Monday: 1600 + 600
Tuesday: 1200 + 1400 + 400 + 455 + 675
Wednesday: 425 + 747 + 425 + 700
Thursday: 917 + 476 + 375 + 428 + 875
Friday: 399 + 751
Saturday: 879 + 493 + 992
Sunday: day of rest… um, fine, a window to pound out 1200.
that wasn’t math; this is math
Cinder finishes the quadratic equations unit on Friday. I almost die.
But before death… a break-through.
I’ve figured out what my problem with math is. You see, I don’t understand X’s motivation and backstory at all. Where does he come from? Why is he is mysterious and elusive? Does he get off on being an unknown? Does he get turned on by people’s attempts to solve him? How, exactly, is he related to a, b, c and, above all, Y? (Also, K and H, and where the fuck did that q-squared come from??)
Is it a passionate relationship or merely one of convenience? Does he resent how easily his value changes—how arbitrary it all seems to be? Actually, does he want to be part of that damn square in the first place? Wouldn’t he rather be part of a triangle? Wait—there he is, part a triangle! Is that the same x? Or his evil twin brother? Were they separated at birth?
And where is their mother? Could she recognize them? Or is she somehow beholden to Y? OMG, is that it? Does Y hold some terrible secret over her, blackmailing her, and is X putting himself into all these awkward equations to save her?
Cinder: Mom? It’s just an equation. See, x is…
Jane: Hush. I think I just figured out my entry point into math. Ok, first, this isn’t X. I can’t work with X. Let’s call him Sebastian…
ruthless radical prioritization, sort of
On Thursday night, one of my writer tribes hosts a Time Management workshop. As you know, I’m a little obsessed with time management. And not in the “squeeze every minute out of every day kind of way.” More in… maximize flow kind of way. It’s an interesting thing though: I’ve build my entire life around my desire to NOT have to get out of the bed the crack of an alarm clock. To not have to chase other people’s unreasonable schedules: to NOT struggle to get three children out of the house at 7:30 am to drop them off at day care, school whatever before I careen to an office cubicle (with the hope of graduating to a room with a window before the close of my career—no, wait, we’re getting rid of offices bwahahahaha, back to the cubicle with you!).
This is a conscious choice—and this is something I’ve given up a certain amount of financial security and stability for… and yet, as I wake up when I want to on a Monday morning (which, by the way, is not noon, but sometime between 7 am and 8 am anyway—just not with an alarm)—or I lie down for 20 minutes in the middle of the afternoon of a challenging day… I feel guilt.
I’m prioritizing rest and sanity at the moment. Because productivity and creativity are actually impossible without them.
I’ve told you about my sankalpas, right?
Here’s one that I return to:
My days flow with a rhythm that nurtures and inspires my Self and my family.
So when I tell you I’m busy… it means I’m not doing my ruthless radical prioritization right. I’m not prioritizing that nap.
This morning, I am writing on the balcony in the sun. Priorities. Peace. Yes.
anatomy of a good week
I wrote 15K on the main WIP last week—just on that WIP, not counting the journal, this project, a sketch of another idea, etc. I have written 15,000 words in a week before. 50K, once. And I’ve done 15K in a day.
The problem…it’s not sustainable. You know? You cannot—I cannot—do several 50K weeks in a row. Or several 15k days in a row.
Never mind for 10 months.
I’m planning a marathon. Well. Not a marathon. That’s not quite the right metaphor. Damn sports metaphors. So easy—so inaccurate.
I’m planning for… 10 months, more of days that flow with a rhythm that nurtures and inspires my Self and my family.
Those will not come while I’m pounding out 15K a day or 50K a week.
But… this 15K a week?
It was easy. EASY.
Don’t we look like babies? Happy anniversary, my lobster.
I’ve seen the future. Everything’s going to be just fine.
internal versus external processor
I have a really good story for you about this, but I can’t write it today, because, ruthless radical prioritization.
Don’t be grouchy.
I’m gonna leave you with this:
BTW, it was nothing much. Or if it was—I can’t find out anything about it on Twitter etc. So. It didn’t really happen.
PS In conclusion:
The year started with a Monday; so does every week (Week 1: Transitions and Intentions)
Easier than you think, harder than I expected: a week in eleven stanzas (Week 2: Goodness and Selfishness)
A moody story (Week 3: Ebb and Flow)
Do it full out (Week 4: Passions and Outcomes)
The Buddha was a psychopath and other heresies (Week 5: No Cohesion)
A good week (Week 6: Execute, Regroup)
Killing it (Week 7: Exhaustion and Adrenaline)
Tired, petty, tired, unimportant (Week 8: Disappointment and Perseverance)
Professionals do it like this: [insert key scene here] (Week 9: Battle, Fatigue, Reward)
Reading Nabokov, crying, whining, regrouping (Week 10: Tears and Dreams)
Shake the Disease (Week 11: Sickness and Health… well, mostly sickness)
Cremation, not embalming, but I think I might live after all (Week 12: Angst and Gratitude)
Let’s pretend it all does have meaning (Week 13: Convalescence and Rebirth)
The cage is will, the lock is discipline (Week 14: Up and Down)
My negotiated self thinks you don’t exist–wanna make something of it? (Week 15: Priorities and Opportunity)
An introvert’s submission + radical prioritization in action, also pouting (Week 16: Ruthless and Weepy)
It’s about a radical, sustainable rhythm (Week 17: Sprinting and Napping)
Looking for Nothing By The Book multi-media Postcards from Cuba project?
This was the first “listening” postcard:
and here’s all of the first three series—->>>POSTCARDS FROM CUBA
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