New Novel: Waymaker
A sympathetic god gives Simeon another chance at life after he dies from inhaling sewer gas on his 14th birthday.
Blessed by the Goddess of Desire, Simon is reborn in another world of magic without the memory of his past life. At 13 years old he sets off from his rustic farm home with hopes of learning and performing magic. Though he discovers having an affinity for water magic, he is set back when he is betrayed by a peer, his school application is rejected, and he is mugged. Hope arises when the master of an adventurer's guild finds him lying broken and penniless on the street and whisks him back to her headquarters to heal him. His slew of misfortunes triggers a recollection of his past life, and the guild master herself, who perceives something special about Simon, offers him a proposal to fulfill his desire to learn magic: join the Waymaker Guild.
Happy New Year! And with it, I’ve published a new story: Waymaker. Hooray! It’s the first in a two-book series, making it one of three ongoing writing projects (the other two being a standalone work and the finale to my Not James trilogy (see: Not James and Vespertine Blue)). It’s fun that there are so many things going on.
Speaking of things going on, it got me thinking about passions. A friend with a mutual interest in writing, upon seeing I’d recently published this book, asked me, “How?” My mind ran through the list of possible responses, from the obvious (“I wrote; I edited; and then I published”) to the philosophical (“How not?”). It is that latter line of reasoning that got me thinking about why passions are at times considered baffling. I mean, I wanted to write this story, so in turn it would be obvious that I would write it. That it was obvious to me, of course, did not make it obvious to others like my writer friend (see: perspective-taking). So, how was my passion in writing not so obvious, especially to someone with a shared interest in writing?
To stick a brief disclaimer here, I realize I’m over-analyzing a very simple, benign, and largely playful question of “How?” that was posed to me. I am merely using it as a launchpad to address the modicum of seriousness that led to it being asked.
What I imagine to be the simplest obstacle to a passion is time. As I said earlier, there are so many things going on; it makes sense for someone not with enough time to be confused by or in awe of someone else with enough time. And yet, I also wonder at whether that is entirely the case. What if, after accounting for all meaningful variables that limit what one can do, there is still leftover time? I think, perhaps uncharitably, this is more often the case than not. But, then, in such situations where the person is still finding it a mystery of how to get around to engaging in a passion, what’s stopping them?
From my perspective, I’ve long been surprised by how many people have trouble managing their time. Throughout elementary, middle, and high school I’d hear complaints about homework and the usual. Being young and naive, of course people were entitled to be discomforted and discontented with increasing obligations. But even then, being one of them, I couldn’t entirely relate to the complaints about there not being enough time. The same was true throughout college; I heard of those who seemingly had it so bad they had to pull all-nighters, something I never once had to do. By this point you may be thinking, “Dude, people procrastinate, you don’t need to embellish it.” And yes, that’s true, but I’m not so much embellishing this obvious fact as I am complaining in my own way. I just find it irritating when people have time and complain when they misuse their time. (This is, again, assuming all factors outside of one’s control are accounted for, which I, again, believe is more often than not the case.)
Another reason someone might be finding it difficult to engage in a passion is that it simply isn’t a priority. Perhaps the premise of it being a passion is false and it’s not even a passion at all. Even with good time management, if the “passion” never passes the threshold of actionability, it never will be done. In such cases, the question of “How?” isn’t related to practicality and rather motivation. Where motivation is concerned, that’s really only something the individual person can decide.
Considering these two conclusions, there are two serious responses to the question of “How?”
“I manage my time.”
“I can and I want to.”
These are not exactly novel concepts, and they can come across as blunt. I suppose what makes them novel is that they aren’t really ever given as a response, probably because they can come across as blunt. Anyway, if you happened to get this far you may be wondering why I went on this tangent rather than discussing my new book. Well, you’ll (maybe) be surprised to learn that everything I said here was not a tangent at all and ties into my story’s theme of finding and—wait for it—making a way.
