The 12 Steps

The first step is admitting that you have a problem, so here it goes.

Hello, My name is Jason, and I'm a Fantasy Footballaholic.  It's been 9 minutes since I last checked my 3 teams to make sure that I couldn't tweak them just one more time before Sunday.  I'm still conflicted by starting either my WR in the flex position or my 3rd RB.  I'm sticking with the RB, even though that particular WR had a crazy game last week.  I just don't think he'll duplicate it this week.  

But I love writing, and I'm loving my story, but it's that time of year again - that most wonderful time of the year - where the monsters of mayhem, those gridiron gladiators do battle every Sunday for all the degenerate Fantasy Football junkies around the globe.  CURSE YOU FANTASY FOOTBALL!  I'm trying to finish my first book.  Don't you care?  Can't you think of anyone but yourself?  Can't you tell me if Derek Anderson is ever going to snap out of his absolutely putrid funk that he's currently in?  Can't you just leave me be, until I'm done writing?  Just this once?

Oh well.  Guess the beard's just going to get thicker, 'cause the Superbowl isn't until January.  Tune in next post for step 2: apologizing to all who have been neglected because of Fantasy Football (and writing).

Out.

Grizzly.

Okay. This beard thing is going from bad to worse, and I'm only about 3 weeks in. The writing is going great, though.



Update # 3










Out.

Friend or Foe?

Whoever said revision was a four, er, eight letter word anyway? This is my first go at this writing thing, and all I've read about and researched and heard from other aspiring or published authors is that "revisions are hell", or "I just can't stand revising".

I have to say - unless I'm doing something wrong here - that I've been having nothing but fun with the whole revision process. It's actually turned into a rewrite as apposed to a revision, which is cool because my characters have really started to take on a skin of their own.

But maybe I should just shut-up about it, on second thought. I can only imagine what the whole revision process must be like when you're under contract for two more books. Perhaps then, when a publishing house is expecting your next novel by such-n-such a date next year, maybe it's not all that delightful. Hey, I can only dream of being in that position . . . . For now, I'll just continue to stay at home with my boys - occasionally playing, feeding, and caring for them - and write to my hearts content.

So as the beard grows, so does the writing.

Out.


Update # 2

"Bwiu ahtow fki" - Aewoie nekrou!

Adkfuyg kdj dkjfhtriuhg nslnv nvjssf. Kfjfhg and jsajllfht alkjdhyrt sddkjhf ;apwoei mvn. "Awkjeh dlkj f apeut pw pweougnv!"

Tpw jdkjfmpaw[[q after vndjksi dnf mdlkao fmaeip jmfaq[dnv ,nx bcbdksdj. . . . Kals pwoejujg amndcha wlqpo dk bvmxmdh. Dakseh sakdjfd sdjf, alwpiqejf andjhf - akdo a,mncid - akjhejfd ncpoie qpoi ancn?

Qwoie! Flkjsdkj nanc mapjejut ;apri ndafnf akdjf ajfeoq nvbmncvh ahhdhe nvbohd the cnal wlalwei. Dkgjiro kajhoef, nvmk. Owpo nand mxcn ajjery, askdjhfo, abn akdjhqoerir anbcvb kjsadhfi fnka eiwepvn ksjd jdhfe. Iejd habnbcvz c hdeye, kjsk wkjrhg owiruy 94 jn ksdjf, qkd oieucmbv becas aljfowejf vnvd adjknc. Aakjdh hdh , ahdfheowo, aqope nvbx "ahdfq dkjah!", akjdhfq fncmnx oope!

Hjsf weriupqhjq bvjd ajdhfiae ngnbsnvirh bawoiu nfvbnln ndjn aie. E oihe ajnd anhyqznc xnkzi oijhdfiejpuejrh n aldjfa aldj alej hoh nsnvowhef evfov ksdhiur vuvos. Sd joweij justice alkdpwpef skjf . fjhfue akdkjnv adfhje qjenf eojwieuy nbvbvoe!

Woops. Laptop upside down . . . . Sorry people.

Out.

(That's too bad, 'cause that was one heck of a blog!)

Shhhhh!

Can't talk . . .

Writing.

Hyde, Mr. Hyde: Agent double oh, oh

It's time to get down and dirty people, like, for real. I'm talking about physical alterations. I'm talking about making deals with yourself to do or not do something until something else is completed. (Sounds vague)

Yeah, my wife's just shaking her head as I type. It's not that I'm not motivated to finish my first story. It's not that I don't have an abundance of ideas to help complete my first manuscript. It's just that my mind is starting to slowly fall into self-doubt mode. Hey, this is my first go-around, okay.

So I've decided to grow my beard out; I'm talkin' out baby. Even if I'm going to a job interview, swimming, or some sort of formal outing, I'm going to be sporting the Grizzly Adams look for awhile.

I already had the goatee, but the rest is a good week old so far.



And it's not like I've never grown a beard before, usually every winter, but I've done my best to keep it clean and tidy. This time, however, is going to be a totally different beast. My beard will not be trimmed or primped in any way shape or form, until I finish my novel. Not until it gets requested or published, just until I've finally written every chapter and there's a definite beginning, middle, and conclusion. When that time comes - and honey, I apologize again profusely - the beard will go too.

So be sure to keep track of my face when you check out the blog. Because once the beard's gone, that can only mean one thing . . . .

Out.

If you want to write, move to Canada!

Ah yes. I can feel the cool autumn breeze teasing me with what was, and what's to come. I must say that since being suddenly assaulted one late November night with story ideas, and realizing that I should be putting them down on paper, these last couple summer months have been the complete opposite of productive.

After all who in their right mind would want to sit down in some musty old basement, tapping away on their laptop, smelling the beautiful fragrance of recently soiled kitty litter, while everybody else is outside splashing around on the "slip 'n slide", drinking beer and eating corn on the cob? (Long sentence, sorry) Obviously me, and other hopeless cases who love this thing called story telling.

But living in Edmonton, Canada, I can now feel the deep-freeze crawling to us in all of its inevitable, chilly glory. -25C, I've longed for you. I've waited for the blizzard's siren call. Please, oh wintry wonderland that shall cover my driveway with 4 feet of snow in early November, please give me no reason to stray outside and neglect my chosen craft. Entomb me within your frosty surroundings and never let me leave my desk (except to shovel said 4 feet of snow before my wife kills me).

So all of you aspiring and published writers in God-awful places like Phoenix, or L.A., or Florida, or anywhere else where the temperature is hot and the writing's luke warm, stop your procrastinating ways and move up to where it can still be sunny and clear, yet reach -40C with the wind chill.

Oh, there will be plenty of writing to be had these next six months! On second thought, I've always wanted a girl . . . .

Out.