For the record, I really don't have time for two-hour conversations about the lint someone found in his or her navel. My time is very valuable to me as I learn to balance work and play -- something I have always found challenging. I was raised in a family of workaholics who never considered going on vacation. While doing a translation on brick makers in Bolivia, I came upon the most extraordinary notion: working to meet only daily expenses. Activists in Bolivia were training the brick makers to consider working to earn, on a daily basis, enough money to live on and some money to save for the future.
Workaholics don't think about the future. Workaholics are nose to the grindstone like pigeons or a Zen Buddhism master. It is one foot in front of the other to hurry to the task, complete the task, shower, eat dinner and prepare to tackle another day-full of tasks.
It has always been said in American culture work defines us, but, I believe our approach to work may define us more than the actual work we do.
I got up early today, determined to self-publish more because I was starting to resent myself as a child would resent a parent who promises trips to Disney World and never delivers.
I promised myself to self-publish something on a weekly basis and then, the thought that a BIG publisher SHOULD publish my manuscript began to eat away at my resolve.
Dag, resentments toward the publishing industry, The New Yorker and the two agents who never responded to my work is bad sportsmanship and pointless.
I have gotten over my resentment toward them and toward myself. I love myself again and will journey to my version on Disney World: getting my work into the hands of loyal readers.
At present, I am working on my Work Chronicles -- a philosophical journey through work, which will be available through Create Space, and a collection of poetry.
The 3,000 pages of work sitting in hard drives needs to be pushed out there and the marketing to sell the ephemeral will happen however it's meant to happen ... see, I'm a Zen Buddhist Master or maybe, a pigeon.
BUY MY BOOK!
Latinalogue Part I: http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/69697
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