(PLAY WHILE YOU READ THIS AND YOU WILL UNDERSTAND!)

I’m at Starbucks right now as I write this.  I’m literally hanging on to my table to save me from forever embarrassment (as I rather enjoy writing at this particular Starbucks).

But whatever happens, you should know, I was ambushed.

The Bee Gees were already playing over the sound system when I walked in…LOUD.  Instantly, my feet aligned themselves to the beat.  It was physically impossible for me not to walk in time.  Before I realized it, my free hand was swinging my John Travolta paint can and I was lip-synching the words.

“Well, you can tell by the way I use my walk, I’m a woman’s man, no time to talk.”

That’s when I started to feel the familiar sweat of mortification.  And as I was trying to randomize my step, my rear end started doing a little swagger and now I’ve got this idiot grin I can’t get rid of.

I’m this close — THIS CLOSE!!! — my friends, to grooving out across that wide open tile floor and spinning on my heels before dropping into the splits.  Yow!

I gotta get a straw.  I’ll be right back.

~~~

I’m back.  Oh, Jesus.  It’s the devil’s music!  It possesses you!  It took everything I had to make it back here with only a pronounced bounce in my step that just happened to display a strong sense of musicality (but I can’t help that).

There’s only two other people here:  a college kid studying for her biochem exam, and the grandpa with his new iPad.  I see her pen tapping in time on her paper, and Grandpa’s toes are wiggling.  I’m trying to decide if they’d be game.  Are they made of the right stuff?

The way I see it, if I just jumped up right now and busted out some cool disco moves, Grandpa iPad would undoubtedly skip-jive over to me and do his hippy shake thing, relieved that I finally broke the ice.  Then the studious girl would flip over us and tear it up around the floor before we settled into a synchronized (and apparently psychic) choreography.

The song’s almost over.  I’m gonna miss my chance.

I can’t do it.  I’m afraid they won’t jump in.  Damn scaredy cats.

And what divine butt did the Bee Gees kiss to create music that makes people walk like that against their will?  Starbucks really should have some sort of marquee out front that displays the current song selection so patrons can be forewarned.

One of these days I’m just not going to be strong enough and a lot of people are going to end up EMBARRASSED.

Anyhoo, many thanks to everyone who’s taken the time to check out my blog.  It means a lot to me.  I can’t believe I’ve written 100 posts already.  Lots of fun.  I hope y’all will stick around…and boogie with me.  (snapping fingers)  Hmm.  Peeps might be getting embarrassed today.

Oh, yeah.  In other news, NaNoWriMo is going on.  Have you heard?  What’s my word count, you ask?

Oh, shit.  Can’t talk.  Strong, disco-gravitational pull taking over me.  It’s got my shoe!

“Life’s going nowhere.  Somebody help me, yeah.  I’m stayin’ alive!”

 

Is everyone ready for NaNoWriMo?

I said, IS EVERYONE READY FOR NANOWRIMO?!

Yeah, well, me neither, so don’t feel bad.  I’m not even ready for Halloween.

But that’s the whole point of NaNoWriMo.  If I waited until I was ready to write the novel, I most assuredly would not be starting in two days.

Last year, I started NaNoWriMo with pages and pages of brainstorming and a sturdy little outline.  This year I have maybe 2,000 words of musings about a vague idea that came to me during a two-week fever brought on by the EFBISTD virus.

But that’s okay.  Because I have faith that in 31 days, I will have written another novel.  Hee.  Kind of feels nice typing that sentence out.  Let’s do it again.

In 31 days, I will have written another novel.

Cool beans.

So I originally wanted to write a pre-NaNo checklist, but I’m a little late on the uptake with that one.  The blogosphere is already bursting with chuckle-worthy checklists.  I figure the people who are already loading up their fridges with pre-made sandwiches (ahem) and setting up elaborate security perimeters around their work spaces don’t really need me anyway.  They are already committed.

Therefore, this blog post is dedicated to the folks who don’t think they can do it.  This is for the folks who think that their lives are too busy and too stressful; that now is not a good time; that there’s just too much going on; that their kid, their spouse, their boss, their noisy neighbor just won’t let it happen.

This is for the folks who do ridiculous commutes to support their families.  This is for the folks who provide any type of customer service.  This is for our teachers who don’t want to teach, our bankers who don’t want to bank, and our account managers who don’t want to manage accounts.

