Getting back on the horse can be a slow thing, when speaking in metaphors. In case you're unfamiliar with the axiom, "getting back on the horse," is what some people say when you've stopped doing something, and you're going to start again. Or when you've failed, but wish to continue.
If you're unfamiliar with the word "axiom," I feel bad for you. Look at that word. Such a nice word, all those vowels, and an x, to boot.
Back to getting back on the horse. I felt pretty good about getting back to this writing thing. It was going pretty well, I had some ideas I wanted to examine, and I even had a week of solitude while my family went to visit relatives. Instead of using that week to write, I used it to fall asleep on the couch each night and sleep an embarrassing amount of time.
I pulled up The Strangelands tonight, and saw that Jesse had posted. So there's a link, because it's the least I can do, since I didn't have the site updated like I had hoped.
It was good to see he had stopped by again, and it was good to hear a little bit about his life--like running into a friend at the store when you don't have enough time to catch up, but you still feel better for seeing them.
After my last post, I had decided that I would write some about what's going on in my life, these days.
I'm back in Canadian, Texas, once again. It's the place I grew up, and the place I told myself I'd leave and never come back to. Once here, I started a family of my own, and I now have a little boy who will turn 4 in the summer.
His mother and I run the local movie theater--the same one my family owned when I was growing up--and life is pretty good.
We still have our rough days, but overall, this is a life I'm happy with.
Except the writing thing, obviously. I never seem to have the time and/or energy for it.
Except that's bullshit, isn't it? I have the same amount of time I've always had. I have other things to do, but I always had other things to do. The difference is, I cave. I give into the need for sleep, or I tell myself that my brain is too tired to be creative, and I end up watching way too many episodes of a show I don't care about before making my way to bed, way too late.
And you want to know the truth? The only reason I'm writing at this moment is because I was supposed to be combing through my various works-in-progress. I signed up for a writing workshop happening this spring, and I'm supposed to send something to someone for it, and I stared at my file folder for about ten whole seconds before fleeing to The Strangelands.
I don't know why, really. I guess I got a little freaked out about someone once again reading my shit, after nearly a decade of mostly radio silence.
Sure, I've written things here and there, and sometimes people even read them; but for the most part, I've just been...quiet.
But to actually step up and try to prove to someone that I know what I'm doing when I hammer out words on my computer...that's a bit overwhelming, these days. I think there was a time that I would have gladly jumped into the ring (another axiom, by the way), and I would have done it with confidence and even cockiness.
Maybe it's because I've gotten older, or maybe it's because that instead of writing nightly, I now tend to write about once a month, if that. Maybe it's because I've learned a lot since my younger days, and I've discovered that I'm not such hot shit.
Or maybe I would have been scared back then, too. Probably not, though.
Probably I would have walked into that workshop convinced that I was the most talented person in the room, and I either would have been right, or I would have been wrong, and I doubt it would have mattered either way, because I would have gone home and written some more.
And tonight, I can't even focus enough to pick a WIP. I have 9 novels, did you guys know that? Nine. That doesn't include any of the short story collections or the Portly Boy book I threw together over a decade again.
I've been editing that one, by the way. Got a website for it and everything. I was contemplating sending that one, but shit, you know? Seems like it's going a little too far back for a work in progress, even though it still is.
But that's the thing--all of them are works in progress, because I've never done shit with them. I write them, save them, and then move on. I tell myself I need to edit them, I need to get them read-ready, I need to do something with them.
But if there's one thing that has remained constant in the years since my writings dwindled, it's that when I have time, I'd rather be writing than editing.
Anyway, I guess that's all I wanted to say, this evening. Thanks for listening.
Posted under The Rants on 3-09-2019