What counts as writing?

Many years ago, I read some famous author saying that to make a living as a writer, you needed to treat writing like a job.  You punch in, do the work, day in and day out.  A few years ago, I was trying to think of some way to boost my writing, so I decided to try making it a job.  The first thing I needed to figure out was how many hours a week I wanted to write.  I quickly decided on 42, because that works out to six hours a day, and it’s also The Answer.  If I had six hours a day to write, that would be great, but I also have a part time job to pay the bills.  So instead of trying for 42 hours of writing each week, I go for 42 minus however many hours I work that week.  (I’ve also started counting my commuting time.)  So this gives me my weekly goal of hours of writing.

But what exactly is an hour of writing?  If I sat down and started typing, “Chapter 1, It was a dark and stormy night,” and continued for an hour, we’d agree that would count as writing.  (I never said it had to be good writing.)  But what if I sat down the next day and spent an hour revising what I had written?  Would that also count as an hour of writing?  I decided that, no an hour of revising would only count as thirty minutes of “writing.” I set this up years ago as a trial and I’ve just continued to do it, so I don’t remember my exact reasonings, but I believe it is because I can get stuck just doing revision after revision after revision.  Part of my goal was to put more words on the page, not just polishing the ones already there.  By only counting revising as half the time, I should be more motivated to write stories.

But what about blogging?  Some of my blogs are just random thoughts I’d like to put out to the world, but I have to admit part of it is the hope that someone goes, “This guy has an interesting take on … exploring Mercury, I wonder what their fiction is like.” It’s a slim hope, but we have to do what we can.  Just to keep things simple, I decided that an hour of blogging would also only count as thirty minutes of writing.  Even blogs about writing, which I don’t care to think too much about otherwise I’ll give myself a headache.

The final writing related thing I decided to count as writing, is social media crap.  Because it doesn’t really matter how many stories or blogs I write if they’re never seen by anyone.  So I spent time each week on Mastodon and Bluesky, just trying to find new people who might take an interest in anything of mine.  But I do see spending time on social media as less important than blogging, and so I don’t waste too much time, an hour on social media I only count as six minutes of “writing.”

I’ve been doing this for years, and I don’t know if I’ve ever actually hit my goal.  I think the only time I came close was when I picked up some extra shifts and worked thirty-some hours, meaning I only needed to write for a couple hours that week.  But even then I don’t know if I made it because I also basically have a third job of taking care of a bunch of stuff around the house, which usually leaves me too tired to do anything but veg in front of a screen binging shows or YouTube videos. 

I still write, just not as much as I want to.  I guess I need to come up with some new motivation to make sure I put in the time.  Any suggestions?

3,000 Days!

If I’ve mathed correctly, then today – after I spent ten minutes polishing up a story just after 1 AM – marks the 3,000th day that I’ve “written” something.  Apparently, the last day I didn’t “write” was January 26, 2017.  Which, you have to admit, is rather impressive.

You’ll note that I did say “written” something, because to be perfectly honest there were probably hundreds of those days where I wasn’t feeling well, or had 8,000 other things going on, so I just opened up whatever story I was working on, typed “And they lived happily ever after,” and called it a day knowing full well that would be deleted the next time I got around to actually working on the story.  Not to mention the days when I realized I hadn’t written something about 11:55 PM, and just went and changed a word just to say I did something.

A few months ago I wrote a post on You’re allowed “sick” days, where I talked about writing every day and I didn’t know if I’d continue after hitting 3,000 days.  Now that I’m here … I mean, it’s not that far off to ten years. 

Random Writing Tips – Some quick tips

 

The way I usually come up with these tips is I’ll think of something – usually while at work or while driving to work – make a note of it, and then forget about it for a few weeks or months until I need to write a post.  Then I’ll go through the notes to see what I can do.  But sometimes what I figure is a good idea, can’t really be stretched to more than a paragraph or two.  So here are some of these quick tips.

