Not everything is as organic as what we'd like. We would love for words to flow like water, and money to come as easy as a breeze on a cool spring day.
But rarely, if ever, does that ish happen.
The thought was this summer would bring the time I'd sorely been missing. Money from the school would be able to finance some adventures, and all would be well. (Rarely does that ish happen)
I ended up being forced out of one school because of their finances, and then being fired from another school district, which felt more like a set up. So now here I am down one job, dipping into savings, and forcing fingers to keyboards trying to find an explanation to life. In therapeutic environments, this is called processing.
Not everything is as organic as what we'd like.
I remember posting a response in a forum. The question was something to the effect of how do you find time to write with kids and a family. Me being young (and quite stupid now looking back) replied something to the effect of 'you have to make time, you have to carve out your niche of moments when the kids are sleep and the hubby's at work'...something to that effect.
Could I have been more naive?
I know now, that finding time to write is only part of the issue. There's that feeling of having something to say, or having that inspiration, or being able to follow that plan. And inspiration don't always work on your clock, and work on your schedule.
So this is writing me, carving and forcing and looking thinking...this is some of the worst writing ever. It's brooding and complaining and filled with run-on sentences, lacking feeling and emotion. But I'm writing.
Not everything is as organic as what we'd like.
If you haven't noticed by now, much of this blog is filled with free-writing. It's sitting at my keyboard with the desire to write. No plan, no outline, no real thought pattern, just my day, my feelings about it, and given the time to express it.
The journey is not always therapeutic, but it can be honest.
With a wife, two small children and two jobs to cover the bills, I'm lucky to just free-write. How do I find the time? There's at work off-time, or late nights (which I love--current time:1:39am), and sometimes great planning will allow for a few moments before that badge hits that time-clock. So no it's not easy, but if you want something bad enough, you will sacrifice. You carve, you force, you cry, and perseverate in traffic, with the window cracked, the piano playing softly on the radio, your cigarette burning slow as you dictate the paragraph about the lover scene into your phone with the hope you can find it, or even remember that it's there later.
You carve, you force, you sacrifice.
It is what it is writer. It is what it is poet. It is what it is editor. We can not stop writing, we can not stop creating, it is ok to let that baby sleep, and your sig other rest, and do you. Be you. Breathe you. And write. So I leave you with a knife, and tell you to carve. I leave you with a machete and tell you to force. I leave your soul an morals conflicted, and tell you to sacrifice.
The one thing I will not tell you to do is stop.
