Items of Interest #16

Here are some things. Things you might enjoy. Things that may inform. Things that may entertain.

That should keep you busy for a while. It’s a short week so I know you weren’t planning on getting any work done anyway.

I’m a writer. Writing is how I make this world a better, friendlier, stronger place. If these words improved your day, please let me know by contributing here.

The Fucks and How We Give Them (A Manifesto)

The older I get, the fewer fucks I’m willing to give.

The fucks I have to give are few, finite, and often fleeting. Therefore, I’m careful about those that I give.

There are only so many fucks one can give in a lifetime anyway.

I only want to give my fucks where they can make a difference.

I am strategic with the fucks I give.

I am intentional with the fucks I give.

Most things we encounter in life are not worth our fucks.

Most “news” is designed to trick us into giving our fucks to things that don’t deserve them or where they have no value.

Most “stuff” is designed to trick us into giving a fuck about things that have no true utility.

In fact, many things in our society are purpose build to trick us into giving a fuck where it matters least and serves us even less.

Just because someone tells me I should give a fuck does not mean I should give a fuck.

Just because you give a fuck does not mean I should give a fuck.

Our fucks are our fucks alone to give.

It’s OK for you to give a fuck about something that I don’t give a fuck about.

Where we give our fucks is our own business.

I judge no one based upon where they choose to give their fucks. Frankly, I don’t give a fuck.

Unless, you give a fuck about something that directly harms me. In which case, I will likely give a fuck.

In order to expect anyone to give a fuck about you, you must first give a fuck about yourself.

My giving a fuck about what you think of me is directly connected to how much of a fuck I give about you.

Most ideas we encounter are worth listening to but, then, quickly deciding if they are worth a fuck.

The really important things are worth at least two fucks.

Any time given to whether or not one should give a fuck about something is time well spent. Except, where not giving a fuck should be obvious.

Always appreciate when someone gives a fuck about you. Make sure to thank them for giving a fuck.

The next time you feel yourself getting outraged, stop to ask yourself if you should really, truly, give a fuck about it. You will find that most of the time the answer will be, “No. I don’t give a fuck.”

Our enjoyment of life increases with the less fucks we give.

Giving a fuck about things that are worth it are what make life meaningful.

I do give a fuck about offending people with this message through the profanity with which I’ve chosen to deliver it. But I give more of a fuck about calling it like I see it, telling it straight, and not fucking around.

I give more than a few fucks about the truth (as I see it).

Truth is the perspective you choose to give a fuck about.

And, I give a fuck about sharing this one with you.

I’m a writer. Writing is how I make this world a better, friendlier, stronger place. If these words improved your day, please let me know by contributing here.

Getting Started (After Only Twenty Years)

There is a science fiction story I have had brewing in my head now for over twenty years. It started as just a very simple idea. A “what if” question. A spark of something. For years and years I brushed it aside whenever it popped into view. I always had, what I felt, were valid excuses for writing it off. Here’s how the dialog would most often happen inside my head…

“I’m not a fiction writer.”

“I’m certainly not a science fiction writer.”

“But, it’s a really good idea.”

“Maybe, it would be good to give to one of my friends that are, accomplished, science fiction writers.”

I would act on this. I would tell it to my sci-fi writer friends in passing. They would kindly hear me out, but express no real interest in stealing it from me. “It’s a good idea.”, they would say. “You should write it.”

“But I don’t know how?”, I would resign.

And, so, back into the the bin it would go. Only to pop back up next week/month/year. But, each time a little bit closer — more fully formed each time it returned. Closer to a real story.

The excuses to avoid it, therefore, had to become even more deft…

“I can see the story but I have no idea who would tell it.”

“Where is the voice of the story coming from?”

“Without a voice, you can’t tell a story.”

I would shove it into the bin again — with force and prudence. Convinced that this idea was beyond my reach creatively. It was not my genre. I had no voice. I only had rough ideas and sketches and major details. But, I had not the talent nor skill to weave together into a coherent narrative.

But the idea keeps coming back. It haunts me. It now wakes me up in the middle of the night. It keeps me from being able to rest. Each time getting closer. Showing me a little bit more of itself.

“Write.”, it says.

A few weeks back it gave me it’s voice. I now know who is telling the story and why. And, last night, It came to me in a dream. The opening scene at least. It was lucid while I was barely so. I saw our protagonist. I knew his motivations. It was a start. It was not the whole story. But, it was enough for me to get the opening lines down first thing this morning.

Y’weh sits on the bench with his face in his hands. He’s tired. Lately, he sits here in much the same position before the work day begins. Exhausted before he has even started. His lab coat feeling like a burial shroud. He’s been at this job for a very long time. And, if he could find another — if he had a choice — he would. But, once you start The Process, you can’t stop the stars. You have to see them through.

It may take me another twenty years to finish. But, today, I finally exhausted all of my excuses — I started.

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