Be careful with slang

This started when I got a notice that someone had replied to a YouTube comment.  I read the reply and didn’t know what they were talking about.  Turns out, it was a reply to a comment I made a year or so earlier.  I went back to that video, read my comment and I think a couple earlier replies, then the new reply, but still didn’t know what they were talking about.  Part of it was they used a term I had heard the kids use but only had a vague idea of the meaning.  I looked it up, got the official definition, but still didn’t know what they were talking about.  Either there is some other meaning to this word, or they didn’t make their case that clearly.  So if you use the hip new slang all the kids are using, just know there’s a chance some of us old fogies won’t know what you’re saying.  But old fogies aren’t the target audience, so what does it matter?  On one hand, you can’t write something that will be of interest to everyone, but on the other hand, the more people that can understand your writing means the more people likely to read it.  There is a balance one needs to find.

A Something File can be useful

This began with a microfiction story I wrote.  At some point I had started a “To Do” file, where if I had an idea – for a story or general thing to do – I could just open it and type out my idea.  And then every few months I’d clean it out and find better places for the story ideas.  Sometimes, when I wasn’t feeling well, I’d open this file to just write “something” so that I could say that I had written something that day.  I was thinking about it one day and decided that I’d keep the “To Do” file for non-writing ideas but I should start a new “Something File” just for my writing ideas.

Sexbots

Years ago, there was this site – which is still up but the pages are corrupted – where you could post stories of a few hundred words.  One day, I wrote a story with “Sexbot” in the title, and in about a day it had more views than some of my stories got in a week.  Sometimes, it can be useful to jazz a title up a bit, to get more notice.

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Image from Pixabay.

Writing Newsletter First Quarter 2025

 

This quarter I continued writing a story each month on my website, publishing, “Legacy,” “Stamp of Approval,” and “I Wish.” I also decided to post/repost at least one story a quarter on my Ko-fi account.  This quarter I reposted “Check Brain.” On my blogs I posted the stories “Plans,” “A Line in the Sand,” and “Not Worth It,” and reposted the stories “The Unerring Word” and “Ticket to the Future.”

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If I counted correctly, I posted twelve new microfiction stories and eleven new haikus.  Last quarter I said that I would need to do a better job keeping track, which I sort of did.  I think the biggest issue was I changed how and what I counted after a month or so, so the numbers are a bit iffy.  But going forward, I now have a better way to keep track of them.  Regardless, all of microfiction stories can be found on my Untitled Works Page, and all my haikus on my Haiku Page.

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Something I’ve thought about over the years is moving away from only having my ebooks on Kindle.  But I never really looked into other sites.  There’s a chance in the next quarter I’ll publish a story on Draft2Digital.  I have a story, it just needs some polishing.  There’s just so much other stuff going on that I haven’t felt motivated enough to do the polishing.  But hopefully in the next three months I’ll get around to it.

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One … positive of all the crap going on is that I seem to have more ideas for blogs.  There are things I feel I need to say.  Before I tried to fit all my blogs into a schedule, but from now on I think I’ll keep to the schedule as well as do some bonus blogs.  So while it isn’t the writing I wanted to do, I do seem to be writing more.  We’ll just have to see how this goes.

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Image from Pixabay.

Daredevil: Born Again theory

During episode 6 of Daredevil: Born Again, I thought I noticed something a little odd about a character.  After some thought, I came up with a theory.  Now, I do watch a few YouTubers who discuss the show, but I haven’t heard this theory.  While there is a good chance my theory is wrong, I figured I should at least write it down so if, somehow, I’m right, I can at least brag about it.

I guess there will be some spoilers for the show, but if you’re not watching the show, why are you bothering to read this?

The character in question is Powell, the cop who has had a few run ins with Matt.  First off, in episode 2, I thought it odd that he didn’t just shoot Hector when his partner died.  I mean, he could have just said, “This guy attacked us and killed my partner.  I shot him in self-defense.” Nobody would have questioned it.  At the time, I figured it was because, really, the train should have stopped and there would be witnesses that Hector had his hands up.  I believe in the show they just have the train continuing on, which seemed odd to me.  But it could just be that the effects people messed up. 

