Write Now

A long time ago I was going to be a writer. I wanted to be a writer, not because I had so much to say, nor because I had stories that needed to be told, but because I enjoyed it, and because it was something I was very good at. I know the latter reason, not because my mom told me, or because I was frequently published, but because occasionally women were attracted to my very bad poetry. If you can write poetry bad enough that women will fall for you because of it, you have what it takes to be a writer

The reason I talked myself out of writing, at least creatively, was because I thought I had no stories to tell. Nobody I knew had died tragically (except for Richie Ligargeski (sic) and I was out of town when he was run over by a drunk driver the summer between 9th and 10th grade), I had experienced no great romances (something I still haven't, but maybe romances just arn't that great) and I had had no big experiences (though in retrospect this was not true, they were just things I wouldn't write about).

So, I studied journalism, which led to the internet, which led to computers. I put writing off to the side, I said I would tell stories one day when I had some. From time to time, I would come back to it, journaling, blogging, the very rare attempt at journalism, the even rarer attempt at something truly creative.

And then I stopped.

I stopped nearly two years ago, not for any particular reason, though maybe in part because I drink too much. I just noticed one day that I was writing next to nothing. It was no longer a part of my life, it was as remote as an old girlfriend, or a city I used to live in. For the last year and a half plus, I've written about as much as I've been in Miami, or as often as I've spoken to J, and that is not enough.

It's bothered me lately, for the last few months actually. It's bothered me because writing is one of only three things know I do very well (the other two are kissing and loyalty) and I don't like neglecting the art. It's also bothered me because, and I know how stupid this sounds, there are some really bad writers that I get exposed to. There are people who do write and are just awful, and if you're writing anything at all that worships the dark of night and you are not Anne Rice, I'm probably talking to you.

For the record, every writer should have an Anne Ricesq phase, but get it over with when you're young. Get the damn cat poems out of the way too. Anyone over the age of 25 writing about how they feel lost in the cowl of evening's coat or some shit like that, oughta be drowned in pulp.

I like that bit about the coat though.

However, I think I'm going to start writing again, and if I do, I have to be honest, in part I'm going to write about you. Remarkable things happen to people in the course of regular life; simple fears lead to destructive behavior, destructive behavior leads to dead ends, dead ends lead...Where do you go from a dead end? It's one of many things I have to think about. Dead ends are fantastic though, aren't they? They're not quite as good as wherever you are when you stop falling, but they're still something.

Anyway, that's all for now. I believe you're allowed one declamatory post here and there, and this is mine.

No cat poems though.