This is for all you busy, exhausted, overwhelmed folks whose idea of a vacation involves spending copious amounts of time in front of the computer working out the motivations of a person who doesn’t exist, researching what it would take to make the atmosphere of Mars hospitable for humans, and romping around a countryside of your own dreamings picking off people with you don’t like with your lightning sniper rifle just because you can.

You can do this.  I know, I know, you’re busy, you’re exhausted.  Trust me, I know.  We could swap war stories.  You could tell me all about the complicated legal brief you have due and a client who can’t be reached, and I could tell you how my daughter won’t sleep without me glued to her side and how I have to sneak out of the bedroom like a thief in the night to go to the bathroom.

But we have no time for war stories.  Why?  Because the time is nigh!  It is upon us and against us.  There is only now.  There will only ever be now.

So before you dismiss the possibility of completing NaNoWriMo this year and earning the right to call yourself a novelist, I have a suggestion:

Look at it as a vacation.

Think of it.  For a small amount of time each day, you don’t have to think about the job or the kids or whatever is stressing you out.  For a small amount of each day, you will be working on something that is solely and completely yours, that is under your control and design, and is something that is free from judgment from anyone else in your life for as long as you so choose.  For a small amount of each day, you will be making progress, however small and insignificant it might feel, towards your goal of becoming a published author.  You will be fulfilling your purpose, if not your responsibility.

If you hate your job and feel like it’s sucking the soul from the insides of your flesh casing, this, Brave Reader, is a chance for you to give it the bird and do what you want to do.  Let’s be honest.  When is your soul-sucking, unappreciative, unrewarding, crap-paying job ever going to allow you to rise above and beyond it?

And you do want to rise above and beyond, right?  Don’t you want to turn in your resignation letter sooner, rather than later, because “contractual obligations in my publishing career need my full attention”?  Can’t you see your boss’s face?  Oh, sweet day….

Of course you want this.  You think of this moment with every breath.  But despite all the cheering and good reasons and best intentions, there are still the logistics of shoehorning a 25-hour day into a 24-hour time period.  Where do you find the time to write a 50,000-word novel?  Where do you find the energy?

Don’t worry about the energy.  The energy will come.  Doesn’t it always come?  You know how it is.  It’s like trying to start an old car on a cold winter morning.  It ain’t easy.  It requires more than a few specialized terms uttered at just the right pitch and maybe a prayer.  But once you get that baby going, you’ll be rocketing down the road in no time getting an exclusive first-time look at a brand-new story.

As for time, hell, that’s for all of us to figure out, but I’m willing to bet you can find the time in the nooks and crannies of your day.  The extra time we all are dreaming of isn’t the time we think will arrive on our doorstep when we retire.  The extra time we’re looking for exists in the “dead zones” of our day.

If you’re have to sit in traffic on a horrendous commute, dictate your story into a tape recorder.

If you’re stuck in a job that keeps you chained to your desk, write the damn thing line by line in the bathroom.

Write when you eat.  Everyone eats.  I think most people get at least 5 or 10 minutes a day to eat in peace.  I hope.  I wouldn’t know.  I have a toddler.

And it goes without saying that if you get TV time in every day, you can do this.  If you know who wore that Stella McCartney dress better, you can do this.  If you have an unlimited text message plan for a reason, you can do this.

Now maybe you’re mad at me.  I’ve made you uncomfortable.

If that’s the case, I’m sorry.  Honestly, I am.  I hate being this guy.  But by the time you get to the 5,000th word around November 4, you’ll get over it.  Don’t imagine that you, me, or anyone else is going to make it to the Published Author Club without a good amount of discomfort.  And so I poke you with the you-can-do-it stick out of love.

You might be asking, “Why?  Why should I do this?  Why put myself through this?  Why can’t I pursue my dreams at a rate that doesn’t make me and my family crazy?”

To that, I counter,  “Why not?”

To me, the NaNoWriMo challenge is like a gift, an opportunity to stretch myself.  And to be doing this when 165,000+ other people are doing it around the world, there’s something almost spiritual in that.  In a field where “solitary” is the norm, for one month, I have lots and lots of coworkers, all doing the same damn job.

Last year, 30,000 participants completed the challenge.  I’d venture to say, in the month of November, there are more novels born than in any other month.  That’s amazing.

Can you stand another quote from Steven Pressfield?

“If you were meant to cure cancer or write a symphony or crack cold fusion (¹or write a novel) and you don’t do it, you not only hurt yourself, even destroy yourself.  You hurt your children.  You hurt me.  You hurt the planet.”

