So much to write, so little time.
This is something I feel every day. In fact, this knowledge handcuffs me far too often. I get discouraged to write when I think of all the things I desire to say and do. Then there’s life and all its interruptions.
In the end, the motivation to push forward must overcome the assaults of complacency, apathy, and distraction. When I’m away from my keyboard for extended periods of time, my life is not all I wish it to be. I get into ruts. I struggle sometimes to simply meet the day with any energy or will.
These are no great revelations. I’m sure many people struggle with the same maladies. I look at this world as it progressively crumbles around us and I marvel at the resilience of mankind. Despite all the corruptions, insane politics, anger, abuse – ok, this list could go on nearly forever – as a race of beings, we still push forward.
That “forward” may be a dubious distinction. Our predecessors knew far more about life and happiness and joy than we in our modern age. That’s my view. Maybe that’s because their life expectancy was so much shorter than today. Think about it. If your contemporaries were all dying off at 50, you would be pressing to accomplish your life’s dreams at a more rapid rate.
Since we’re headed for lives of 80 and 90 years old, there seems no point to “rushing” toward goals. Enter complacency, apathy, laziness, and a host of other dream killers.
I’ve not written my best work as yet. In fact, nowhere near what I can accomplish. I’m on a sabbatical and I’ve nearly abandoned my writing. This break in coaching and publishing is intended to spur my writing, not curtail it. For now, I am at Starbucks behind the keyboard and writing. 10 months into the sabbatical, but we take our victories where we may, do we not?
Yes, I’ve written three episodes of “You Don’t Get to Say Goodbye.” I’m enjoying that series. Yes, I’ve sporadically written some poetry. Yes, I’m working a “day job” which has stabilized my income. I suppose I’m recovering from the disappointment in myself for abandoning the coaching and publishing. I’ve felt like I sold out. That I’m not worthy any more of claiming “writer/author” as my vocation.
That’s poppycock, but all too real in the feelings department. The demons which crop up in a writer’s life are varied and they come at you in so many different shapes and sizes and manifestations that often we do not recognize them as detractors to our writing life.
This writing is a bit of a purge. A writer’s confessional piece of writing. A “put-this-out-to-the-world kind of release. Whether anyone reads this becomes less material than the words forming on the screen and the foot into the stirrup kind of feeling. That saddle is ready. The mind and heart stand more than willing to get going.
I do not care if you write, sing, dance, or do anything creative. We all struggle with moving our lives forward and escaping the mundane and hopelessness of life. We must continue to strive, to step forward in some manner, in some way, each and every day. When we don’t, we must forgive ourselves and recognize we’re still breathing and we still own the ability to change.
None of this comes easy. We now have a glut of great viewing material streaming in our homes. The entertainments and their quality show themselves as mind boggling. I watch shows like “Stranger Things” and I’m reminded that good writing and acting still exist and in fact flourish.
Yet all this incredible creativity delivers a debilitating sense of doom. Either you get caught up in endless hours of binge-viewing or you get discouraged because there’s so much being produced, you as a writer feel your voice will be lost to the masses forever.
The fact is, the above statement will most likely be true. That’s why you don’t write for the masses. That’s precisely why you write for yourself, and yourself only. You know you like being behind your keyboard, playing with your delightfully creative self. You know the joy and peace and exhilarations which spring from the time you give yourself permission to play.
Therefore, I move on. I glance periodically at the beautiful woman across the room from me at Starbuck and I admire her lithe, shiny-smooth legs. I marvel at how such a short dress rides all the way back past her thighs and the visual enticement they offer. I look forward to her getting up and strutting across the room in those tan high heels which offer the sway of her hips a mesmerizing motion of visual poetry. I begin to create a character in my mind…
Who am I kidding? Forget the character, I’m simply enjoying the scenery and I realize that writing was the right call this day. Being single has its moments of goodness and hope. Don’t get me started on the single life. I’d much rather be in a relationship. That’s a topic for some other day of writing.
Now that I’ve purged a bit, I feel compelled to write Episode 4 of “You Don’t Get to Say Goodbye.” I suppose this is the best time to announce that this series will be moved to my blogsite called Fiction’s Footsteps which may be found at http://www.FictionsFootsteps.Wordpress.com. I feel the content is going to get too “risqué” the further this series progresses. That site is more conducive to adult themed material. This site, Poetry in Black and White, was not intended for stories. Therefore, if you like what has transpired through the first three episodes, please feel free to visit my other blog for more.
I will continue to write a poem at the end of each Episode. I will post the poem on this site and let readers know there’s a story attached on the Fiction’s Footsteps site. That’s the plan.
God, that woman is gorgeous…