Anyway, in episode 6 there’s the scene where Fisk starts his task force.  And there were a couple shots of Powell looking around at the other cops.  I don’t know why, but there just seemed to be something odd about it.  Why are they focusing so much on him?  This led to my theory: Powell is working with the FBI to get into the corrupt cop gang.

This would explain why he didn’t just shoot Hector in episode 2, he’s undercover, but not a murderer.  It also explains why he doesn’t know who killed Hector because he’s not far enough into the group.  And in a series all about how those – apparently – on the side of the law aren’t always good, while those outside the law aren’t always bad, having this “Are they a good cop that’s only acting bad for good reasons?” would be yet another shade of grey.

But what about when he put the gun to Matt’s head in episode 2?  That was a problem.  But then I thought, what if Powell’s plan was to put the gun to Matt’s head, but then say something like, “You’re lucky too many eyes are on me right now.  Otherwise, it would be easy to kill you,” or whatever.  And then he could have hit Matt with the gun.  Maybe Powell just wanted to scare Matt without breaking cover.  And he could have gotten away with it, except Matt let the devil out.

So that’s my theory: Powell is a good guy trying to take down the corrupt cops.  We’ll have to see if that is the case.

Typing

Something happened to my left, middle finger.  There’s a chance it’s just arthritis because I’ve been having issues with it for some time, but last week something else happened and it hurt to bend it.  So I jury rigged a splint out of half a popsicle stick and a couple of band aids.  It stopped my finger from bending, so that worked, but the stick either slipped or dug into my finger.  Then I realized I could just put a band aid around my knuckle, which was enough to keep my finger from bending too much.  It doesn’t hurt as much as it did, but if I bend it too much it hurts.

Anyway, the first day I used the stick, I thought things were going well, until I went to type up something.  I could bend my finger enough for the letter “d,” but I couldn’t hit “e,” let alone “c.” But do you have any idea how many words have the letter “e” in them?  I actually had to be typing, and when it came time to hit “e” I’d move my hand to hit it with my index finger.  It was clunky, but it didn’t seem to slow me down that much.  If I had kept at it – instead of seeing it as a day to take things easy – I might have learned how to type without using a finger.  Which is a skill I hope I never need to have.

But this got me thinking about typing.  Not to show my age, but I learned how to type in high school on a typewriter.  I was about to say my typing skills are probably fair since I’ve typed so much over the years, but then I remembered there are tests you could take.  I just took one and I typed 65 words in a minute with a 95% accuracy.  I guess the average typing speed is 40-55 words a minute, so I guess I’m above average in something.

I didn’t really have a plan for this blog.  It was just something vaguely writing related.  And really, I don’t want to spend too much time thinking about typing.  If you sat me down at a desk and asked me the order of the keys on a keyboard, it would take me a minute to figure them out.  But I just typed out the alphabet about as fast as you’d sing the alphabet song and only made one mistake.  (If you’re wondering, I somehow hit “x” instead of “s.”) I’m actually a bit worried that if I started to think about typing, I’d forget how to.  There’s probably a lesson there.

Short story – “Ticket to the Future”

 

“Ticket to the Future”

Part of Angelica Daffin’s mind told her what she was doing was illegal.  The rest of her mind told her that what she was doing was insane.  But right now, she was listening to her heart.  I. M. Allen was her favorite author and ever since she read his first novel Doomed to Repeat, she had wanted to meet him; to know what his motivations and influences were.

It was just something about the tale of human colonists landing on a world wiped out by a genetically engineered virus that struck a chord with her.  To her it was so realistic that while trying to “learn” more about the virus and the technology behind it – for the good of all mankind of course – that the colonists ended up wiping themselves out.  Angelica wasn’t an anti-technology, new-age, hippie type, but she always recommended Doomed to Repeat as a word of warning to anyone who felt science was the solution to every problem. 