Do you need any better reason?  Do it for the children.

_______________

¹ My addition.

If you’ve read my blog before, then you might be aware of my undying love for Steven Pressfield’s wonderful book on the creative battle, “¹The War of Art.”   In the “Turning Pro,” section, Pressfield lists 10 qualities of a professional.  This is the most perfect set of instructions for success that I’ve ever read.

Using Pressfield’s criteria, here is how the writing is going:

1.  We show up every day. Check.  I do something every single day, even if it’s just a paragraph.

2.  We show up no matter what. Okay, I let the Death Virus beat me for two weeks, and the kid wins an awful lot…but she has the All Powerful Mama Ray that renders me into putty in her little paws.

3.  We stay on the job all day. No such thing with a toddler.  Since I can’t work in luxurious multi-hour stretches of time, I’ve started logging every single minute I spend on building this career and how I’m spending it (new fiction, reading, critiquing, blogging, rewriting, submitting, et cetera).  Doing this has helped me evaluate how I work, and it keeps me on task.

4.  We are committed over the long haul. I wonder what I’ll be writing about in my 80s.  Probably space ninjas.

5.  The stakes for us are high and real. It used to be all about me.  Now it’s all about my family.  I have to show them I can do this.  I want all of us to have a better life because I succeed at doing this.

6.  We accept remuneration for our labor. Cash, checks, money orders, PayPal, and all major credit cards, baby!  And the only way to collect remuneration for our labor is to submit, submit, submit!  My last story out for submission came home to roost, and so I’ve got no lines in the water right now.  But I should have one, maybe two short stories out in the world in the next couple of weeks, and I have been focusing on getting all of my completed stories finished and out of the house.

7.  We do not overidentify with our jobs. I received a pretty tough critique yesterday morning on a story I spent a lot of time and love on and thought was close to being ready to send out…and I am more excited about how I can make this story better than I am bummed out that I didn’t get a high-five.  I know this critique isn’t about me, just this one story I wrote.  And it’s okay if this story never pans out because I’ve got dozens more written and countless more coming down the pipeline.

8.  We master the technique of our jobs. Besides having my real-life writer’s groups, I have belonged to the Online Writing Workshop for Science Fiction, Fantasy & Horror for at least three years and never posted a story for review…until recently.  I’ve posted two stories in the past month, and I’ve posted four lengthy reviews.  So I am definitely working on it.

9.  We have a sense of humor about our jobs. If my husband happened to hear me cackling in my office the other day, it was because the perfect solution to my story was space ninjas…seriously.  I have waay too much fun.  I feel sorry for people who can’t utilize space ninjas in their line of work.  (“Hey, Joe, the customers are complaining that the food’s taking too long.”  “Hey!  Do I look like a frickin’ space ninja to you?  No?  Then you know I can’t slow time, so tell the customers to hold their damn horses!”)

10.  We receive praise of blame in the real world. That’s what the push to submit is about…as well as hanging my work on display in my virtual writer’s workshop.

I think the most positive indicator that I’m making my way towards the professional side of the spectrum is the fact that I’m stressed about it as if it were a “real” job.  I’m starting to take my own self-imposed deadlines seriously, and when I get behind, I’m evil.  (Well, eviler anyway.)  I’m making conscious and deliberate sacrifices to allow this thing I must do to blossom.  I’m always thinking about the writing.

When I first read this list a few years ago, I was a far and distant cry from meeting any of these criteria.  Now I feel like I’m making progress.  Progress makes me happy.  So do space ninjas!  Shoryuken!

Anyway, that’s how the writing’s been going for me.  How’s about you guys?

Oh.  And in case you’ve been living in a hole, NaNoWriMo begins in only three days away!  Yeeks!  Man the battle stations.  Deliver all supplies and rations to me.  I will keep them safe.  I promise.

____________________

¹ Pressfield recently wrote on his blog:  “…I’m hard at work on The War of Art 2.0., which I hope to have in six months or so.”  Glee!

I concede.  I admit it.  Summer is over.  The pomegranates are hanging low and fat, the local pumpkin fields are dotted with orange, and we are wearing socks on a regular basis.

I’m sad to see this summer pass.  Maybe that’s why I’m still surprised it’s cold outside and haven’t yet started on the Pupster’s Halloween costume.  Talk about long, endless summers.

