Recap:
#1: Quit Smoking
....shut up.
#2: Run a 10K
Despite the weather totally screwing with my sinuses while making the thought of running around outside sound kind of insane, I've been moderately progressing towards running long distances. It's less about finding time and more about dismissing excuses. I'd like to say that I can mark this off in a month. A few of you have asked me if I'm planning to run in an organized event, to which I reply "uh...no". But if that's part of the goal I'm certainly willing to listen to any opportunities to do so.
#3: Sing Karaoke
Oh yeah, I knocked that one out of the park. 3% DONE, MOFOS.
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#4: Write a Book
The first story I ever wrote was a total rip-off of "The Gift of the Magi". In my defense, I was 9 and I was not aware the O. Henry story existed. It was about a kid that sold his basketball (WTF) to get cash to buy his parents a present for their anniversary, while the mom pawned her wedding ring to buy a new pair of shoes for her son (presumably so he could play basketball). I'm unsure which pawn shop would accept a basketball, or its value at said shop. Then again I don't remember what the kid ended up buying as an anniversary present, which seems like a weird act in hindsight. My parents have been married forever, but I'm only vaguely aware of their actual anniversary date, and I can't recall ever getting them a gift. Then again, those basketball shoes must've been Jordans, or something, to equal the cost of a pawned-off wedding ring.
Still, I managed to squeak five pages of hand-written, single spaced story out of that premise. Probably pretty heavy on the dialogue. It was for a school assignment, by the way, not just some sudden urge to plagiarize a popular short story. I don't recall what grade I received.
From early adulthood onwards I've been trained to believe that I am far too analytical to be creative. It was more of a self-assessment than any external factor, really. I was 15 when I determined that I was ridiculously good at math. It happened during trigonometry class, when the teacher assigned homework on a lesson that we were learning that day. The last 10 minutes of the class were spent working on a handful of example problems, and I took that time to do the problems...and the homework.
So why decide to write a book? Well...why not? WHAT DO YOU CARE?
I guess the whole point of this year long exercise is to develop a better sense of well-roundedness. I know that's not a word. Don't worry, I won't use it in the book. I'm comfortably left-brained, by nature. The right side of my brain is probably growing bored with memorizing music, so let's give it something else to do.
I have an idea. I've had one for months and months, and have done little to develop it beyond telling myself that I'll have to invest way too much time in research and...well...learning how to write. Excuses, excuses. If I pared down my daily routine to just things that NEED to be done, it would encompass maybe 60 hours a week. Toss in 6 hours of sleep (almost always less), and that's still almost 70 hours of time spent being largely unproductive. Could I give up maybe 60 minutes a day of bullshit time and put it towards a novel?
Yes. Yes, I believe I could.
