Time

I came to the realization this afternoon that perhaps the ultimate reason I appreciate the written word as much as I do has to do with "time". We are a species ruled by time. Our need to communicate with one another as quickly and as effectively as possible underscores a "need for speed" that runs to the core. But tragically, the need to communicate often trumps the need to be understood. For the sound of one hand clapping, can't be heard by forest alone.

I enjoy writing because it helps me to be understood, just as much as it helps me to understand. In person, I will often find myself overwhelmed and can't be slowed down to phrase things carefully. In conversations, I meander and amble toward something resembling a point, but often fall short.

It has all too often been said that good writing is good editing, but good conversations have no such platitude. With that considered, writing means so much to me because it is full of second chances. First impressions are only first drafts and a pause can last for seconds, days, or even years. Writing, for all intended purposes, is a time machine. It is an opportunity to mark a cadence limited only by the ink in your pen or the electricity in your computer.

Oh blog....

Day 11: Insert Title Here

My brain is mush presently. It's gotten far too late to write anything worthwhile here, so I'll focus on teetering somewhere between absurd and comprehensible. I seem to have hay fever or a head cold. Either way, my nose feels like the edge of a well worn golf glove and is looking a little rudolphy.

Didn't work on The Muse at all today either, but I'm aiming to be a little bit more inspired come tomorrow morning. I'm mildly burnt out and I haven't even really started cooking things. Staying positive, kicking ass and chewing bubblegum.

More to follow.

You have to start somewhere.

Day 1: I begrudgingly begin my blog.

First off, this has nothing to do with Julia Childe, so let me put everyone's collective mind at rest. Furthermore, I can safely assure you dear readers that you will never see any sort of film adaptation depicting my life in a quirky, pseudo-indie fashion where I constantly bitch about writer's block and self-doubt in a "crappy"(unrealistic, damn near palatial, one-would-consider-contract-killing for) apartment with a perfect spouse.

This blog does however, pull few punches in describing the stupefying, near-cosmic, extent of my laziness and lack of discipline toward both writing and life. It will cover all the nitty gritty details surrounding just exactly how it is I'm working through my writing, racking up ungodly amounts of debt while working on an MA in Literature, living with my parents in my childhood home, and my dating life as a formerly-fat, 26 year old, novice.

Last night was New Year's Eve.

After dicking around in the cultural dark matter of the Inland Empire with my good pal Joe, the two of us were on the hunt for parties where scantily clad women might heave their ample bosoms from the confines of their jerkins, in the same way an ocean's tide might ebb with the moon pushing waves far beyond the rocky crags of a chaparral coast. Alas, our pursuits came to no avail and we dun got ourselves some hamburgers prior to stopping off at Jessica's for the first time that night.

Jessica and Andrew had just finished setting up and it looked as though there would be a good spread and that good company would be on their way but momentarily. Jessica's hospitality and kindness well made up for any uncomfortableness that night. Mostly, I'm just sick of being single every New Years.

But, I'm getting away from the intended thrust of this new blog, which is to serve as a means for charting my progress writing, working on my album, and life in general. Being the start of the new year, I've decided that now is as good a time as any to put some effort forward creatively and I think that keeping a blog will force me to maintain a deadline for my writing, my music, my school work, and to some extent, my life.

Summation (TLDR): I'm too lazy to be left to my own devices and expect myself to poop out great works of fiction, next year there had better be tits for New Year's Eve, and this blog may just serve as the .38 snub-buried-at-the-base-of-my-skull that I need for me to stick with something I start to write.

Current Project: TBA
Pages Complete: ?/???
Album Completion: 2.5%