I imagine we all have those summers in our lives that stand up to the rigors of time and imperfection of memory…the summer that we had our first kiss, the last summer before high school, summers where we arrive at the Labor Day barbecue somehow changed, grown up, more worldly and more forgiving.

This has been my summer.  This was the first summer of my marriage that I’ve been apart from my husband.  And so while Fat Cat was off in the Army working hard for the family, I was at home…alone with the baby.

Piece of cake.

Except for the Evil Faux-But-Incredibly-Similar-To-Death virus that Fat Cat brought home to the Labor Day festivities (thanks, hon), it really was a piece of cake.  I handled things like a pro — in large part due to incredible parents who will drop everything if I ask for help…even if it means exposing themselves to the EFBISTD virus.  But even considering the amazing support of my family and friends, I feel really proud of how I’ve done on my own these past few months.

So, anyway, I’ve been thinking about writing this blog post for a long time, probably most of the summer.  I’ve been searching for that one perfect morsel of English language to describe my summer.  I’ve been chasing it for the last few months, and it’s almost on the tip of my tongue….

Anyway, I haven’t found it yet.  But I finally had to write this so that I can move on and tell you guys about all the other cool stuff I’ve been saving up for you.  I didn’t want to find myself sharing summer revelations in the middle of Christmas shopping season when everyone’s obsessed with trying to find out what list they’re on and trying to get to everyone on theirs.  It’s bad enough that Halloween’s almost here.  In just four days, I am expected to dress my child in a funny outfit and go door to door begging for handouts from my neighbors.  Yay!

So here I am, perfect-morsel-less, ready to accept that this post will have to be less than perfect (what?!), and that for now, my summer will have to retain its working title.  Better that we just move onward and upward.

And maybe that’s what my summer’s been about.  Onward and upward.  I feel like for the first time in my life, I’m completely facing forward, no need for a rear view mirror.  I feel like Buzz Lightyear, my fist raised high above my head, one leg bent just so, toes pointed fetchingly, of course…and I believe.  And so I am flying…and the view up here is breathtaking.

I don’t think I’ve ever been happier in my life.

True, I’ve missed Fat Cat, there was that horrible death virus, and the dogs caught waay too many possums¹ … but still, it was a great summer.  I like to think I showed up to the Labor Day barbecue somehow taller and more relaxed, maybe even a little younger and prettier.  For the moment, I get it.  I get all the funny and sad bits, I understand what it’s all about, and I am incredibly grateful.

There hasn’t been one definitive event that has found me in this altered state at the doorstep of Autumn.  More like a string of delightful stories probably only interesting to me.  But if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that these little stories that make up our lives are the most important ones.

Mostly, I learned a lot this summer.  I learned that a lot of stuff I care about doesn’t matter, and that a lot of stuff I thought doesn’t matter actually kind of does.

I learned how to drive nowhere, that it’s cool there are people out there who will mount giant chickens in their front yard, and that fresh-pressed apple cider tastes nothing like “apple juice.”

I learned that I can move at least two pallets of sod with a wheelbarrow on a low tire — confirming my long-time suspicion that I have superpowers².

I learned that you should always investigate meowing when it’s coming from your ceiling, that it’s more likely it’s a thirsty, trapped kitty than a supernatural being.

I learned that I don’t need nearly as much sleep as I used to.

I learned that one should always be packed for the beach.

I learned that I want to write more than I want to do anything else in this life, and that I was probably born like this.

I learned that there is a deep and wide swath that separates professionals from half-assers, and this chasm exists in every industry and shenanigan of our human tribe.  I also learned that more often than not, this separation between the cream and the cloudy water tends to forecast where to find the cool people.

I learned that I really want to be “cool people”…in a self-effacing, American-sweetheart meat-eating hippie kind of way.

I’ve learned that I’m the funniest person I know…and that the baby is well on her way to knocking me down to second funniest.

I’ve learned to watch what I say in front of the baby.

Most importantly, I learned that there really is no right way to live your life.  And now that I know, I’ve been having a lot more fun defining what I think a good³ life lived looks like.

Anyway, if you’re reading this far down, thank you for letting me share this with you.  It’s been a pleasure to write this post.  I think so far this has been my most favorite summer yet.

What was your best summer?

_______________________

¹ Why don’t they run, for crying out loud?  Playing dead does not work at my house.  My dogs are not fooled.

² Eat yer heart out, Ninja Jim!

