Hello. Good morning. Thursday. Blog post. You can fill in the rest of the verbs, articles, prepositions, adjectives, adverbs, and pronouns for yourselves.
It’s been a moderately productive week; I’ve made more progress than I did the previous week on Outlaw’s Mind—I’ve written just shy of five thousand words since last time. Things are getting exciting and strange and frightening, and that’s all good in a story, though probably not good in life.
I’ve posted the second portion of Outlaw’s Mind—in draft form, anyway—on my blog, here. It’s a bit of a lurch from the “cold opening”, because it suddenly shifts backward in time, to Timothy Outlaw’s younger, early adolescent days, gradually setting the stage for the events that happen in the opening, and which will then carry on after. I haven’t yet reached that opening time again in the story, but I’m getting closer. There will be a payoff, and hopefully the things that happen in between will be reasonably interesting. They certainly are strange, and—hopefully—sometimes frightening.
I’ve also been mucking about with my guitar and singing, and I did a new video of me playing and singing Yesterday (of course by the Beatles). I’ll embed it here, below this paragraph, so if you’re inclined, you can listen. It’s decent, I think, but of course, you should feel free to judge for yourself.
I may inflict more songs upon you, assuming nothing cuts all my endeavors short—if they could even be truly considered short at this stage in my life. Sometimes it feels as if it’s been eternal already…and not one of those great, “promised land” style eternals usually. At this point, both my “experienced happiness” and my “life satisfaction”* are below the mean, I think, and most times they are in the fucking sewer. I guess that’s what happens when you have an apparently defective brain and a bad personality. No one is to blame, except possibly me…which would mean that I deserve it, in a sense, so I guess that’s fine.
I’ve considered just posting all the rest of Outlaw’s Mind at once, as it currently stands (up to yesterday, or up until whatever other day follows) so that even if I don’t end up living to finish it, someone else can if they’re interested. I really doubt that would happen; it would probably just vanish into even greater obscurity than that in which it exists now, despite the supposedly eternal internet (where, contrary to popular sayings of the “what’s on the web is forever” type, the vast majority of things are in practice as ephemeral as the path of a single drop of rain).
But, hey, even Van Gogh only sold one of his paintings in his lifetime and look at him now! Well, don’t look at him. He’s dead—he killed himself when he was thirty-seven**. But his paintings are still great, and his work is loved by countless millions of people. Not that it does him much good, unless you believe in some afterlife that’s influenced by the esteem someone receives after their death by the world at large. It seems unlikely.
That’s about it for my report this week; there’s little else to say. I don’t socialize at all, and don’t really do much for fun, not counting what I’ve mentioned above and watching some videos on YouTube, most of which I’ve seen already. I still can’t seem to get into any new fiction (or old fiction for the most part, even my favorite books), though there are occasional, brief exceptions. And I’m running out of interesting non-fiction books to read, too. I’ve read most of the ones that appeal to me at all.
I honestly don’t know what to do about any of this. I mean, I have ideas, but they are generally frowned upon, and I don’t like making a nuisance of myself. For now, I’ll keep doing the Nazgul thing and will merely continue, though often it already seems that every minute is a weariness. I don’t know how much longer I can do it.
I hope you’re all doing better than I am, and that I haven’t bummed you out too much. Stay as safe and healthy and happy as you can.
*As described in research that I think was done by Daniel Kahneman and others.
**I’ve already outlived him by fifteen years, but I’m far from sure that it was the right choice. At least I’ve written and published some stories and a few songs since that age. I don’t paint as well as Vincent did, of course, but then again, not many in history do or did, so I can’t feel disappointed about that! Anyway, as far as either happiness or life satisfaction goes, my life since I was 43 has been a poor investment. At least before then point I saw my kids.