For several year now, I’ve kept this blog. On the whole, I’ve tried to think of subjects to inspire others to write. In truth, I’ve written very little myself over the past two years. I’ve become lazy and little by little life has allowed that spark to fade. Each morning as I get up for work, watch TV, see my friends and bleed hours of my life, that love I felt grows less. It’s like any relationship, you have to work at it. To take some things for granted and leave them for another day and another and another, is to kill them slowly, until you can’t remember what you loved about them in the first place. So, do you let them die or do you try to breathe life back into them before it’s too late?
I can barely feel it now, that passion and drive and life I felt when I put pen to paper or tap, tap, tapped on the keyboard. There’s only a thin sliver of light peeking out from beneath the mountain of issues, problems, excuses I’ve allowed to accumulate this past few years. No more, I say.
I might occasionally write a prompt. I think the important thing is to write something, anything to keep things going.
The hard part is not getting distracted. It’s so easy to worry about life and problems. For instance, this has been a tough year. In the past six months, I’ve changed jobs, sold my house, shopped for a new-over-priced home in London, said good-bye (or at least “see you later”) to my friends in Scotland, both parents have had treatment for cancer, and I’ve tried to keep things together. I know, I know. “get off the cross honey, somebody needs the wood”. I appreciate that everyone has problems, but I guess I’m trying to make excuses for why I haven’t written. The funny thing is, it won’t affect anyone but me. Would anyone notice if I never wrote again? Probably not. You have to have an audience first. How does one build an audience? YOU WRITE!
One of the questions that plagues me is what to write. I often think I have had some great adventures and met interesting people that are worth writing about, but the catch is that there is always that fear that if you write life, that you will cause offence. Do you change their names to protect the not-so-innocent, or do you change yours and write under a pseudonym? Better still, do you draw from life, inject a little imagination and write something completely new? Where do you start? Is writing worth while? Ok, that was a daft question, of course it is. I guess the real question, the only one that matter is, what story do you want to tell?
I’ve said before that all writers have the ability to play God. They have total control over their characters and their universe, but where does God begin? Does he begin with the story, the characters, the universe?
Maybe the trick is to start slowly. One truth at a time.
1. I’m afraid of drowning. I hate going into the ocean or even a pool if it’s deeper than 10 feet. It comes from a combination of near drowning experiences, but actually has more to do with the fact that I can’t see under water. I wear contact lenses and the water and contacts don’t mix. I think I’d be a fish if I could see where I was going without the aid of goggles. (and if I did some exercise to sort out my limp lung capacity). That includes “social smoking”.
2. I’m a horder. I never throw anything away and I’m a compulsive shopper. I have over 500 books that I haven’t read in my book cases and if I ever want to get through them, I’ll need to chuck my TV and internet and feed on them one at a time, exclusively, for about five years. It comes from feeling like if I was well read, I’d be more interesting. I’d know more, have more stories to feed my imagination, be able to talk about any subject and mask my insecurities in public, around strangers if I always had an opinion, or at least a reference to fall back on based on something I’ve read. My library is in effect, one big cliff note.
3. I love comic book films because I like the idea of having a super power. I’d struggle to pick one if I had my choice, but I’d probably go with mind reading, because most people confuse the hell out of me with regards to why they do some of the messed up things they do. I also don’t understand why people deliberately sabotage their lives and make bone-head decisions. (check mirror to my left).
So, during my stroll down memory lane and a the deep-dive introspective city, there might come a story. Bear with me. The creative muse needs a bit of a kicking to come out of hibernation.