Write On!
The note went something like this: "Hey T! Just dropped in to say hi and you weren't here! Can't wait to see the new batch of honors students. You keep blogging too! No more two month stretches of no writing! I still write too!"
Ah, the shame! Starchild and her friends have been hounding me for going on three years now to write more often in this blog. True to her word, she does still make entries in what was once her Honors English blog, and I still stop by every so often to check in on her. And Speck of Sand, well, she is now the lone moderator of the Honors English discussion board simply because she still bothers to keep track of it. (I wrote a blog about her last year, too.) I admire their willingness to engage in writing just for the sake of writing, not because someone is forcing them to. I have that willingness, but for the past couple years I have struggled to find the time, and Life has a way of sneaking past you so quickly that you don't always have time to document it. But I am going to keep trying!
There was a time when I spent almost every Sunday morning (early, usually before the sun or the rest of my family had risen) in front of my computer blogging on the intriguing ideas, interesting connections, or reflective observations I had encountered during the week. It was a comfortable and quiet environment. A thread of steam whirled off the top of my green tea when I sat down, but sometimes I would so lose myself in the writing that the tea would grow cold, forgotten, and I would "come to" when my wife, dressed and ready for church, would stick her head in the office, only vaguely surprised to see that I was still in what passes for pajamas: "What are you doing?!" It's hard to explain to those who don't write.
But there is something satisfying about having written an essay, story, or poem that gets to the heart of something REAL and TRUE, something that matters. People who exercise regularly know about the sense of well being (brought on by endorphins, ask a science teacher) that comes after a strenuous workout. Yes, you're tired, but you feel good. You know you have accomplished something. Writing can be like that. When you have expressed yourself precisely, and the words fell together almost without your help, like they were always there ready to spill out and all you had to do was give them a chance, you feel almost like you have just finished a 50-mile bike ride. I know this because lately I have been taking just such bike rides instead of writing on Sunday mornings. See, that's the catch: The more things you become interested in, the harder it is to remain true to all of them. But I've been writing in one form or another since I was a ninth grader (no blogs then, but I did keep a journal all through high school), so I think it is something I will always come back to. Maybe not as often as Starchild would like, but more often than I have in recent years.
Write on!
Ah, the shame! Starchild and her friends have been hounding me for going on three years now to write more often in this blog. True to her word, she does still make entries in what was once her Honors English blog, and I still stop by every so often to check in on her. And Speck of Sand, well, she is now the lone moderator of the Honors English discussion board simply because she still bothers to keep track of it. (I wrote a blog about her last year, too.) I admire their willingness to engage in writing just for the sake of writing, not because someone is forcing them to. I have that willingness, but for the past couple years I have struggled to find the time, and Life has a way of sneaking past you so quickly that you don't always have time to document it. But I am going to keep trying!
There was a time when I spent almost every Sunday morning (early, usually before the sun or the rest of my family had risen) in front of my computer blogging on the intriguing ideas, interesting connections, or reflective observations I had encountered during the week. It was a comfortable and quiet environment. A thread of steam whirled off the top of my green tea when I sat down, but sometimes I would so lose myself in the writing that the tea would grow cold, forgotten, and I would "come to" when my wife, dressed and ready for church, would stick her head in the office, only vaguely surprised to see that I was still in what passes for pajamas: "What are you doing?!" It's hard to explain to those who don't write.
But there is something satisfying about having written an essay, story, or poem that gets to the heart of something REAL and TRUE, something that matters. People who exercise regularly know about the sense of well being (brought on by endorphins, ask a science teacher) that comes after a strenuous workout. Yes, you're tired, but you feel good. You know you have accomplished something. Writing can be like that. When you have expressed yourself precisely, and the words fell together almost without your help, like they were always there ready to spill out and all you had to do was give them a chance, you feel almost like you have just finished a 50-mile bike ride. I know this because lately I have been taking just such bike rides instead of writing on Sunday mornings. See, that's the catch: The more things you become interested in, the harder it is to remain true to all of them. But I've been writing in one form or another since I was a ninth grader (no blogs then, but I did keep a journal all through high school), so I think it is something I will always come back to. Maybe not as often as Starchild would like, but more often than I have in recent years.
Write on!
posted by MRT at 7:33 AM
3 comments
