Tag Archives: writing

Too Many Hobbies

I have too many hobbies! Seriously.

Some people I know have no hobbies, zero, zilch.  They eat, work, sleep, then rewash, repeat, day, after day, after day.

That’s seems boring!

Yet others are so interested in one thing, it’s all they can do.  That’d drive me straight over the crazy cliff!

Still others, like me, (clear my throat and look side to side in case someone is staring), have so many interests, collections, activities, and hobbies, that they neither have, nor take, the time to do any of them really well.

Is that an existential crisis hobby crisis?

I need counseling, at least a support group.

“Hi. My name is Jeff, and I’m a hobbyolic.”

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Why Do I Write?

Why do I write?

The question was asked in a conversation going on in my head.  I had to stop and think past the pat answer, like enjoyment, or just being able to creatively express myself. 

My head conversation continued:

But really, why do I write, Jeff?

Honestly, I don’t know.  Me, myself and I have often discussed this.

That’s not an answer, Jeff.  There has to be something, something inside or out, that brings you back again, and again, to fill an empty page with words.

Right now, I really don’t know.  Sometimes writing seems like a preordained calling from high above, one that cannot be disobeyed. 

Other times, it’s a good feeling to write, but that’s a feeling. Feelings can be so feeble, so fleeting, and they can move depending on the wind’s direction. 

Then that’s not all of what I believe writing is then, is it Jeff?

No, me, but part of it’s fun.  It’s building a simple shanty, a family home, or even a gorgeous mansion, word by word.  Ideas are the architect.  Punctuation marks are the nails. Grammar insulates the walls, and thoughts brick the exterior with meaning, both obvious and hidden.  

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Writer’s Block

The weakest ink lasts longer than the strongest memory.

Sometimes the ink flows.

But sometimes it’s stuck in the pen.

Full, but nonetheless, dry.

 

Thoughts crash in thunderous explosions,

Yet it’s all thunder, no rain.

Ideas, memories, laughter, pain,

They come, they go,

Enter, leave,

Flicker, fail.

Nothing sticks, nothing lasts.

Writers Block

Like Alzheimer’s,

Random, continuous thoughts flow,

But nothing connects in logical sequence.

Before a memory is expressed,

The wind catches it’s seed, without root,

And no effort or concentration can make a difference,

As neurotic puffs wisp away the thought to oblivion,

Never to be seen, nor known, again.

 

And so it is today.

The pen remains silent.

Still.

Dry.

Maybe tomorrow ink will flow.

Maybe.

 

Writers Block

Writer Block

Sometimes words unexpectedly flow, but then they’ll shut off like moisture in a desert, or is that dessert?   Either way, writer’s block.

What to write? Come on brain! Just do it pen! This blank paper needs to be stained with ink!

Lean forward. Lean back. Headache. Aspirin. No ideas.

Words usually talk to me.  Not today.  Nothing.  Just flat brain waves.

Silence, so I talk to the words. Fingers began moving almost involuntarily over the keys punching out my aggravation. I start scolding words for their impetuous, defiant resistance.

You sorry words need to get yourself together! There’s no need for you to give me the silent treatment! Uh, uh. Not at all.  And some of you little words are just getting way too big for your britches!!  Continue reading Writer Block