Déjà Vu
There and back again
It's been more than two months since I last wrote here, that is, before I published that delectable book review yesterday.
And as I hit the "submit" button, I felt that rush again, that inexplicable feeling of excitement mixed with trepidation, again. Does it ever get old?
Do non-blood-sucking, likeable vampires like Jason Provencio, who are as old as the hills on here, still feel that rush when they hit "submit"?
Accomplished writers like Stephen King and John Grisham when they roll out a new book, do they, still? One wonders.
I sneaked in quietly, matching surreptitiously, like a wayward teenager come home late from partying, then dropped that article on the Bouncing and Behaving Pub. Only fitting, I think, to start from there, on a publication that is filled with good, hearty humour and ease my way slowly back in.
I exhaled, then moved, sneakily still, to observe the place.
First, I went to Jacquline Dacres’s page and saw that she’s still divulging good maternal counsel. She had published just one hour ago. I didn’t read it, though, just beamed and moved.
On to the next. A small-town buddy, back home, quietly checking on old friends.
There’s bluesapphire, ever discovering one new thing or the other. I see that she’s published recently too. I clicked and read and dropped a comment. Gosh, I can’t continue hiding forever.
Too bad, it was to Sophia Tell- Stories 🤓📢🤓 that I first appeared, simply because she tells stories, so, even if I decide to go back and not disturb the peace of this place, she’d definitely tell. Too bad, it was she I’d have snuck up on next.
So I strolled over to my man N.R. Earley, big shot now, way past 500 followers and approaching 700 on his inevitable way up to 1000, congratulations, big guy.
I see my man Joshua Godwin is still solid too.
And TzeLin Sam has added a whole thousand new followers. Eiman Fatima too. Hello, hot shots?
Phew…
So, this community is intact then? Thank goodness!
Well, I thought, sitting down, meeting less than half of these people, I'd be gone back the same way I came, immediately.
Medium is home. And though life’s pursuits might take us far away, as it took Andrew Carnegie’s parents, and so, took young Andrew Carnegie away from the tender tales of Bruce and William Wallace to America, there is always the promise, unspoken but certain, that we shall be soon to return.
Will I finally write at least once every day? Perhaps the question is: can I? Not likely.
I don't love writing like that. I write out of compulsion. Because there comes a newborn idea twisting and kicking, a clueless government begging criticism, a rattling good book I must share, a philosophical concept needing a deep dive; all these keep pulling, nagging, and tugging until I pick up the pen and then it all bursts out in a zombie apocalypse of repressed expression —it is practically an orgasmic release.
But I will try to write frequently, to play more with this writing thingy, to flex, write about animals, cars… everything. Hoo-hee!
