The late morning sun lights up the slats of the wooden blinds, casting striped shadows across the floor of the room. The winter solstice just passed, and the wind behind the pane of glass shuffles the trees slightly, as if trying to find a more comfortable position to settle down in for the coming day.
Seated cross legged on the bed, typing these words into a computer, is Gordon Taylor. He yawns, stretches his toes and removes the blue hood from his head. What kind of a story is he planning to tell you? In truth, he doesn't know himself. He is inspired to begin writing only because he loves the way words sound when they are describing things, the way they can conjure a picture of reality using the abstract constructions of letters and phrases. In truth, such a notion is not the best reason to begin to write. The best reason to write is to share a tale, to amaze, affront, astound and challenge the reader (that's you). Gordon would dearly like to be able to construct such a tale. He has made several attempts, but each effort seems thwarted for various reasons.
The main reason that Gordon likes to attribute these failures to, is time. "Who has time to do such things", he wonders aloud. To his left, his wife Alison stirs, mutters an incomprehensible answer, and rolls over - trying to find a more comfortable position to settle down in.
Time, or the linear progression of events that we perceive it as, is a wonderful scapegoat. And yet, there are the same number of hours in a day as ever we started counting them. Any other person who ever achieved anything did it within the same structure of days, weeks, months, years. No, Gordon knows that his assertion, while comforting, is not correct. If you are inspired to tell a tale, or to write some music, to pursue some creative endeavour for which you have a flair, or even a fondness for, what you need is not more time, it is more passion. It is the ability to commit that is the real reason for manifesting anything into the world.
And so now, an inspiration to begin writing something beautiful has turned, for Gordon into an effort in self-chastising. He is not happy about this. Like many humans, Gordon does not appreciate the lens of reality being directly applied to his motivations, even by himself. He can feel a sense of resolve building within him - there are facets of his life that he knows need more commitment, and greater passion, if they are to be successful. There are, as he likes to say several "things he has been kidding himself about" that simply will not proceed unless substantial, concerted, wholehearted focus is given to them.
There are no shortcuts to be taken. There is no amount of re-scheduling, or time-blaming, or productivity hacks that will magically reduce the effort required. No, what he needs to do, is to convert this internal sense of resolve into a commitment. And then work on those commitments unfailingly and without relent, until they are real enough to be described in a story such as this.
That's all very well, thinks Gordon to himself, as he amends the title of this story.
But then he thinks that it might be time for breakfast.
Seated cross legged on the bed, typing these words into a computer, is Gordon Taylor. He yawns, stretches his toes and removes the blue hood from his head. What kind of a story is he planning to tell you? In truth, he doesn't know himself. He is inspired to begin writing only because he loves the way words sound when they are describing things, the way they can conjure a picture of reality using the abstract constructions of letters and phrases. In truth, such a notion is not the best reason to begin to write. The best reason to write is to share a tale, to amaze, affront, astound and challenge the reader (that's you). Gordon would dearly like to be able to construct such a tale. He has made several attempts, but each effort seems thwarted for various reasons.
The main reason that Gordon likes to attribute these failures to, is time. "Who has time to do such things", he wonders aloud. To his left, his wife Alison stirs, mutters an incomprehensible answer, and rolls over - trying to find a more comfortable position to settle down in.
Time, or the linear progression of events that we perceive it as, is a wonderful scapegoat. And yet, there are the same number of hours in a day as ever we started counting them. Any other person who ever achieved anything did it within the same structure of days, weeks, months, years. No, Gordon knows that his assertion, while comforting, is not correct. If you are inspired to tell a tale, or to write some music, to pursue some creative endeavour for which you have a flair, or even a fondness for, what you need is not more time, it is more passion. It is the ability to commit that is the real reason for manifesting anything into the world.
And so now, an inspiration to begin writing something beautiful has turned, for Gordon into an effort in self-chastising. He is not happy about this. Like many humans, Gordon does not appreciate the lens of reality being directly applied to his motivations, even by himself. He can feel a sense of resolve building within him - there are facets of his life that he knows need more commitment, and greater passion, if they are to be successful. There are, as he likes to say several "things he has been kidding himself about" that simply will not proceed unless substantial, concerted, wholehearted focus is given to them.
There are no shortcuts to be taken. There is no amount of re-scheduling, or time-blaming, or productivity hacks that will magically reduce the effort required. No, what he needs to do, is to convert this internal sense of resolve into a commitment. And then work on those commitments unfailingly and without relent, until they are real enough to be described in a story such as this.
That's all very well, thinks Gordon to himself, as he amends the title of this story.
But then he thinks that it might be time for breakfast.
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