I like to write, but sometimes on days like today, I wonder if I wouldn’t be better off just saying screw it and just give up on it. I have all these ideas bouncing around in my head and I know what I want to write, but I just want to listen to my playlist and just veg out.
I remember my dad had days like this. He would just want to be left alone with his recliner and newspaper. I totally understand how he felt.
I have a sneaking suspicion that the barometric pressure has a lot to do with this feeling. It’s supposed to rain late tonight.
I’m hoping that I’ll feel more like writing this weekend.
There are a million and one things that just have to get done day in and day out. Then there are the things we want to do. For those particular things, we just have to make time.
A doctor I was seeing about ten or so years ago noticed I was acting a bit off kilter and a tad more squirely than normal. He asked if I had been writing recently. I told him that no, I had not written anything creatively for about two months. He pulled out his prescription pad and wrote out a couple of prescriptions for medications I was wanted to have refilled, then he wrote: “Minimum three hours of creative writing per week” on a separate piece of paper from his prescription pad. I noticed that when I follow that particular prescription, I’m not a weird as I might otherwise be without the creative time.
I always try to make time to have fun, and creative writing is usually fun for me. I have noticed that to glean the best from my writing time, I should listen to music that inspires me such as Johnny Cash or Iron Maiden. Certain places can inspire quality writing output as well. The top of Caddo Peak near Cross Plains, Texas and the ruins of an ancient Roman fort in the Irish countryside are places a couple of my favorite authors have found sufficient inspiration for their craft. Surprisingly, I found London, England quite inspirational for certain aspects of my writing; the Tube especially. (The Tube is London’s subway.) I guess it’s the historical city streets mixed with the Tube’s dark and gritty underworld that I liked so much. Whatever the reason, it was a place I was able to tap into for some quality work. Since I don’t know if I’ll ever get the chance to revisit England, I need to find someplace Stateside for inspiration. The Stockyards in Fort Worth, Texas would likely work. I could soak it all in, come home and pour it out onto paper (my computer) later. The area that was once known as Hell’s Half-Acre would probably work nicely.
I just need to make time and make the best use of said time.
I just wanted to wish everyone a peaceful day and please remember what this day is about. Love those around you, no matter their differences.
I’m sitting in the rocking chair on this Sunday evening watching football, listening to Mongolian folk metal on Youtube while trying to work on my story. I have a thousand, thousand ideas running through my head right now. It’s so hard to focus my creativity at times like this. I feel that if I could take a ride on the back of a charging destrier and split some simulated skulls (melons and pumpkins) with a sword with the cold wind in my hair it might help me reign in my thoughts. Focus, focus, focus.
I still want my story to be a sci-fi crime drama infused with plenty of action adventure told from the peace officers’ points of view, but right now this very minute I really want to write from the outlaws’ viewpoints. I think I need to work on their scenes right now while I’m feeling that way. I’ve always enjoyed writing from a villain’s perspective. Now I think I’ll do just that.
Speaking of the cold wind, I think tonight is going to be a soup and crackers kind of evening.
Well, the first full week of January of 2019 has been full of ups and downs for me.
My Texas Longhorns won the Sugar Bowl by defeating the Georgia Bulldogs. I’m still working without a paycheck due to the government shutdown. I started reading a book my sister gave me written by one of my all-time favorite authors, Aaron Dembski-Bowden and the book is called “Ragnar Blackmane”. I sprained my ankle at work and am a gimp right now. Missed a couple of days of work and have been furloughed due to the aforementioned injury. Got to see my buddy Jason Mamoa in the new Aquaman movie; yes, he’s my buddy because I met him, visited with him and spent some quality buddy time with him about eight years ago in Cross Plains, Texas.
I suppose that’s the sum of my week. That is all, carry on.
Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays from Part-Time Warlord and the Parkinson family to you and yours.
A full squad of heavily armed and armored warriors stepped into the area near Baltimore’s table. Each warrior wore his or her own unique version of carapace armor. The one speaking, whom Baltimore assumed was the leader, wore an ornate horned helmet. He was as large as one of the legendary Astartes warriors. Brilita Sparks and Guzz Klobber shared an uneasy glance and Klobber looked at Baltimore. The Privateer Captain put his hand up to signal to his security detail that they should hold their ground, but not yet act.
Captain Baltimore looked at the hulking warrior with the horned helmet, ‘What are your intentions, sir?’
The leader of the warriors nodded in Klobber’s direction and said, ‘Word around the station is you’re going into the Expanse; Silva Malorum to be specific. If you’re going out there, you’re going to need better protection than a few rejects from the penal legion. A sour expression appeared on Brilita Sparks’ face.
‘That’s right, sister. You and your companions are base amateurs compared to us. It’s best you embrace that fact and move along before my people have to prove that to you.’
The warrior in charge took is attention away from Brilita Sparks and looked over at Captain Baltimore again, ‘We know the Expanse the horrors that live out there. But, it’s up to you if you want to trust your life with a bunch of inmates, then be my guest.’
‘That’s it, I’ve had about enough of this tripe,’ Guzz Klobber quickly unholstered his weapons and Brilita Sparks quickly followed suit and the duo made to advance upon their detractors.
Blades flashed through the air and a quick succession of muzzle flashes illuminated the scene. Before Baltimore could comprehend what had happened, his entire security detail was on the floor swathed in their own blood.
The lead warrior gestured to himself and slightly bowed his head in Baltimore’s direction and then gestured to his squad, ‘I am Kazon and we are the Sand Tigers. I think we need to negotiate a price for our services.’
To be continued . . .