1000 Words a day.

 

1000 words a day.

Writer's Write.

In 2005 I challenged myself to write a thousand words a day. This is a journal entry from January 30^th, 2005.

 

Should I have taken my own advice? It was a perplexing question. It can be frightening, even dangerous. Being truly honest can be a tricky thing. It all depends on how you think about it. This calls for a time of true confessions. This is an adventure, a challenge, an excellent task, a story to be told, a tale to unfold. It is, above all things, the adventure of my life.

If life is like a story waiting to be written, then it is up to me to write the letters large. To be bold, be daring, throw caution to the wind, and speak my mind. So cliché, so familiar, so droll this story of mine, but still, it must be written. The story must be told. The story must be lived.

            What would I be if I could leave my ordinary life and live an extraordinary life? What would I do? I'd leave behind the 9 to 5 grind and start working or doing what I want to do and on my own schedule. Let's just look at this writing business. Setting aside a small amount of time daily to put some words on paper, electronic buzzes, pixels, etc., and into some form of order or sense of order. Really it sounds so easy. The real goal is to have something I feel good about or proud of. Of course, the ultimate end would be to have my writing published and actually be able to make some profit. Like every would-be writer, I'm enamored with the idea of seeing my books in bookstores around the country and the world.

            I'm just like so many people doing the 9 to 5 thing -- on some levels -- I truly hate my job. It is a daily sacrifice to the institution of slavery. We are the new slaves in the modern sense of the word. I mean, we can quit at any time, but the social pressure and the expectations of others would be overwhelming.

           "You WHAT??? Did you quit your job? You can't do that. How are you going to pay your bills? How are you going to LIVE??? You must be crazy. You'll never be able to retire, and what about your health insurance?  . . .  On and on it would go.

            So, to get to where I'm going, I have to start from where I am. I'm a hack writer, making a living in the computer industry with long-held dreams of being a star. But the edge I had when I was younger has now vanished. I used to look good; I was hip and with it, or at least that is how I thought of myself. I was made for the stage, for the spotlight; I thought it was my destiny. Now so many years later, I wonder why I thought those things. It was like the musings of many young kids growing up in the sixties. The Ted Mack amateur hour was no longer on television, and the American Idol show had yet to be dreamt up. I had dreams, alright. I dreamt of playing on American Bandstand and being on The Tonight Show with Johnny Carson. A group from my hometown had made it to the big time, or so we thought. They played on some battle of the bands, something like "Where the Action Is." We were all so impressed. Then, years later, another kid from my hometown hit the big time. But that is another story for another time.

            I made my run at it in my youth. We went down to LA and into the big-time offices of the entertainment world, and as far as we knew, we were on our way, bright lights, big city, look out here we come. We experienced some minor success, but then everything went awry. We got thoroughly spanked and taught a harsh lesson. The entertainment world can be ruthless and very unforgiving on some levels. During that time, I learned more about the legal profession and the civil court system than I ever wanted to know. We were against them, and I was caught in a game I had never chosen to play. Like Billy Joel sang, I just wanted to scream. "I am . . . an innocent man, yes I am, an innocent man."

            And while all these troubles were going on, I was still living an ordinary life because I am simply a regular guy when you get right down to it. Despite my delusions of grandeur, and my "change the world" dreams born of the 1960s American Cultural Revolution, idealism was on the minds of every young person growing up in those times, that is, for those of us who managed to maintain full functioning senses in those years. Those were the days of mind expansion, mood-altering, and sensory exploration of natural and unnatural cosmic realities. It feels odd to think how much times have changed. Or have they?

            I had to have a van. So I bought a van, never mind that I could not afford this giant monstrosity of a vehicle and that this was also a time of gas rationing and a very unsettled world political environment. I had to have a big van. So I bought a big van, a big bright yellow and orange van. This was a van so brightly colored you could see it coming from a mile away. Port holes on the side, carpeting, wood grain paneling, I was stylin' for sure. I wanted to be noticed. I wanted to be a star.

            I still lived an ordinary life, except that I had no job and no intention of ever getting a real job in the real world because I didn't live there. I lived in some fantasy world of my own making. I was a rock star, or so I thought. I didn't need a real job. I made money making music; what could be better than that. The truth is I didn't make much money making music. I had generous parents that subsidized my dreams and fueled my imagination. Were they enablers? They were well-intentioned and only had my best interests at heart. So here I was, just 18 years old and living out of my big yellow van, like a yellow submarine on wheels. I went from gig to gig, playing with this band and that, picking up a few bucks here and a few more there. Living on chocolate chip cookies and milk while on the road and coming home occasionally to recharge my batteries and return to normal. I was one of those transitioning between being a child and an adult, and I was not handling it well.

            1000 words a day.

            What a joke, it's been over 5 months since I last wrote in this 1000-word-a-day journal. Let's see if you break it down. My average is more like 6 words daily, which is truly pathetic. And I call myself a writer, HA. I only pretend to be a writer in my own mind. Sometimes I feel I'm not really anything. I'm just a pretender. Listening to Frank Sinatra sing Mack the Knife with Quincy Jones's big band. I was impressed; Frank was the real thing, a genuine star, an artist. I wish I only had a small portion of the cool that was Mr. Sinatra.

            Update to October 29th, 2015

            Looking back on the 1960s when I first started, to the present day in 2015 - 2016, there are now hundreds of satellite radio and television channels on demand. The internet hadn't even been thought of back then. YouTube, iTunes, iPhones, wireless phones, computers, thousands of great new music artists, and substantial new talents are now available to be heard and watched 24/7.

           This shows that after almost 50 years of playing the drums, I'm still at it, and now, after 10 years since I first wrote this journal entry/blog post, I'm still doing that too. I'm almost ready to move on to the next phase. I've gone far beyond my original goal of 1000 words a day, I do them more in large bursts occasionally, but I still try to do something daily. My first novel is almost ready to publish, and I have a few others prepared for the rewrite process. Add to that some songwriting, cartooning, painting, and all the creative projects that lay ahead, and I'm actually quite busy. I can hardly wait. Ramble On -- Peace and Love etc.