Writing 1 Monday, October 28, 13 Wow, it’s been a while, a long while, indeed. If I’m going to be a writer, I have to write – every day in every way. It might as well begin now. I’ve gotten my latest inspiration from Maria Popova of “Brain Pickings” a blog that is 7 years old this week, but one I’ve just come to this past week. I hope her many inspirational and thoughtful comments will guide me on my own personal journey as a writer. You would think anyone who is 68 years old would not have any problem talking about who he is, but there you have it. Here I am still trying to put my life together so that I can more closely follow Annie Dillard’s dictum: ‘how we spend our days is, of course, how we spend our lives.’ So, let us begin the journey anew and somewhat refreshed too. Let us once again attempt to put on a screen our thoughts as humble and disorganized and disjointed as they may be. It is really a never-ending quest for personal enlightenment and fulfillment. God, I’m having trouble believing all this bullshit. However, we shall move forward and hopefully upward in our search for inner soul. Ah, the inner soul – what is that exactly? Is it something we are constantly cognizant of? Is it something I’m aware of in my own life? Is this what prompts my feelings, my thoughts, my aspirations? I don’t know. I really don’t. This is about as far as I’ve ever gone into looking at myself. I don’t particularly like it to tell you the truth. I’m not comfortable talking about myself; I much prefer talking about anything or anybody but myself. As someone famously said a journey must start with the first step. This will constitute my first step I suppose. Alas, I’ve started many first steps before and the hope is always there that this will be the beginning of something special and lasting, but we will have to wait and see. The important thing always is to begin and persevere in the writing process. Perhaps this will be a good start to my process writing class that begins in January. The important thing is, of course, that I begin writing again, writing with a vengeance. Once I get into a routine I would like to put my stuff on my blog and invite my students to comment and/or share their writing as well. I would like to get this started some time in the New Year, especially with my writing class to start and my J/I class as well. It will be strictly voluntary for all involved. But to do this I have to continue to write every week. I’ve given myself an hour every evening, except for Fridays, to write at least 200 words on one particular topic. This, as you may easily see, is my first of many attempts over the years to get back into writing again. Where it will go, I’m not sure, but I do know I have to give it a good, solid chance. This means writing, writing, and writing. It will be the only way for me to really find out if I really am capable of stringing 800 words together that will, first of all, make sense and then, perhaps, actually engage the readers in some kind of response to what they have just read. The key, as always, is to have something to say and then say it with panache and in my own unique way. And this, my friends, can be done only by writing, writing, and writing. And so, we continue writing as the days move ever forward toward Halloween tomorrow night. I’m afraid I don’t have any ghoulish stories or comments to make about this night. It certainly isn’t a time that I particularly enjoy, although I did when I was a kid. But this is certainly not germane to this week’s writing. Let’s call it essaying rather than writing, shall we? One thing this frequent writing will have to help is my ability to complete 800 words per week. That really isn’t too difficult, I think. But the proof, they say, is in the putting. We shall see about that. I went to Janzen’s Westfort Village Pharmacy this afternoon to get medicine for my cold and my laceration on the back of my right hand. It wasn’t nearly as busy as I thought it would be. I was the fourth one in line not bad considering I was there 20 minutes before the walk-in clinic opened. It was interesting that there was man there with an impressive beard, mostly white, with no moustache, whose job it was, as near as I could tell, called out our names and opened the door for the doctor, an east Indian woman, who was very efficient.