On How I Became a Writer (Part 1)

The first post in a series about how I discovered writing as a powerful form of self expression.   

During a text conversation with a good friend, the topic of children's books came up. At some point, I confessed that I had written one for a ninth-grade English assignment. Through the course of the exchange, I attempted to outline the story. It is a rather sad, disturbing tale. By texting the details, I began to unravel quite a lot about the emotions behind this attempt at storytelling. Later on, I began to analyze my responses to her questions, and realized I needed to find this assignment. Furthermore, the discussion pried loose tucked away memories of other creative writing assignments from high school and college. However, I did not act upon this nostalgic feeling right away. Instead, I let it linger, like pieces of a nearly finished difficult puzzle scattered in frustration across a table top. I yearned to pull the pieces back together and finish it, but the bad taste left by my irritation discouraged any attempt to restart the process. 

Meandering Thoughts (July 4th, 2021, Final Version)

Sorry, I skipped last Sunday's blog post. This past week was spent in Atlantic City, NJ, at a dance competition. Most of my readers (six out of ten), will understand what that means in terms of time and commitment. Some day I will  explain to the rest of my weekly audience (the other four), all it means to be a dance parent. Just not today.

Instead, I am going to try and reflect on this most sacred of days in the US calendar. Because of procrastination, I will not be able to present anything involving in-depth analysis. And my lack of confidence in my intellectual prowess and writing ability prevents me from declaring any bold political or cultural proclamations. In the end, dear reader, you will have to be satisfied with a short reflection on July 4th nostalgia.

Scratch that second paragraph. This is nostalgia, with a hint of philosophical revelation, and political cynicism.

Many apologies.

Bittersweet Musings (#1a)

I will keep this post short, and bittersweet. Back in January of this year I made a difficult decision: I was no longer going to volunteer at my daughters' dance studio. This past week, I tied up all loose ends. And that included a final solo visit to the storage unit. 

[Addendum: It is not short, and more bitter than sweet. However, it is lyrical, and, if you read it carefully, you may detect the sweetness. Maybe.]

Confessions (#13)

Sigh. It is the middle of June. This is my garden. That tall, green thing is a lettuce plant. It has grown from seeds I put in the ground a year ago. At the beginning of the pandemic. Now, it has decided to grow. And I have done nothing to take care of it. Nor have I decided to harvest it when it would have been at its tastiest. Most of the leaves are now bitter.

It is a metaphor. 

However, so is the fact that it is still the middle of June, and most of my garden has been cleared away--except for the grass. If I act this week, I can still get some good harvests before the summer ends. Especially of cucumbers. So I can make my pickles. Which would make me very happy. 

Again, all this is a metaphor.

Meandering Thoughts (#9)

Yet, again, I am not going to write what I intended to say, because I did not take the time to plan it all out. The subject matter is complex; my skills, not quite up to the task. It would require several drafts, maybe even a few rewrites, in order to get my thoughts across cohesively. Otherwise, my words would have been a hot mess: an incomprehensible rant of a middle-aged man.   

Sigh. I procrastinated, and with only one hour to put something together, the following is the result. 

(Actually, I have wasted another ten minutes since typing that last line. So, fifty minutes to go.)

(Yes, I am recycling this image. Not just because I have run out of time, and need something. But also, it is a good metaphor for my current situation. However, I can't decide if I'm the girl, and the boy is Procrastination. Or, I am the boy, and the girl is you, the reader. BTW, it is a Norman Rockwell painting.)

Confessions (#12)

Today I enjoyed a meal of ribs and wings with a side of biscuits; good conversation with my wife, children, parents, and a sibling; and a quiet evening sitting down, typing up a blog post. The week itself, started off rough:  I was knocked out for an entire day by my second Covid-19 vaccination. But I was fine by the next day, and settled into a week of talking and texting with friends, and getting things done. Oh, and reading books. 

So, why tonight's post? Well, memories are a funny thing, and this one is no exception. It has been on my mind for some time, and I needed to release it. Maybe this will help me feel better. Or inspire me to take some sort of constructive action. At the very least, putting it into words will force me to confront it. 

Here goes...

(I am going to pass on sharing an image. I am not in the mood.)  

Confessions (#11)

Well, it was supposed to be a short post, but it turned into something a tad bit longer. Though, not anything close to my lengthier tomes. 

Fortunately, I managed to explain the included image. 

Unfortunately, it requires you to read to the end. 

Enjoy!

On Dreaming (#9)

A few days ago I finished a book about politics, and soon I will be done with one comparing John Brown and Abraham Lincoln. Both books have inspired a ton of thinking, including self reflection. The joy I that have felt tearing through those books has been a reminder. I need to read a lot more. Too often I prioritize the wrong things, or allow certain habits to steer me away from other tasks I enjoy, especially reading. But these past few weeks I set aside time to delve into these books. And I was well rewarded. 

At some point I want to write about them. I would like to regularly post book reviews. It would help me to work on my writing skills, and incentivize more reading. Those are two habits I would love to improve.

But writing good reviews requires a bit more effort on my part. Research and rewrites will be necessary, so I would like to avoid procrastinating. This week, I am going to take a shot at a review, by working on it daily. I will see how it goes, and get back to you. Hopefully there will be something to show by next Sunday. 

  

In the meantime, I have had a series of enlightening dreams: the first about the end of one thing, the beginning of another; the second involving Kevin Bacon; the third, involving death; the fourth, what will come to pass.

(The last dream described reflects this Vincent Van Gogh painting.)

Meandering Thoughts (#8)

After last week's rather depressing post, I have decided to bring a little more levity and brevity to today's writing. Well, more of the latter, as I am not very good at the former. Hmm... I may need to work on the latter as well. Sigh. 

(A birthday card I received from my wife while were dating. It cracked me up so much, I LOLed before LOLing was even a thing. And I have been cracking up about it every since. Seriously, the look on that cow's face. Love it! For the longest time I thought this was done by Gary Larson of the Far Side comic strip. Apparently it is a greeting card design from Leigh Rubin.)

Confessions (#10)

"While still I may, I write for you

The love I lived, the dream I knew.

From our birthday, until we die,

Is but the winking of an eye;

[...]

I cast my heart into my rhymes,

That you, in the dim coming times,

May know how my heart went with them

After the red-rose-bordered hem.

  ~  To Ireland in the Coming Times by William Butler Yeats

While searching for a quote about birthdays--as an introduction to my birthday post--I discovered this particular gem. At the time, I did not share it. Instead, that day, I settled on Franz Kafka and Mark Twain, because they were lighter and simpler, though no less deeper. I saved William Butler Yeats' more somber and complex verses for today's confession. 

(I just love her gaze. Plus, I am stuck on all things Russian right now. Maybe I'll even learn the language someday...)