In keeping with trying to get back to my roots here in the la-la-land of delusional living, I’ve been forcing myself to spend at least two hours a day just writing. Some days this goes splendidly and other days it’s like pure, absolute hell. I’m finding that a lot of it depends on where my anxiety scale falls on that particular day. Today, for instance, I would have to rate my general anxiety level at about a 4-5. No idea why though. I just feel kind of on edge and a bit flighty, which makes it hard to keep my mind focused on any single task, let alone write cohesively for a two hour chunk of the day. So what I’ve managed this morning is about 50 different tangents.
I’m not knocking it though — words on a page are words on a page. It’s still an accomplishment and I’ve still met my goal for the day. Who knows, maybe I’ll reread it tomorrow, next week, next month, next year — whenever — and it will spark a flourish of creativity. Maybe it won’t. But they are still words on a page instead of just floating around in my head!
The concept of anonymity that I afford myself with this blog is a whole different world than the other writing I do. My real name isn’t here. It won’t be put here any time soon, either. So it’s sort of “safer” in a way. But the writing on my flash drive — that writing will have my name on it. Even if I go with a pseudonym, there’s that’s nagging voice in the back of my mind that someone somewhere is going to put it all together and figure out it’s me. Will they really? Not likely. At least, not anyone of any importance in my personal life. Do I understand that? Yes, yes I do. Does it stop me from being fearful of it? No, no it does not!
Oh! — and here’s another thing I’ve been doing! Late night scribbling in an actual paper notebook with an actual pen! Which, to be honest, always feels so, so, soooo good. Just the way the pen glides across the paper leaving its trails of ink smoothly outlining every thing in my stream of consciousness. It’s much more relaxing than typing all the time and it seems to just flow more easily. BUT, I hate having that stuff around here. So what I’ve found myself doing is transferring it the following day to a file and then tearing out the pages and burning them so no one will find them and read them!
I used to love to just lay in bed and write — all night long — when I was younger. I have a ton of journals and notebooks stashed away in a locked drawer from back then. I’d burn those too, if I wasn’t under the impression that at some future point in time I may decide to revisit them with the express purpose of finding new or rekindling old inspiration. But, yes, locked drawer, so no one else can ever read them.
I’m not really sure where I was just going with that line of discussion, but there it is. Just can’t seem to stay focused today.
Maybe it’s the rain. 😉