NaBloPoMo: Writing [ties]

It was only a matter of time before this became a meta analysis.  Clearly, I have a love for writing.  I think what has eluded me over the years, though, is being able to set up a routine whereby I write regularly and extensively enough to get my ideas down on paper.  This has changed in the last few months, and I've begun writing the blog every day, plus writing in my own personal journal, plus writing to friends and family on a more regular basis.  It's this variety in subject matter that keeps me going, I think.  The ideas keep flowing because there's always a medium through which to express them.  Nothing gets clogged in my head anymore.

I could probably go on for pages and pages about how writing makes me feel, but I think if I said it makes me feel "good," most of you will be satisfied.  I think instead I'll just touch on the importance of developing your own style, if writing does become something that you personally want to pursue.

And that's sort of the point of this month in the first place:  "ties" is simply an ambiguous way of talking about the connections or affinities we feel for the different things in our lives.  It's sort of impossible to have a tie to something that doesn't mesh with your way of thinking in some way.  Writing, expressing thoughts through mutable yet concrete and recognizable words and phrases, is a perfect example of this.  Many disciplines force writers to conform to a certain set of stylistic criteria (journalism, science writing, grant writing, instructional writing), and the writer is forced to find their voice within a rigid framework.  This can be fun, challenging, even rewarding, but is rarely about building an outlet of expression.

Building your own style, or simply using conventions that you want to use, can be liberating.  It can also be catastrophic.  I for one don't want to read these cell phone novels, written entirely in contractions and abbreviations.  You might, but it might be better suited for a personal journal than for public consumption.  This highlights the flip-side of building your own fount of self-expression:  writing, at its heart, is also about communication.  It's very difficult to communicate ideas and thoughts effectively if your audience has NO IDEA what you're talking about.  But everyone's balance has to be different, because everyone's ability and perspective is different.  Go figure.

I know, it just wouldn't be me if I actually ANSWERED a question.  That's just my style, though.

More writings [Writing]

I'm on a publishing kick.  Funny, because I work at a publishing company!  Ha Ha Ha!!!!1111one!


This is a short story.  It's not finished.  But I think that's part of the charm.


To answer your inevitable questions:


1.  No, it's not about me, although there are bits and pieces of me in the story.  How could there not be?
2.  It's not as hopeless as it sounds.
3.  I can't really make risotto.

Something reeks of repression.  Heavy curtains of muffling wool settle lethargically against the window trim.  I could move them, look outside, see what could be making that noise, but I don't.  I tell myself it's just because I'd rather imagine than spoil the surprise, that schrodinger and his cats would be proud.  The curtains know differently.

It sounds like someone is cutting down a tree with a chainsaw, but it's too quiet and yet very present.  Could there be an animal outside?  None that sound quite like that, and at noon in summer in a crowded neighborhood, I doubt the poor critter would stick around long enough to try.  Here, I'll lift my arm, force my hand to draw the curtains to one side.

Or not.  A breeze tries to ruffle the curtains but succeeds only in producing a long, low sigh as barely lifted it falls back into place.  I hear a car out by the road.  It's saturday, and not many people are out and about.  If I had to guess, I would say this one was a sedan.  Two 30-something adults in the front seat of assorted genders.  It doesn't sound like the back seat is full.  The vibration seems too light, too carefree to be carrying baggage.

I should go do my errands.  There's no food in the house, and no clean dishes.  I can smell the mold from last month's leaky roof all the way from the bedroom.  I feel the air change temperature against my cheek.  Another breeze.  This one can't seem to move the curtain at all.