Well, Two Days Have Gone By...

And I've only done two writing exercises and not a whole lot else. So the question becomes this: am I motivated, confused, oblivious, what? What? WHAT? Why no write?

I could point to excuses: my ADHD son, my dual jobs, my cold, my needy dog, etc. etc. etc.  However, these excuses are delusional, at best.

The real reason though, stems from the fact that unlike other writers, I don't need to eat, breath, or drink writing. I do it as a fun hobby. I do it because the process makes me giddy with happy happy. I write because I love the IDEA of writing so much that I'm willing to overlook the almost lack of talent. Well, I think I actually lack experience and eduction more than I lack talent.

I also lack drive....and ambition...and motivation...and all those things that differ the amateur writer from the professional writer. Unlike the pros, I don't feel the need to write in a journal prior to brushing my teeth. I don't feel itchy if I haven't typed or written words in a couple of hours. As an amateur, I fit in my writing around the above excuses: the things that I prioritize over my writing.

And I'm ok with that.

I don't call myself a writer as much as I call myself as a person who wants to write when the time presents itself. I love turning on mood music, preparing a pot of tea, and then gathering my instruments. I love pouring my tea, reading my book on writing exercises and following-thru on one that catches me. I love the experience as I watch my pen move across the page, transforming my thoughts into tangible sentences. I love the scratchy feeling of my fountain point as it moves across my Moleskin. I love that quiet and restful feeling as satisfaction creeps through me as I see the results of my imagination move across the page.

Perhaps I'll never see anything of mine in print beyond this unknown blog and I find that I'm ok with that.

Picking Up Writing

Re-starting my writing hobby - yes, hobby - proves scarier and more challenging than I imagined. When I take in to consideration the existence in my home of a teen who's struggling with his own writing, I'm more than just a little overwhelmed.

However, I crave a forum of some sort where I can express myself even if that forum lacks recognition beyond myself. Having said something into the black instead of nothing gives me a sense of satisfaction. That small sense of satisfaction, for now, must satisfy me for the moment. 

My life will not change if I do or don't write. The basis of my life does not come from writing as much as it does from reading. Again, that basis must satisfy. 

We live in a world today where failure is no longer tolerated. Writers can self-publish on to Amazon, so writers can no longer use the excuse of "no agent" or "no publisher" to not finish their writings. I do not plan to use those excuses.

My excuse? Life gets in the way sometimes and I cannot base all my priorities on my own sense of accomplishment.