The Shackled Writer

I have written and rewritten this sentence more than 19 times because it hasn’t ever said what I want it to say in the manner in which I want it to be said.

This displeased, frustrated and annoyed me because I rarely edit the blog in this manner. The blog is not supposed to be for the Shackled Writer.

No, it is supposed to be where I fling open the doors that lead into the dark spaces and make like the crazy spelunker I want to be, searching and sifting through the mud, must and muck of the mind.

But I didn’t do it this time. I didn’t write in the manner of Give Me An Example of A Rant or let loose with reckless abandon because my mind is preoccupied.

Good Writing Is Scary

Good writing is scary and great writing is so fucking frightening the sweat drips off of your forehead and onto the keyboard.

I don’t believe that to be an exaggeration either nor is it a necessity, but sometimes it helps.

If I could sing in the manner I want to you would hear a voice that could make you weep or make your heart sing. That is what I want from my words. I want them to make you smile and think.

And sometimes I want you to read them and feel gutted. Sometimes I want to reach inside your chest and make your heart ache in a way that leaves you breathless and amazed.

Doors

I know I have managed to do it a few times. I know some of you have read words I have written and come away with those feelings. I know some of you have wondered how I could have put together a post that made you feel those things in a way that made you ask if we had shared the same experience.

But I also know that some of you have read the same posts and come away with disdain and disgust. You have wondered what the hell is wrong with me and asked how I came up with such garbage.

I know because I read your emails and I see the comments. Can’t be all things to all people.

Some love me, some hate me, some are ambivalent and some don’t waste energy with feelings one way or another.

It makes me think of doors.

You never know what lies on the other side of the door and the only way you can find out is to open it and walk through.

The Shackled Writer

I don’t feel like I have done a good job of walking through those doors lately.  Maybe it is because I have been preoccupied. Maybe it is because when you spend three days driving alone through the desert you have nothing but time to think and that leaves you wanting not to think.

Or maybe it is none of those things.

What I know for certain is I am not happy with my writing. It is not flowing the way I want it to and the stories aren’t being told/shared in the manner I want them to be.

So the plan is to just let go and to write more free form and free association. It is time to just write and to see what happens.