Those of you still visiting this humble site may have noticed I’ve slowed down a bit in recent weeks. Sorry, but the portion of my psyche that cranks out self-satisfied diatribes has been waning as of late. This vexes me more than it does you. See, I write this blog for my enjoyment - not yours. Sure, it’s nice to get comments and I do enjoy being approached by the occasional stranger - but I’d still etch dusty couplets on my unit’s windshield - even if I couldn’t share them with a couple hundred generous visitors every day. That so many of you have reached out over the years and expressed an interest in what I past here has been a delightful surprise. It’s encouraged me to keep trying, to ignore my total lack of formal training and plow forward as if were really a Wri-TOR - not just some photog with an adjective habit. But before you admonish me for selling myself short, know that much if it just an act. Mama taught me to be humble. Deep down inside, I’m often convinced I’m the smartest guy in the immediate vicinity. Being that I spend a portion of every afternoon in a TV station newsroom, that ain’t sayin’ an awful lot. Speaking of not saying a lot, that’s what I logged in to talk about, isn’t it?I think it is. Truth is, I’m not really sure. All I do know is the words, ideas and opening lines haven’t come very easy lately. That’s a change from the norm. Having spent four years of weeknights brooding over a hot laptop, I’ve learned how to dictate from my head. ’Linear thinking’, Ernie Pyle called it: the ability to carry a notion from raw thought to a finished sentence without losing sight of everything else around you. I’m not sure I could do it amid the chaos of mechanized battle like Ernie did, but I’ve gotten pretty adept at planting myself in this godforsaken ’bonus room’ and conjuring up a trance. At times, it’s been so very easy: sit down with the vaguest of ideas and watch my fingertips flesh it out. Set the bar low enough and you too can succeed. I have, but then again I’ve always been good at intangible things like trivia, language appreciation and the Dewey Decimal system. You oughta see me arrange my personal library by genre, author and book size. I’m an animal.
Just the other night my bride and were watching ‘Castaway’ - that mildly serviceable Tom Hanks yarn in which he tap his inner Selkirk. Watching the everyman actor stumble around a deserted island, I found myself wondering how I’d fashion writing material out of all that saltwater and sand. Meanwhile, the wife drew out 3-D plans for a shelter that would make those Survivor yaks stab each other in their sleep. I love that woman - even if she does think I play Donkey King every night after she goes to bed. I try and tell her sometimes I‘m actually pouring my soul into a homemade website, but every time I do she threatens to be me a Wii and be done with it. I can’t afford that kind of distraction. Neither can I afford to stop posting parts of my brain here at this very web address. Professional therapy’s just too damn expensive and my sense of self-worth would surely plummet should I be forced back into off-camera seclusion. So bear with me dear reader; know that I’m as enthused about this little project as I’ve ever been. But much like the gifted Rick Portier, I’m making this shit up as I go.
Whadaya expect for nuthin’?
4 comments:
like i said. you're much better at lamenting a lazy muse than i.
Seems to me this happens occasionally, I wouldn't get my panties in a wad quite yet. You could always try the Portier solution. A dose of x-lax in the am and the shit flows at night. Crookedpaw
Agreed. Funk = suck. No words now. Blah blah blooey.
Did I say "agreed"? Oh...I did. So, yeah. I feel what you's guys is sayin'.
Whenever you get around to posting, we'll still be around to read.
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