In the spirit of going to bed on time and modeling the ability to change inherent behavior patterns I am writing during the day. Late at night I believe I am clever. My defenses are down. I ramble on with, what again, I believe, is a ramble enhanced by the hour and exhaustion. Ridiculous in perspective. No different from the perception that all writers are eccentric, depressed, driven by internal urges unknown to the masses...yada, yada, yada.
The truth, as I see it today, is that writing and writing well requires me to....get ready for the surprise....WRITE! Practice, practice, practice. Oh drudgery! My spirit resists the bit in the mouth vision of practice. My dream is to be a successful, respected, and yes, eccentric writer simply because I write freely, unfettered by convention, grammar, plot, plan, characters and the like. Yes, I want to achieve my dreams without the detritus of the word, "achieve". Achieve implies doing what I do in progression. Reaching for the stars by first standing on a bucket, a ladder, a barn top, the top of a tall building until, attempt after attempt I am among the stars. Ever the arrogant, self-centered sober alcoholic, I believe there will come a moment when inspiration will fling itself on me, rush through my brain to my fingers and write as if I have been writing for years and years. People will gasp. Intellectuals will ponder. Friends will glow in joy for my success. (sounds just like the little boy who wants the BB gun for Christmas, you know, the movie I can never remember the name of). He fought off Bad Bart and his crowd with his BB gun.
In reality he richoted the pellet, fell backwards and stepped on his own glasses creating the necessity to lie or die at the hands of his parents (or so he thought). Yep, this is me, daydreaming of glory while tripping over reality, falling over the word "practice" and lying to myself that talent plus arrogance will one day equal the fulfillment of my dreams.
I'm writing while the sun is up. Practice. Practice.
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