A few weeks ago, I renewed my web hosting subscription. The current value of the Canadian Dollar made it a difficult decision. I haven’t been writing as much lately, as it’s not for wanting. But, it might be.
I haven’t been journalling. I haven’t been working on stories. I haven’t even really taken any notes in the last long while. Certainly, I haven’t been blogging much.
I was listening to a podcast, sometime in the last couple of weeks, and in the midst of the interview, I heard something to the effect of, “if you want to be a writer, writing must always be your first priority; writing should be what all else you do in life supports.” I used to want to be a writer. And, somewhere in the back of my mind, is the idea that I do, still, want to be a writer.
When I hear about people publishing their diaries, I think that I should go through the boxes in my parents’ garage, pull out my old diaries, type them up, and publish them. Who wouldn’t want to know what I was thinking as a teenager? I sometimes come across stories that I’ve started, while I’m looking for something else on my utterly disorganised bookshelf/floor-in-front-of-the-bookshelf, and as I flip through the pages I think that I should just sit down and finish them. There are times, too, when new ideas strike me and I jot them down on a post-it, which I stick to my desk, or I forget the idea altogether. Some ideas, I just mull over for days, without ever doing anything with them.
Truthfully, I think that writing is difficult and time-consuming. My adversity to work is what stops me writing. It’s also what lets the dishes pile up.
Writing is also a retreat for me. It’s a conversation I can have when there’s no one else to talk to. It’s a sounding board when I have an idea that I can’t quite get straight. It’s an escape when the alcohol alone isn’t soothing enough.
There are a lot of things to write about. There are also a lot of things that I don’t want to think about because it is easier not to. But, the mind is a wellspring that is bound to overflow.