Light's Cool

I have been unemployed for about ten weeks now. It's a little crazy to think that I've gone that long without a job. It's also a little crazy to realize just how much I've enjoyed the free time. The ability to write, read, relax at will -- what joy. Can I retire yet? The best part is that my unemployment runs for another 20 weeks (aka, five months). I don't want to run it out, but the temporary security it provides helps me sleep at night. Since mid-December, I've written four short stories, about 70 pages total. The first two stories, Your Father's Records and Funny Car, were not the best stories. But it was important to get back into the habit of writing regularly; they helped me dust off the cobwebs. The more recent two stories, Scary Bells and Stockholm in Drought, are longer and more complete in vision. I'm actually really proud of them. I have at least ten short stories I wrote in college, and of them, I'm really only proud of a couple. Yet during college, I was never really interested in writing short stories. I only wrote them because that was what was required of me. I have recently begun to appreciate the short story format. This is due to a number of reasons; Emily has been working short stories in classes for a couple years now, and we talk about them a lot. This ongoing discussion about short stories and how to craft them has refined my view of them and given me a better understanding of how they should work. I also respect short stories because they are the tried-and-true path to becoming a "real writer." My plan has remained the same since late January: Write a truck-load of short stories, send them out constantly, and force myself onto the scene. I haven't executed the plan as forcefully as I would have liked. Two stories in about two months. One story has been sent out, and I twiddle my thumbs waiting for a response. I'm obeying the plan, just not at the pace I had desired. I refuse to be lazy about this anymore. I did fuck all for two years, and I've started applying myself for the last few months but it's not enough. Am I going to be a writer, a professional writer, or am I going to be a middle-aged bum who wishes he had given it a better go when he was younger? I refuse to be lazy about this anymore. Starting this week, I'm going to bed earlier, waking up earlier, and writing more. I will write for at least three hours every day. I will read for at least one hour every day. I refuse to be lazy about this anymore. As last time, not a very introspective post. But I've lost a lot of my desire for introspection. Scratch that -- it's not that the desire is gone, but the need is gone. I don't need to spend time thinking about myself because I have, for the most part, figured myself out. There will always be more to know and learn about myself, but I am completely comfortable with who I am now. Sam at the age of 24 knows what he likes, what he wants to accomplish, and how he prefers to live. The past couple months have been extremely useful for me to understand those aspects of myself. Now I do, and I am putting myself to work. I refuse to be lazy about this anymore. I know who I am, and I know what I must do: I must write.