11 January 2017

Writing Is Easy......

There are multiple versions of this quote, but it seems that the most widely accepted seems to be this one from Hemingway. "There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed."

I've also found this one, from Gene Fowler, "Writing is easy: All you do it sit staring at blank sheet of paper until drops of blood form on your forehead."

There are also multiple references to 'popping open a vein' and bleeding.  Regardless, they are all true.  Sometimes I bring about terrible cases of anxiety just by attempting to write.

"WHY WHY WHY won't the words just fucking form at the end of this pen (or pencil, or marker, or fingertips) as I type?  I want to write so badly.  Just a moment ago I had a head full of things that were waiting to be written.  Now I'm sitting here staring at this paper/screen and nothing is coming.  Why is nothing coming out?  Where did the words all go?  I'm wasting my time.  I should just do laundry. Or dishes. Or knit. At least that's more productive than sitting here waiting for something that's not going to happen.  But what if I put away the paper and start the dishes and then it hits me again?"

Other times it goes all the way to self-loathing.

"You really suck.  Why do you even try?  You know that your brain isn't shutting off enough to do this so you might as well just pick up your knitting and watch something on Netflix that will distract you from all the things you really want to do.  You know, let someone else entertain you so that you don't have to work through this block. Just fucking give it up already.  No one is reading your blog, no one is going to want to read your stupid book.  Although there is a heinous murder involved, so of course people love that kind of drama.  No just give up."

And round and round it goes.

There are moments, however, that the proverbial vein does pop wide open.  And it bleeds, and bleeds, and bleeds, and before long there are pages and pages and the anxiety and self-loathing are suffocated and drowning in all the blood, and there are guts all over the paper.  As if months of thoughts and ideas come swimming to the surface and is let out like a teenager who has been grounded for months is finally free from their restriction.

Both feelings are intense.  Which makes writing not easy at all.  Even when it is.  It feels good when the flow comes, but when you are writing about things you experienced that weren't really pleasant, you have to go back to those places and feel those things all again.  And even though it feels good to let them out, there's an enormous crash afterwards.

Writing is fucking hard.

03 January 2017


As I work to live more intentionally, one way in which I can always improve is by writing more.  Not only in terms of intentional writing (i.e. the majority of blog posts that include specific topics, or the book(s) that I'm writing) but also in terms of freewriting.  I am working at creating more space to share my views of the world around me, my own direct world, and the thoughts that swirl around in my head at any given moment.  I could carry around a journal and spend more time jotting things down in it than most people spend checking their social media status's.

Speaking of.  I'm on my second day without facebook.  I deactivated my account upon hitting my pillow the night of New Years Day.  Yesterday there was an immediate difference in how I navigated my day and it's not much different than getting off sugar.

I woke up to my alarm and took my dog out (and didn't post about it on facebook).  I then went back to sleep and thought how nice it was to be able to just lay back down and relax, with just my thoughts, not looking at anything on my phone.  I didn't post or write about that anywhere either.  I just enjoyed the moments.

When I did wake up, I worked at making my breakfast.  Eggs, with some chopped onions and tatsoi left over from my last CSA pick up and rosemary that I grew over the summer right outside my door.  I shredded some cheese on top and sat down at my kitchen table to enjoy it.  I did snap a photo but then put the phone back down and ate.  Just me, the food, and my head.

As I ate, I thought about getting chickens so I could gather my own eggs and where on the property I could easily put them, and how many I would need to feed my immediate family unit. I thought about what is going to be in the next share from my CSA and whether I could start another batch of rosemary on my kitchen windowsill.  I thought about how much I love cheese and wondered what other types would taste good on an omelette. Quite enjoyable to sit in calmness, with those thoughts, but overwhelming when you watch a couple hundred people tell you about it all at once.  And, it's nice to just enjoy it myself, without feeling like those same couple hundred people care to know what I'm thinking as I enjoy my breakfast.  I like to take note of my observations and thoughts, but if others wish to read them, they can certainly find them here, intentionally, on their own.

I'm also wondering if that is a part of what makes an interaction or conversation more enjoyable.  If one intentionally seeks out another opinion on a subject, are they more likely to engage than if a topic just appears in front of them.  Certainly if we have the time to engage, we would be more likely to seek to hold more intentional conversations.  And by not trying to keep up with the minute details of hundreds of peoples every day lives on multiple modes of media, we can more readily enjoy those conversations and topics that truly spark our passions.

The more time I spend with just me and my head, the more I realize it really isn't a bad place.  And with less outside opinion and thought coming at me by the dozens, it's a much calmer place too.

I think I'm going to enjoy this.  Now, time to head home for lunch.

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40. mother. earth lover. mover. creater.