1590

12Nov2018
I found the actual desire to write this morning.  Sort of stumbled across it, like a cat toy lost under the couch for a long time, coated in dust.  Picked it up, turned it over in my hands, batted it around a little.  And found that I had lost a couple hours.  With actual words.  On the page.  Then I hit a little bit of a wall.  And here I am.  Stumbling.  Struggling.  Going down.  Maybe I’ll do the dishes now.  Maybe go back to bed.  Dunno.  Sure felt good for a while, making actual, real progress on one of the novels.  Almost felt…like….  Stuff.  Or something.

Yeah.  Used up all my words for today.  ‘bye now.

1845

Dispatches from the Dark Side: the Future of Writing

16Apr2018
Once upon a time, as I have written in the recent past, the Dark Side of the Force was my primary motivation to write.  Fear (of what, I’ll not say) provoked anger, which I was just smart enough to realize that I could not safely express physically, which lead to writing as an outlet, which lead to some pretty dreadful poetry.  I spent a goodly portion of my energy in intervening years teaching myself ways to suppress that anger, and tangentially addressing the sources of that anger, the wellsprings of fear within me. 
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