Writing for Fun

It's a weird thing, writing for fun. For over two years, I've worked here and there on little writing projects that have ranged from my Substitute Chronicles and short stories to my attempting a full-out novel. I've loved it. It's a great time. However, as I work closely with my stupendous writer friend, I realize a massive difference: I don't know what I'm doing. I don't mean that I don't know how to write, though I could make the case as my writing are dwarfs to his Balrog. I mean, I don't know what I'll do with anything if I ever get it finished. I have no goal or vision for my pieces.

I guess this is an issue with a lot of my hobbies. Whether it's writing, photography, music, or otherwise. Because they are fun, I lack serious motivation for any of them. I've never sincerely thought of making money off of any of my hobbies, and therefore, I stagnate or switch from one thing to the next without much thought to what will happen to my creations. They stay with me, I know that. My first sci-fi novel attempt floats in my brain a couple times a week, but I've not the foggiest on how to work with what I have.

I suppose that the pure pleasure of doing things is enough to continue in them. But it would be nice to feel a bit more driven.

Steak, Jazz, and Desire

What a day. I think the time I was home and conscious was less than 45 minutes. Despite the hectic schedule, yesterday was a blast...well, from the afternoon on it was.

The evening, and the reason I wasn't home at all, brought my wife and me to Omaha to see her dad. He was in town on business and we were so close it would be a shame to no go see him. We went to Anthony's Steakhouse. Normally, I don't get all excited over steak, but the cuts were so massive, you had to get a little excited over the big meat. Amy and I split a sirloin that came with a potato, soup, vegetables, and as much bread as we wanted. It was all mighty tasty, but what made the night complete was the jazz band in the lounge.

It's not often you see a full 12+ person group playing old swing/jazz. It was awesome. When we finished force-feeding ourselves, we waddled over and listened for another half hour or so. It was a moment that makes me think of how much I should practice any given skill. Why don't I practice more? My guitar is picked up maybe twice a week, my writing the same, my camera only on special occasions, though they are all things that I want to be excellent at.

It's hard to make practice fun I figure. It's the same reason my students don't do homework or read or journal. I don't dare give the time excuse for this, I could make the time, but to work solo is something enjoyable only on rare occasions, when I feel driven and crazy.

Alas, I am lazy.