Resolved: A Year of Pleasure; or, Writing for Writing’s Sake

Happy New Year! As I begin The Year Without Facebook, I thought I’d also take part in WordPress’ PostADay challenge as a timely prompt. I have some new things in mind, not the least of which is my next book, which will make a pit stop as my dissertation.

Despite my flu-stuffed head, I’ve been reading a lot via Kindle and hope to post some discussion-worthy reviews and recommendations here. Feel free to join in via the Comments section. Also, watch for the Patio’s design to become a tad more reader-friendly as I revamp my web presence.

Perhaps these are New Year’s resolutions. Here’s some more:

Be kinder. Graduate school makes people cranky and crazy. I don’t like what’s rubbed off on me during the journey. Something about the fluorescent lights and the warrens of power makes otherwise intelligent and humane people go berserk. I don’t like some of the associated habits I’ve picked up and want to shake them off ASAP. I have not been myself.

Be healthier. I’ve made some progress, but have miles to go before I’m sleek. Objectively speaking, I should lose 50 pounds. That’s a lot. Twenty-eight minutes twice a week is not enough. My old friend Erica sent me a half-marathon training book last year, but (for other reasons) I wasn’t medically able to join her and Maria at the appointed day and time. Now she has challenged us to another half-marathon. I’ve avoided running in the neighborhood because it’s a little polluted and a little sketchy. I remember how passionate I was about running and swimming when I was a kid, and think I’d better find my way back to that feeling while I can still stretch my ligaments.

Woodshed. That’s what another old friend and now famous musician used to call “practicing”: “Can’t come! Gotta woodshed!” While I don’t consider myself nearly as good a poet as he is a musician, our friend wowed everyone with his early work ethic. I’m ashamed to say it, but it’s true: I’ve been slack. I’m moving from “not having enough time” to “stealing time” to “I will take time anytime” to write. I have a stack of specific, detailed craft-honing tasks. I have several particular projects and publications to finish this year. I am reclaiming the minefield that was once my home office. Life is short. Write like a motherfucker. (Hi, Ray and Brad.) I’m going back through various old standbys from the early days, reminding myself that this–writing–is fun. Not work. Fun. All the reading and study is important. Just reading, just writing, just messing about in boats–those are my passions. I will not die wishing I had followed my passions. I am marshalling all my passions into symbiosis.

Jettison. I have so much stuff. Books and clothes are my weaknesses. I’ve come to the point where I really can get rid of some books I know I’ll never look at again. I love my Kindle, but am never going to give up codex books. As for clothes: How can I have so much clothing, yet so little to wear? I’m tired of looking like a grad student or someone on a camping trip. I’m really tired of making do at Wal-Mart. Therefore, I have begun ruthlessly laying in a stash of work clothes and am about to donate a dresserful of stuff. When I lose a couple of sizes, I’ll get some new pants and I’ll be able to fit back into my stash of excellent work shirts. I’m having nightmares about Clinton Kelley and Stacey London snarking through my closet. I’d love five grand to shop Manhattan bare, but I’m not willing to let them trash the nice new pants and suit that need hemming. I’ve always preferred having a few nice things to tons of crap and I like to travel with one carry-on bag. How can I live aboard if I have to deal with all this stuff? Avast! Crap overboard!

Do what I love. I do not love being a graduate student. However, it is what I am doing right now in order to do what I love (writing) even better. Every day, I have the opportunity to teach people about the basics of good writing, introduce them to interesting and important ideas, and guide them through the maze between where they are and where they say they want to go. If I don’t love reading what students have written, then I have to ask myself whether I am a writer engaged in sparking a dialogue, or just a writing instructor copyediting my way through the disengaged meanderings of sleepwalkers. It’s one thing to have the fire. It’s another to pass it along. If I engage as a writer, albeit a far more advanced one, then I will be writing all day long, even when I’m grading, even when the class is shaking off its collective fuzzy head.

Dive, dive, dive. I can’t dive unless I’m in good enough shape to tote my own gear. Right now, I’d probably have to put on 40 pounds of lead just to get below the surface. I need to get in some crappy local dives and some shore dives away from the slick that was the Gulf Coast so that I can go on to the dive leadership part of the program. Oh, and I’d like to take a nitrox class. I’d really, REALLY like to take a rebreather course, but maybe that’ll be my graduation present to myself. Once the fiction exam is done, I’ll need to hit the water quickly.

Save money. I try to, and I do OK juggling my bills, stipend, and credit lines. However, I am a lot closer to alleged retirement than most of my cohort; I have a partner to take care of; and I need to finance my travel habit. Given the new wheels and the shrinking time to degree, a safety cushion is essential. Although I don’t like the freeway-flyer gig, I might pick up a little freelance on the side. Any such extra income will go straight into the Hands Off Savings Account. I have never paid someone else to roll my change.

Don’t waste time. Checking into Facebook for “just a second” adds up when you do it several times a day. I love my friends, but I doubt I’ll miss much by asking them (you!) to meet me elsewhere. “Wasting time” also means obsessing over the occasional hostile or triflin’ incident. I want to spend my time productively, and I derive no pleasure from getting swept up in other people’s headgames, real or imagined.

While most of these are ongoing projects, committing to specific, doable steps towards these goals is an act of resolution. I clarify my own desires. I write them down. I promise myself.

What do you promise yourself this year? What gift will you give yourself?

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4 thoughts on “Resolved: A Year of Pleasure; or, Writing for Writing’s Sake

  1. Gwyn says:

    Mostly, I’m just going to read more… hey, I just started! Cool.

  2. Robin Kemp says:

    Yeah, staying off FB is one way to do that. Good to hear from you, Gwyn! Any chance of seeing you at AWP in DC? I’d love to catch up with you and Pat V.

  3. mf says:

    A post a day that’s worth reading. Now that’s a challenge and FB would have to go.

    I need to read like a motherfucker, too. Going through a life change involving long stretches of peace and quiet interrupted by yelling. Need to turn that quiet time into getting books off the floor by the bed and the table by the couch and into my head and the bookshelf. And write, write, write.

    The problem here isn’t FB. It’s the chase light calliope madness of New Orleans. I need to burrow down and work.

    • robinkemp says:

      I hear you, Mark. By the way–Mark, Gwyn. Gwyn, Mark. Two fine friends. Long stretches of quiet punctuated by yelling sounds familiar. Indeed, the quiet time is the selfish time. Steal it. Hide out and read. Hide out and write. (You might even find yourself less prone to yelling, although I can’t promise that.)

      Atlanta lacks New Orleans’ café culture. Weekday afternoons are a good time for me to find a pocket park or a small restaurant post-lunch-rush, where I can hide out and read uninterrupted for a few hours. Home is out of the question as distractions abound (partner works on-call daily). School is also out of the question (students, noise, the expense of parking for 2+ hours). I find my hidey-holes and I hunker down. One of the greatest pleasures I get from the Kindle is its portability. I can drag a “stack” around without breaking my back or grinding down my hip joint.

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