July 15, 2008

Breaking the Pattern: I’m Writing Again

I figure an entry on writing, or why I haven’t done much of it as of late is a good way to re-launch this blog. I’ve been publishing my writings (if you can call spontaneous post card meanderings, or a collection of letters to corporations like, Lego, for example, “writing”) online since the mid-90’s when I worked for the Hardware Order Desk at Wells Fargo and taught myself HTML between support calls.

In the last two years, I’ve had the good, but thwarted intentions to re-start my blog just about every day, or every other day. The latest design of my blog looms in my mind for a while. I imagine how I can populate it with interesting photos, and recipes of my favorite chocolate soufflé, my musings on the use of the term “elite” in the Presidential Race, as well as observations I have about adults who don’t know how to move their hips.

I also remember that in my mid-twenties I put the pen down for a while. I decided to give up on writing The Great American Novel at least till I turned 40, because as I reasoned, I hadn’t had enough life experience to really warrant anything worthy of publication. The only things I’ve written in the past 10 years or so have included:
1) numerous unpublished and half-finished rants on various topics
2) A few journal entries marking the beginnings and ends of several trips to the UK
3) A number of either comical or to the point craigslist ads
4) The occasional scathing letter to a corporation who tries to overbill me for services un-rendered
5) The first 25,000 words of an un-finished novel.

As for the self-reflection, the critical analysis, the philosophical musings… they spin unfettered in my brain. I can’t make much sense of them and I think of Didion who wrote, “I write entirely to find out what I’m thinking.” Of course Didion was also claiming in that same paragraph because, had she been blessed to even limited access to her own mind, she wouldn’t have to begun writing in the first place.

It’s not that I lack the access to my mind, or the talent to put the myriad of thoughts, feelings and furies to paper. It’s just that I lack either the motivation or the pressure.

Probably the last great writing I did was in my English Comp class in College. How I labored over those papers. Some of them may even be publication worthy, as I railed against the No Child Left Behind Act and the link between Faith Based Initiatives and the ‘doctrine’ of Intelligent Design as it was being debated in Kansas and Ohio.

But in that case I was writing for an attentive audience; an English Teacher whose job it was not only to grade me, but to give critical feedback on my essays.

Isn’t that the truth? The noun evokes the verb. In French you ‘essay’ when you must try. An essay then is the result of great effort, in the way that Kung Fu means “hard work.”

But more than the effort, writing is a lonely proposition. One must forcefully reject the inputs of society in order to achieve anything more than an ad selling a pair of skis or an evite to a fabulous hat party, or a letter of appeal to a body that has just fired you.

Incidentally, it was the response to this recent letter of appeal that caused me to do a mental double-take. The dance company director who was taking me off her roster due mainly to a difference in my abilities and her recent choreographic changes wrote in her final letter to me, “You are a really talented and gifted writer.” The message was clear. Quit dancing. Start writing.

Yet I have always wondered if this talent of mine is really worth it. Will it garner me the attention I crave? Will people discuss my ideas? Will I change someone’s mind? Stacking my ideas in lines of prose, printed on reams of paper, bound and tucked away on a shelf next to thousands of other similarly packaged trains of thought is a tough way to gain an audience. People always seem to spend more time talking about Rock Bands and Serial TV Shows.

And then there’s the other thing. Writing is not doing. When you are writing, you are not dancing, or acting, or running for office, or creating news. I fear being trapped in my brain, because to be honest, it’s not always that pleasant of a place to be.

But perhaps I can find my way to those things through writing, perhaps a little more access to what it is I’m thinking. I’m not 40 yet. I’ve got a few years to hone my skills before I embark on the Great American Novel. Better get crackin’