I’ve been putting off writing anything longer than a sentence or two for these last few months. I keep remembering Lost To The Abyss, and how many revisions there were, and how many times I read every word to fit or replace them until they seemed appropriate and effortless.
I took the effortlessness out of the end product and removed the effort from their production. I’m cheating myself (and you) by not bothering to clean up what needs to be said. I need to do better.
My wife said those words when we were dating: Do better.
They hit me every now and then, as though there’s a constantly running cycle in the back of my mind whose sole purpose is to remind me I can do better. I just fence the process into our relationship silo, rather than allowing it access to my entire life. Funny, our relationship is my entire life. Perhaps I have this backwards.
I want now. Before today, I needed to put word to paper or screen. Now, I want to do better.
I do not write details of my life, mostly because I’m not the only one in it, and partly because I’m a private person who enjoys putting my feelings and thoughts out for the world to see. Remember, access is not admission.
I miss writing for a purpose. Because I miss having a purpose. I am not a gifted writer, just prolific (if I am even prolific). Like Kobe, I keep taking shots because I know rhythm can only hide for so long and last so long; often, we have to trust repetition to not let us down.