insomniac ponderings

Wednesday, June 17, 2009
2:00 AM

I am not a serious writer...yet. I have too many other things I care about too much that keep from putting the time and effort required to live "that" life. And maybe I never will be a serious writer. But I dream of it... I do. I understand it takes some sacrifice and dedication. And this is where I am lacking. At this point, I am not willing to make sacrifices. Not ready to devote myself to the art.

But I am moving in that direction. Other interests occupy me less ...muay thai/kickboxing/martials arts, which in itself demands the whole being...mind, body and heart. Well...to be honest, I will never stop being a "fighter," but it is taking less prescedence in my life. But then there is education and career...

But writing... time and again, I flirt with the idea of doing it seriously, but seem to get distracted, or grow lazy. It's as if I hide from what I am.

I remember when I had the "impulse" when I was young and driven, and the world was alive and I had to write about it all.

I miss that.

When did I become so serious and uptight?

Time can do that to you.

But you have a choice to be conscious, to go against that unseen force lulling you into a comfortable hibernating state.

Gotta bring the Spring, re-awaken. Engage the pain; stretch limbs and reach... do not shy away from the strange impulses and wonderings of the mind.

Ha a... a h... Breathe...

And also feel the stillness.

And keep at it. Keep writing. Keep writing. This is what keeps me alive.

I have crumpled pieces of yellow binder paper with barely legible jottings, folders, boxes, and notebooks of unfinished stories, scenes, undeveloped characters, sketchy plots, notes scrawled on the back of receipts that I haven’t touched nor thought of in months...

Now is a good time to visit with some old friends...
We'll see what comes of this visit.