Last Sunday marked my blog's two-year anniversary. While I wrote a long winded thank you the week before, I failed to produce anything on the actual day. Despite hinting, at the time, something special, I have nothing worthwhile to present tonight. Except for the following observation.
Many apologies for those expecting something more.
(Once again, Charlie Brown, my spirit cartoon character, to the rescue. The first image sums up my daydreaming sessions. The second image, my habit of sticking out my tongue when I am concentrating. Scenes from You're the Greatest, Charlie Brown.)
When I began this blog, I discussed my desire to build up a writing habit. My imagination and thoughts swirled about chaotically, overloading my mind. These weekly texts would motivate me to focus, to sit down at the computer and type away, releasing the strain. Soon, I added a "weekly checkup" to further encourage this habit. Then a recurring section about my gardening. Both additions lasted about a year, before I abandoned them.
I became distracted. Also, last season, I ignored my garden.
However, I managed, with an occasional glitch--like last week--to carry on the tradition of publishing something every Sunday.
In addition, for two years, I have kept a daily journal that includes reflections and meditations, along with a record of any vivid dreams that I manage to remember. Despite irregularly recurring stumbles--days that I fail to document anything--the habit remains strong.
Yet, I am not satisfied. While some of you have shared your interest and delight in these weekly musings about my so called life, I feel I have more to say. Take, for instance, the words "philosophical", "bard", and "lyrical" in the title and description of this blog (the "middle-aged" part comes through quite clearly I think).
In college, I minored in Philosophy, and it is about time it showed. I should be more analytical. To discover any overall structure to my actions and thoughts. Then examine that structure for benefits and flaws. Not to impress my readers. But to better organize and present my reflections. In other words, be more "meta". However, do it in a way that does not scare away those of my readers who are turned off by words like "philosophy" and "meta".
As for the word "bard", I included it for two reasons. But, I will only now share the one, because the other would require quite a bit of explanation (really, a lengthy confession and defense--an apologia of sorts). In my mind, a bard is someone who observes the world, applies their particular perspective, then rearranges their insights in a way that is entertaining and informative. Unlike the writer, the bard performs the resulting "words", incorporating facial expressions, music, and dance. Because I am unable to act, always out of tune, do not own an instrument, and lack rhythm, getting on stage to do any of those things would terrify me. And so, I try to own that fear by becoming a blogging bard. Plus, I like metaphors. Actually, that is the reason: it is a metaphor, and writers love using metaphors.
Finally, there is the lyrical. I enjoy all kinds of music. Yet, songs, like ballads, in which the words coalesce into a story, hold a special place for me. There is also something about poetry. I cannot write it to save my life, and I do not read it enough. Still, when I experience it, I surrender to the moment. So, I want to strive harder towards incorporating melody, rhythm, pitch, meter, and voice.
Blogging, though, is just one of my goals. In fact, it is a stepping stone. I once spoke of writing droughts: periods when I was not putting my thoughts to paper. A decade could pass, and I would only have paragraphs-long texts and novel-sized Facebook posts as evidence of my writing desire. Some writers talk about an addiction to the physical act of writing. They claim that they cannot do otherwise, or else they will implode. (Oh how writers love their metaphors). A few transform that into a sacred meme: if you are not writing daily, then you are not a writer.
I believed that once, not too long ago. But I have since called it for what it is: bullshit gatekeeping. Writing daily is a habit, and habits require effort. Habits are not innate. They demand time and practice. I am not saying that writing does not require regular, even daily, exercise. It does, if you want your words to be effective. However, there is nothing that says it cannot come in fits and spurts. Last for months on end, but then disappear for years.
In grammar school and high school, I was riding it like an onslaught of waves during a squall. During college, is was like a rare cool breeze blowing across a balmy open ocean without a current. Teaching allowed me to rediscover that Gulf Stream of writing, to observe the flow. But I had neither the strength nor will to enter it. Until blogging. The second time around. And now I am struggling to keep my ship on course, but I am moving forward.
Beyond the blog, I want to write a novel. Several in fact. I already have a fantasy, a collection of short stories, a plain old work of fiction, and an epic piece based on history. In my mind. However, it is time to commit them to physical form. And that requires sitting down, daily, and writing. Not to prove that I am really a writer--I always have been one. But, if I want someone to read my stories, I need to make them visual.
(While it was not my intention, this post has become a novel, so I am going to wrap it up now.)
If I can blog weekly for two years, I can write for thirty minutes each day.
Just have to sit down and do it.
(To be continued...)
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