i’m starting a private blog with a friend of mine to try and get and keep our creative juices flowing. the goal is for him to post one picture a day. the goal is to get me to write at least 500 words a day. if we don’t manage to do the daily goal, we can catch up (no punishments), and try and hit the weekly goal of 7 pics a week and/or 3.500 words a week. if i write something here, i can put it up over there and vice versa. so, here’s what i wrote today.
Another heatwave, I guess. I need to get going and pack up everything to get ready to head up to my parents house. I also need to work on getting this post finished. I think that maybe 500 words *is* going to be longer than I thought. Oh well. The point of this thing is just to write. That’s what all of the stuff I’ve read has always talked about. Even if what you’re writing is what I’m writing now … talking about not wanting to write, talking about hating writing or being stuck or whatever. Something about the act of writing and the willingness to take the action is enough. So, I’m going to take their advice and just do what they say. They have what I want (books, successful careers as writers, lives that look like what I’d like), so I’m going to do what they do.
Especially Anne Lamott. She’s written fiction and non-fiction, but her non-fiction books are the ones I’m hooked on and absolutely adore. She’s friends with an acquaintance of mine, so every time she talks about her “friend Tom,” I just smile. My dear friend, Kevin, studying to be a Jesuit priest is *very* good friends with Tom, and I’ve met Tom on several occasions when he’s led retreats I’ve gone to. So, there’s my link to Annie. Not to mention, her books are just salves to my soul. I relate to her in a way that only two people with the same sort of mind and composition can. I love that she just says what she wants — she’s so fucking honest — and gets what she’s feeling (what I’m feeling) right down very specifically, very directly. Her words cut down to the bone and fill me up all at the same time.
I think that’s one thing that I have going for me, that people seem to like about my writing. That I’m honest. I don’t know what else to do, to be honest (no pun intended, I swear). I try and write like I talk … well, I don’t even try — that’s just how it seems to me, that’s just how I want to write, what seems most natural … and often I feel my best writing is just me telling a story, often telling *my* story or my stories, and I just don’t know how to tell them any other way but to be honest. I couldn’t imagine telling a lie — it wouldn’t serve me. I think I tell the stories partly as some sort of therapy, some sort of catharsis. If I get it out of there, it can’t fester, it can’t get at me anymore.
In A.A., we say you’re “only as sick as your secrets.” I think — I know that’s true. I think that once we say something out loud, get it out of our heads — even if it’s just to one other person — it changes it. Speaking it is like a catalyst. Like putting certain metals in water or exposing them to oxygen. They forever change.
Well, I guess the premise is true. After 500 words, I have something that didn’t turn out to be a masterpiece, but it’s not just me going “I don’t want to write, I don’t want to write.” I have to say it doesn’t hurt that I think at least one person is going to read this. It is still going to receive a *little* light.