³ Incidentally, mine looks like a butt-dented denim couch with lots of crushed goldfish crackers under the cushion.

I suppose you probably want to know where the hell I’ve been.  No, no, you’re right.  I should have called or — no, it wouldn’t have killed me to drop a line or two to let you know I was okay.  It’s just that I’ve been busy, but…

*(I let my voice get sultry here, the way you like it.)

… I always meant to come back, my darlings.

There were countless times I opened the “Add New Post” window and pondered where to start, what to share with you, Dear Reader, of my whirlwind travels and battles waged with keyboard and mouse.  Naturally, only wanting to give you my very best, I would browse deviantART, looking for the perfect picture with which to accompany my affectionate return to communications with you.  Alas, there have been many a snake pit to turn me from the trail, losing me farther and farther into the jungle.

But I have returned, my sweet.  Scuffed up and travel-worn, yes — and, grant you, maybe not smelling so great — but I’m back, baby!  It’s been a long and wonderful summer.  I have so much to tell you.

So anyway, that’s why this post doesn’t have a picture.  I just couldn’t wait any longer to say hi to everyone…and show you my new tattoo!  Just kidding.

So there.  The silence is broken.  The ice is broken?  I’ve broken the ice…The icy silence is broken…only that implies hard feelings, of which all of mine are soft and fuzzy…(mind the gutter, please)…  Anyway, we can talk about word choice and diction some other time…and we will…I promise.

In the meantime, let it be known across the land, **ANG IS BACK!

Refreshments are in the back.  Somebody kill the deejay and put on some real friggin’ music.  Where the hell is the giant pizza?  Jerry, you give “monkey’s cousin” a whole new level of meaning.

Sheesh.  I gotta go handle this.  I should have know that this thing would go viral.  Now I’m going to have to deal with a shitload of fan mail.

Anyway, you sit back, have a cookie, relax and admire the…blank space where there ain’t no picture.  I’ll be back shortly.

_______________________________

*     Wow!  Who made this midnight chili I is eating (yum!), and what did they put in it?  May I have more?

**  Feel free to send gifts, but don’t make it like a big thing or anything.

Yes, I’m still alive.  Apologies to all for the disappearing act…and encore of said disappearing act.  Been quite busy.  But more on that later.

Yesterday I was organizing my desk and came across some peer feedback I received in a creative writing class I took in college when I was probably 18 years old.  I figured it was too good not to share.

This is what two people wrote about my story:

“Angela, about ‘Rabid Mermaids,’ what can I say?  This has got to be one of the most funny and unusual stories I have ever read.  You have a twisted sense of humor, I like that….”

Cool, huh?  I rock, right?  Think again.

“I’m afraid your story is ludicrous.  I’m sure anyone who told this story around a campfire would get the dookey beat out of ’em.  I always feel cheated when I read a story and it doesn’t make sense or have a point.  Where did this come from?  What inspired you to do this?  Writing stories demands concentration, it demands some sort of intent.  I don’t see any intention here.”

Yowch!  Whoa, the shrapnel of my ego exploding flew all the way to the far wall.  So much blood….<swoon>

Moral of the story?  I guess ya can’t please ’em all, you can only please yourself. <eg>

And yes, the story is called “Rabid Mermaids”; yes, I still have it; and no, you can’t read it as I’m a firm supporter of self-preservation and have no interest in getting the dookey beaten out of me.

____________________

* Special thanks to cosbinator1 at deviantART.com for permission to post his awesome rendition of Evil Ariel.

It’s been a strange couple of days, punctuated by one of the cats consuming a bird, then regurgitating it all over two pairs of my shoes.*  If I were really superstitious, I’d be worried.

Anyway, I haven’t wandered off.  I’m still thinking of you guys.  Thought I’d share this great interview with Marjorie Liu about how she got started, her writing process, the importance of first lines, and what it’s like collaborating with Daniel Way on Dark Wolverine.

_________________

* You guys are lucky.  I almost — almost posted pictures of this lovely porch omen.

I’ve missed you guys.  Have you missed me?  Aww.  I know Marian’s missed me.  (I miss you too, girl!  Call me!)

Well, the good news is that my blog silence has been more indicative of me being productive rather than of me laying in the gutter somewhere counting my toes over and over again because I’m convinced I’m missing one.  (“Always look on the bright side of life….” <whistle>)  🙂

Actually, Fat Cat cracked two leg bones (tibia and femur — cringe!) in BCT.  He kept training on it for four weeks until the Army was able to get him in for an MRI and determined that he should not be training on it.  Then they sent him home for 30 days convalescent leave with instructions to take calcium and take it easy.  He did.  And he seems good as gold.

