It’s difficult to force myself back into the groove of writing–even a few lines of this drivel–on a daily basis. I began writing this post on Wednesday, December 4, 2019, but I didn’t get around to completing the thing then posting it until Thursday, December 5.
Completion and posting was after returning from a work-related trip to Willcox, about an hour and a half drive in each direction and four hours of talking to people between the two stints of driving.
OK, what happened to days of churning out thirty and forty pages of copy–not tapping on a silly plastic keyboard–pounding on a big, old manual typewriter, never seeming to run out of ideas? Then, after writing, I had the energy to go out on the town and celebrate. Yeah! Every-fucking-day.
Maybe those times are gone because I’m not getting paid to write six or eight hours each day. Truthfully, I doubt that’s the reason.
When I was funded as a hack, no matter how distasteful what I wrote was to me personally, I enjoyed what I did. Didn’t matter whether the material was motivational shit or advertising crap or news, public relations, or even writing letters for old men who paid a goofball like me to create a public presentation likely because the old guys’ ideas were purile and sophomoric and the worthless farts wanted people reading their stuff to think there was at least an iota of substance lurking on the page.
I really enjoyed writing.
So: I still enjoy writing. It’s almost 4AM (when I began creating this mess), I wasted yesterday driving to the city, hours shopping for household stuff, drove home, arrived late, unloaded the car…and I pounded away in the middle of the night (on the keyboard, not on my willie) to create this. It isn’t just ’cause I set myself a goal to post a few word on this web log every day for two weeks. I still enjoy writing.
Could be that I’m old. Is there a connection between prime years as a human being (or being a human being as closely as I can approximate one) and prime years of being a creator? Probably, but I don’t think that’s the reason, either. I still enjoy writing. I have more experience to serve as source material, more years of collecting opinions, ideas, dreams, fantasies…all that stuff.
Maybe: I’m just lazy.