Unfortunately, the prolific author (three novels a year) was also extremely reclusive.  He never gave interviews, or went to conventions, or even had a blog.  His agent and publisher said their only contact with him was through email.  Since his books were best sellers, nominated for and winning most awards, they allowed him his eccentricity.

For years Angelica lived with her disappointment.  She would preorder his books and take a day or two off from work to read them.  His stories and characters were always so fascinating.  From the generational starship where each generation descends further and further into madness in Going, Going, … to the simplicity of building a time machine and the complexities that result in Today, Tomorrow, or Yesterday?

With each book her curiosity grew and morphed into obsession.  The final straw was With This Ring, concerning the bigotry surrounding an interspecial romance.  When she finally put the book down and wiped away her tears, she vowed that she would meet him.  For months she tried every legal method she could to track him down, all without success.  In the end she had to date a hacker who got into his agent’s email and traced Allen’s computer.

So now, Angelica stood with binoculars in the woods surrounding a little log cabin in the mountains, fifty miles from the nearest paved road.  Not wanting to give away her presence, she had parked her car at a motel and hiked three days to get here.  She couldn’t see any vehicle or even a satellite dish, so she wasn’t sure how this could be the right place.

She had only been watching the cabin for about a minute when the front door opened and out walked a short, green skinned alien with large black eyes.

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Angelica woke lying on a soft bed.  The air was warm and filled with a flowery scent she couldn’t identify.

“Are you all right, Miss Daffin?” a soft, musical, male voice asked.

“Yes, I’m …” She opened her eyes and saw the alien standing a few feet from her.  She screamed and tried to get away, but the bed was against a wall and there was no where she could go.  Turning back to the alien she saw him just standing, silently, watching her.  A thousand questions jammed in her throat.  She swallowed and asked the first one that could get out, “How do you know my name?”

The alien reached over to a table and picked up her wallet.  Holding it up to her he said, “Your driver’s license.”

“Oh.” The situation was too weird for her to be disappointed by such a simple answer.  “How did I get in here?”

“You fainted at my appearance.  I couldn’t leave you to lie in the leaves, so I brought you in.”

Angelica nodded.  “Thank you.”

The alien bowed slightly.  “You’re welcomed.”

“Who are you?”

Holding his hands behind his back, the alien stood up straight and replied, “You couldn’t pronounce my real name, but you know me as I. M. Allen.”

Sitting down on the bed, Angelica nodded.  “Really?”

“Yes.”

After a moment, Angelica asked, “What are you going to do to me?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?  Aren’t you afraid I’ll expose you?”

“To whom?  Yes, the people who wear tin foil hats would believe your tale that a famous author is really an alien, but …”

“All right, all right,” Angelica interrupted him.  Taking a deep breath, she asked, “What are you doing here?”

“It is far easier to remain inconspicuous in a place like this,” he waved his hands to indicate the cabin, “than, say, an apartment in New York.”

Angelica paused.  Did an alien just tell her a joke?  “I meant on Earth.”

There came the faintest of smiles to his tiny mouth.  “I know.  Your species has accomplished much in a short time, but you have barely scratched the surface on knowledge of the universe.  You are at a critical point in your development where you not only have the ability to destroy yourselves, but also the mentality which makes such a fate a possibility.”

“Are you here to save us?”

Shaking his head, he replied, “No.  My … charitable organization is probably the closest term you have for us, finds species in such situations and we try to help them save themselves.”

Angelica raised an eyebrow at that.  “By writing scifi novels?”

The tiny smile spread.  “That is not all we do, but my specialty is artistic expression.  Most species have some form of art, but few have such a range as yours.  We’ve taken special interest in your science fiction because it’s perfectly suited to our goals.  What other art form forces you to consider how your species – and even you yourself – would react to First Contact?  Or time travel?  Or immortality?  Getting people to think about the future is the first step in making sure that you have a future and that it is a good one.”