I Meant To Write

I’ve said that alot in life. I love to write, actually, and have for as long as I have a memory of being capable of putting pen to paper and making word pictures with it. I have that active sort of mind that likes to form thoughts and plays with ways of expressing them, but it seems that I need to have a certain inspiration, a certain mode, to work within. Is this a flowery excuse? No, I am past excuses… it is more about the time it takes to birth writing that communicates not just the structure of the thought, but its spirit.

It isn’t like the experience I have of taking photos. In photos there is a mix of the moment, the equipment, and the eye. Then there is that obsessive need to record what one wants others to see. I think that last part is what writers share most with photographers. But for me the pen has more in common with the artist brush. There is that thing called “the muse”: the time when the idea and the mode all come together in a mad rush to create.

Too often that is what I want happening when I mean to write, but don’t.

Right now, I partially blame winter. This time of year I find I lack “heart”. My heart is not in the creation process, maybe a result of cabin fever- being cooped up with less to stimulate creativity, too much stored up information, maybe some ennui. Perhaps that is why some people slack off from their New Year’s resolutions – the shine has gone off the goals and we kick into a type of survival mode.

Too, I think perfection is something of an enemy. In the quest to give our best efforts to crafting the beauty or the precision of expression we become entangled in over thinking to the point where the original thought and effort now seems pointless. That is too bad, since many small ideas inspire and come together into something much larger than the sum of its parts. A collage is made of a number of very mundane components, but the way it is arranged and the texture formed from the composite results in something of specific and sometimes moving meaning.

The lack of heart may be something else, though. Plain old vanilla procrastination and laziness means that the best ideas are never brought into the light.

And so, I take stock and decide that in order to write something of value, or beauty, or meaning will require a little bit of focus through setting goals, jotting down ideas in a common place, siphoning it into actions that bring dreams to life.

Now I think I have a plan.

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