So we enjoyed our 30 days as a family.  It was really nice having him home.  But he’s been back to Fort Benning a week already.  All kinds of “missing” going on.

But even with all that going on, I’ve been pretty busy writing.  Time has become so precious around here (oh, god, little person sleep troubles! — why the hell won’t she sleep?!) that any “free” time I have goes straight to the project at hand, which is usually up against some sort of deadline.

So that’s the real reason behind my blog neglect, Fair Reader.  But I was always thinking of you guys.  I have a goodly-sized list of things I want to share with you soon, including the best ad copy I have ever read…for a free cat.

But I figured you’d appreciate the reason for my absence being that this is a blog about writing and building a writing career.  Though it seems when the writing’s really cooking, that’s when I get lots of blog article ideas.  However, since I don’t always have the time to develop an article, I’ve decided I’m going to start posting daily updates, just so folks have someone to compare notes with at the end of the day, ya know?  Sometimes the only motivation you need is knowing there’s someone else out there spinning their grindstone too.

So with that, this past month I’ve written a new short story; finally gotten a graphic novel project put together and over to the right people; vetted the first three chapters of my NaNo novel with my school writer’s group; developed two new short stories; a ton of rewrites; and something else.  I can’t remember.  It’s been a frenzy in my brain.  I’m experiencing some sort of Creative Renaissance, and I’m digging it.  I hope it keeps on keeping on.

This morning I wrote in my work  journal:

“Jesus, look at this mess.  If someone asks me what I did this morning, I’d have to say rantings!  Lots of rantings!  Hope it makes sense later.

“I have so many fantastic ideas to work on…and they keep coming on…I can’t keep up…an exciting and worrisome phenomenon that I’ve decided just to be grateful for.”

Truly, I can’t keep up.  I’m doing my best though.

How about you guys?  Have you been writing?  Have you been thinking about writing?  Who’s knocking around your brain at night when you try to sleep?  I hope they’ve been keeping you up. <g>

I wonder if there’s a census somewhere that has determined what percentage of our population is hypereccentric*.  Even though we say we wouldn’t be, I think we would be really, really surprised.

Still, you gotta give it up for people who will dress up in bee costumes to stand up for what they believe in:  Spelling Reform (cuz the English language is just too hard).  Their slogan?  “Enuf is enuf.  Enough is too much.”

I love the human animal.  You just can’t make this stuff up.  🙂

________________________

* Stark-Raving Crazy with a capital S, R, C.

“It is not that we have a short space of time, but that we waste much of it. Life is long enough, and it has been given in sufficiently generous measure to allow the accomplishment of the very greatest things if the whole of it is well invested.”    – Lucius Annaeus Seneca

Speaking of time, I’ve been pushing this blog post around on my plate like cold potatoes for the past 11 days, half-expecting to be interrupted by life, unable, or simply not determined enough, to really wade in and get my knickers wet.

My original intention was to offer some ideas I’m trying out on how to improve writing speed/production in the Gonnabe Writer’s quest to become a Professional Writer.  And I will still do that.  But in considering what it takes to be a faster writer, I inevitably kept coming up against the ever-present issue of Time.

And that reminded me of a blog post by Tim Ferriss titled, “On The Shortness of Life:  An Introduction to Seneca,” that I think expresses the problem and solution most thoroughly.

First, Tim asks the important questions:  “How do we balance protecting time with protecting relationships?  How do we conquer guilt and do what is truly most important?”

This is where we all struggle.  Because aside from the usual things that we let come between us and writing, there are those most important things, like family and friends.

Anyway, I think Tim’s sentiments and Seneca’s letter pretty much say it all when it comes down to figuring out what’s most important in life. I think in finding success as a writer, it’s important to keep aware of the fleeting nature of time.  It helps me keep a death grip on my purpose, and thank God for that.  I may get flustered, but I’m never lost.  I know where I’m going.

So I figured before we talked about how to get faster and more productive and more successful at what we’re doing, it would be helpful to share Tim’s excellent post (containing Seneca’s even more excellent diatribe) regarding time, and encourage you to ask yourself the important questions.

How do you want to spend your time?  Do you know where you want to go?