owned up to the fact that A) I've been writing for my entire life and B) I'm actually good enough that people pay me for it.
I'm a new man. I'm committed. I'm obsessed. I'm happy. I'm the Word Slinger.
Part of this new attitude and overall adjustment included the creation of a writing schedule. See, one of the issues I've had in the past is getting overwhelmed by all the writing. Articles, short stories, books, multiple blogs, journals ... it's a lot. So I organized it. And this blog entry (as well as the euphoric feeling of gettin' $#^+ done) is one of the results. Expect more.
No ... DEMAND more. When I miss a week, slam me for it. When I post nothing but videos or LOLcats or some other nonsense for more than a few entries in a row, call me on it. Call me names. Pull my hair. Twist my nipples. Call me Butters and give me a pat.
This is more than just some new commitment to blog more. That never motivated me. This is me being me for the first time in a long time. This is me being the writer I was born to be. This is me shaking off the lack of confidence, the fear, and the dread. This is me dropping the laziness habit and actually doing something I love.
This is me. The Word Slinger. Slacker no more.
Enjoy the years to come.
I'll just sum up the past bajillion years this way: I am the Word Slinger.
Need more? Ok.
A few weeks ago I was hit by a realization. I actually am a professional writer. I know what you're thinking, "Ummm ... prove it." Or possibly, "Ummm ... wha?" But it's true. See, I get paid to write. I even have nifty business cards that label me as "Mister Write," which is my funny little code for "Copywriter."
Sure, it's not the kind of writing I had in mind when I penciled my first "book" at age five (10 pages, single-spaced, front and back, written on notebook paper in pencil). Then again, I do that kind of writing, too. I get up at 5 a.m. to make sure I have time to peck a short story or novel into existence.
I've been taking it for granted that I have a job that actually pays me to write. I kind of forgot about it, actually. Crazy, huh? I think it's because I'm not sitting in a coffee shop writing fiction eight hours a day, and instead sit in a cubicle writing ad copy. But it's still writing, it counts, and, frankly, I've learned a lot since starting the job.
One thing I've learned is that I want to write more fiction.
For the past year or two I've become somewhat surly. Angry, even. I never really understood why, until two things happened. First ... I reread "The Alchemist," by Paulo Coelho. Yes, you should read it. From that book, I locked on to the notion of seeking out my "personal legend."
Second, I started writing my own stuff again.
Not only did I start, I committed. I dove in. I made the conscious decision to be obsessed. I dedicated myself to the idea of writing as a lifestyle, not just a hobby (or even a job). I owned up to the fact that A) I've been writing for my entire life and B) I'm actually good enough that people pay me for it.
I'm a new man. I'm committed. I'm obsessed. I'm happy. I'm the Word Slinger.
Part of this new attitude and overall adjustment included the creation of a writing schedule. See, one of the issues I've had in the past is getting overwhelmed by all the writing. Articles, short stories, books, multiple blogs, journals ... it's a lot. So I organized it. And this blog entry (as well as the euphoric feeling of gettin' $#^+ done) is one of the results. Expect more.
No ... DEMAND more. When I miss a week, slam me for it. When I post nothing but videos or LOLcats or some other nonsense for more than a few entries in a row, call me on it. Call me names. Pull my hair. Twist my nipples. Call me Butters and give me a pat.
This is more than just some new commitment to blog more. That never motivated me. This is me being me for the first time in a long time. This is me being the writer I was born to be. This is me shaking off the lack of confidence, the fear, and the dread. This is me dropping the laziness habit and actually doing something I love.
This is me. The Word Slinger. Slacker no more.
Enjoy the years to come.