As I have been writing a bit more and more these days, I can’t
help thinking that, in terms of this blog, I should be addressing some things
that haven’t been looked at. No, trust me, there’s no reason to panic. I don’t
think it’s about coming out with any new and shocking news. In fact, I’m going
to be quite sure, that the experiences I’ve had recently are totally just
reinforcing items that can be better found elsewhere and with much better research
to support it.
I’m shooting from the hip, as it were.
Since moving to Florida, I’ve participated in National Novel
Writing Month at least, what, twice. That’s a 50% accuracy rate, which, when
considering everything, is quite good. Novels are long ass fuckers that, like a
mosquito drawing blood, pull energy from every facet of your creativity and
give the concept of “free time” a run for it’s money. There’s a podcast out there, “I Should Be
Writing” that is quite excellent for the aspiring author. However, the title is
all I need to place here.
At every moment, you’ll hear a voice in the back of your
head—“YOU SHOULD BE WRITING.”
In fact, I like to think one of the myriad of reasons I left
Colorado was to escape a horrible loop of non-writing. My friends and my
family, avid supporters, supposedly, of my writing, would sing my praises, but,
when I would sit down to author for a moment, I became a geek, a killjoy, or an
idiot. In fact, some of my friends would avidly tease me with, “oh, come on,
really?”
Writing takes place in the cracks of our lives. Between
professional obligations, familial pursuits, and collegiate obligations. When the air settles around those moments,
you find a dark corner, poke what lives there, and slam fingers to a keyboard.
This means killing off that date night or shortening that dog walking. And it’s
not fun.
Moving to Florida from Colorado quelled it and really
helped. Sadly, and I am loathe to admit the sad truth-but the depth of my
friendships here are still in development. I’m still working on connecting with
individuals. And, as such, I’m finding the time to write much more palatable.
No one is making fun of me, and those who are? I can just hang up that
phone.
I’ve heard of so many important authors who have stopped
here to author and it is inspiring. In
Colorado? I can only think of Hunter S. Thompson. And even he wrote several
pieces here in Florida. But Twain, Hemingway, Haissen, and Hurston all had time
here. The irony, too, is not lost.
Florida is filled with idiots, idiocy, and wackos.
A perfect place to grow imagination in any form.
This book I just finished.
I find that the depth that comes from theme is none existent, but,
strangely, I’m okay with this. I noticed the tale is almost all plot-the bare
bones, if you will. I have the story. Now? Time to flesh out the images and
characters within the narrative.
And, hopefully, I won’t have to leave to get to work.
Discipline is difficult enough. It’s even moreso without the support
system.
Thank goodness for husOtters Who Paint. They get it.
What’s the point of all of this? Leave. Just leave.
Physically? Sure. Go. Get away and write some place. Coffee house. The
lawn. The dining room table. Your office
(but close the damn door).
Metaphorically? Headphones.
Invest in a pair. Before the day
starts. But, get away and write
something. Anything. It’s vital. Or, if you’d prefer, get away and CREATE. I know so many who don’t have that particular
feather in their cap. Cooking is an art.
Conversation is an art. Find your art.
And get away and do it.
Peace,
Roo
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