It's 11 p.m. on a Thursday night. My wife is in bed, and I am awake, sitting and the computer and wondering what to do. It was one of those days at work again; the days the just keep going with incessant interruption and general ignorance. Surely my time is better than that. Then again, maybe it's not.
My quandary arises from the never ending and nagging feeling that I should always be writing. I mean, should I be writing? Everyone always asks me, "Wow, how is that easy for you?" I don't really know. I started writing creative short stories (for fun, mind you) when I was in second grade. I think the first one I ever wrote was about a softball game played between a team led by Santa (from the claymation series of 'cartoons', no less) and a team led by the Grinch (yeah, the one that stole Christmas). Yes, that story is lame. But it illuminates the intrinsic desire to want to create.
For years I suppressed that desire beneath a shroud of alcohol and videogames before it made an unexpected appearance again in 2007. Now it almost consumes me. So should I write? Yes, yes I should. Should I re-write? Ughhh....that's not a process that's high on my wishlist right now. Re-writing is laborious, tedious and yet necessary all at the same time. On a night like this one, wehre I'm sitting at the computer at 11 p.m., and I'm debating on where a word goes within a line of dialogue, it's tedium. That's where I am right now. If you were to give me a pen and some paper, I could sit down and give you a story that's well-written and aesthetically appealing. You give me a manuscript, that I wrote, and ask me to pick it apart for continuity and grammar? You might as well jam a pencil through my temple.
So that's where I'll leave it. No, I won't be writing tonight. Instead I'll kill my mind with useless drivel.
Until next time....
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