Right Now, It’s Damn Easy To Stop.
Words Are Scary. So, Give Me An Excuse.
Right now, a lot is going on but not much is happening. Or, maybe that’s just in my neck of the woods?
Water cooler discussions, finding any and all rabbit holes to nose dive down online, extended lunch hours, skipping work all together, saying, “yeah, I just really need to recharge” — they are all happening en masse.
It’s The Holidays!
That’s the reasoning, the justification, the get out of jail free card, the reason you get loaded and make inappropriate passes at coworkers like those guys you saw on that show where everyone looks put together at all times. (Maybe?)
Awhile back, I made a promise. A big promise. It was to myself. And it had to happen. I wasn’t producing enough.
Words — they’re fucking hard. Real fucking hard. Harder than making Human Style Love work.
Human Style Love? Yeah, Human Style Love — the horrendous and painful emotional meets glorious and jaw dropping physical type of love two humans try to make work like mathematicians seeking the end of Pi.
Anyway, words are harder than that style of love. Words ask more of you. Words don’t settle for mediocrity. Words don’t tell you, “It’s alright.” Words tell you, “No, you’re not done, this isn’t good enough, and you should feel ashamed for that effort.”
Or maybe all of that is just me?
I realized something almost two years ago: Not writing takes me away from my self.
When I depart from putting pen to pad or fingers to keys, I become agitated. Not with people but with who I am, what I stand for. I don’t walk how I like walking. I don’t talk how I like talking. I don’t make the impression I enjoy making on people.
My core, without words, is a dying amber from a bonfire that once roared towards the sky in defiance.
Over dramatic? Not at all. We’re just not on the same level when it comes to words.
On Sunday night, I started writing a story with a pad of paper and black pen. The story involves a boy and girl ascending to manhood and womanhood while traversing the ins and outs of Human Style Love. I wrote the first chapter in one sitting (fuck yes for me, right?!?!) and typed it out with edits last night. I liked my edits. And I like where the story is at.
But now the story scares me. Does this ever happen to you?
I see where the story could go. I’ve envisioned plots like this before. Heck, I have 10,000+ words in some file on the Macbook I’m writing this post on detailing the beginning of what could turn out to be my main characters. And those 10,000+ words started to take shape almost five years ago.
So, maybe I need to finish writing whatever it is this might be so I can stop thinking about something I’ve yet to define with certainty?
This post is getting away from me. Has got away from me?
If you’ve made it this far:
