So the way it starts is with me walking over to the computer and folding out the shelf cupboard thing. Then I adjust the green exercise ball into the compressed spot in the carpet so that my arms are resting on the shelf and my fingers are over the home row of the keyboard. I then curl my toes under so that its almost like Im standing on them but really it just makes it so that my lap is parallel with the ground. At this point I either open up a pages document as of late because I really want to start keeping track of my word count per day as both malia and I think about perusing the prospect of writing a book. (separately obviously) or I will just open up the internet and log into blogger and start typing directly into the window. I might have had a conversation with malia, or heard something on the radio, as anyone who reads my blog can tell most often its because I am really frustrated with something that I have recently heard or seen. I then begin to rant with only the occasional glance at the red squiggles underneath the words that I can’t spell or the apostrophes that I think should insert themselves in this day and age.
The sad part is that without fail I get to about the three quarters mark and I realize that I don’t know how to finish. (insert joke) I look over what I have previously written and I realize that I have obviously strayed form my original point. Which is genuine because what is truly bothering me is genuinely never what is really bothering me. After I make a vague attempt at getting back on track and answering any of the questions I had previously posed and failed to give a response to I find myself still almost finished but none the less further down the page. I stop. I wait. I come back to it several hours, maybe even days later, having lost the flame I originally struck the keys for and now find myself just playing catchup to what I was trying to say before. I have also invariably done more research to the subject and often time now see the text from another sometimes different view. I find this frustrating.
Im not a writer why put this pressure on myself to write. I can’t even speak well and that’s like writing but no one checks your spelling, and often time grammar doesn’t exist because of location or context or the group your speaking to. Where as on paper every is grading my spelling and grammar haters are just rolling on the floor unsure which sentence to make fun of first. But still I find myself addressing the keys making another attempt. And why shouldn’t I Mcklemore tells me that great painters weren’t born great, they were great because they never stopped painting. I can resonate with that, I once tried painting, well really it was a few times, but finger paints are disgusting and I feel like Im painting with someone else's puke. Then there was the time in college when I went to the art supply store and used my credit card (that was essentially maxed) to buy some canvases, some oil paints, and some nice brushes. Then I came home and having just watched a documentary on Rothko’s panels (which I think are beautiful) and proceeded to paint one six inch by six inch canvas with one small yellow rectangle stripe and a larger reddish orange square. It took me about 2 hours. I used my other canvas to try and do abstract art and see if I was any good at that. I was not.
Then I think of all the things that I have heard about other actual famous successful (read, people who have written at least one book.) writers. Roald dahl, He wrote in the same room under the same blanket, in the same chair for like ever. I think he may have even eaten the same sandwich for lunch every day as well. Dr. Seuss was similar I believe. But I can’t do that I have a wife and a baby, it was all I could do to get one load of laundry done and feed Rory at the same time. I read 6 pages of a book over that time as well. I find myself completely incapable of doing anything consistently, I hate change but consistency is like the devils dad. Obviously there are things I do the same every time but I don’t think that makes me consistent. I always wash my left arm first then my and down my left foot. I always start brushing my teeth on the top right side, always floss before you brush thats just right its not about habit. Then when you think about the fact that I now have a job, that requires me to type some times then you think about the chances that I might in fact be harming myself because I want to write more.
This is a whole whirl wind of ideas but as you the reader may have noted we seem to be winding down and that must mean that we have reached the magical last quarter of the story. Where in mark runs out of words while not having reached his word goal set out by himself. Well guess what dear awesome, astute, insightful reader you. You’re right. We are currently sitting at my proverbial 3/4 of the way done. Ive gone back and re-read what I started this with and realized how truly ritualistic I truly am. I’ve tried to fix the unfathomable amount of errors and that occurred above this point. I’ve thought of some poignant last words to impart on you that would make me think that I for some reason used this writing to answer my own questions and have now come to share with you my new found knowledge.
Guess what I’ve got nothin. What I do know is that if I just keep plugging away I will eventually reach my goal and the little train that could will be proud. I know that by just starting this little tale, lambert would be proud of me for trying to make something of myself instead of just staying inside my little cave or winter hiding. Dr. Seuss himself taught me that this whole thing started with one simple step and that where that one step leads me only time will tell. Obviously I know to stay golden, duh. The bouncing ball guy with a sad face from the old zoloft commercials definitely told me that being a boring sad ball sucks so go outside and play in the sun so that you can be a happy jovial ball... Or something like that commercials in the early 2000’s were really vague. The BFG taught me that being who you want to be is always better than being who everyone else thinks you should be. Countless other authors have taught me about ecology, conservation, restoration, social justice. Shell Silverstein taught me just about everything I needed to know about nothing and calvin taught me everything about everything that has ever or will ever be important, he also taught me the kind of life I should aspire to while I’m here. (My wife informs me that I need to make it abundantly clear that I mean Calvin and hobbs and not john calvin, that guy was a downer)
What I’ve learned is that everyone had something to say, everyone had a reason to write. Until their reason was realized I’m sure they wrote things that never got finished. I can’t imagine that everything Dr. Seuss wrote was published. So maybe now as Im just getting into blogging and writing I might have as many drafts saved as I have published. And maybe my average page views in a day can be counted on the had of a mammal without opposable thumbs, and or a missing another flange as well (three toed sloth is the answer.) But eventually some day at some point there will be a time when I get to say just like all the rest. Ya I write, its not all gold but some people like it, and if nothing else at least Im willing to put myself out there. Sometimes if I’m lucky I even reach my word count goals.
Dang only one thousand four hundred words
No comments:
Post a Comment