Just Write

So a friend of mine briefly shared a book with me about writing. It's called How To Write Great Fiction. Sounds like a real drag eh? Like 374 Tips For Car Maintenance. But it's actually really good. It's a series of books that teach you the mechanics of crafting great stories. This series is officially on my Christmas list...I hope you're reading this Santa...or Blair...or mom and dad. Whoever.

At any rate, one of the first things the author teaches in the book is that writing is work. It takes time to develop this craft. Like any other sport, hobby, or profession, proficiency comes after putting in hours and hours of practice. And so he challenges his readers to write every day. Even when you don't want to. Even when nothing but nonsense is filling up your cranium. Just write.

And so I'm renewing my commitment to write every day.

I'm scared to share some of the writings in my "Ramblings Of A Half-Crazed Head" folder on my desktop. I wrote this a few nights ago. In case my insanity level was ever in question, I'm sure this little excerpt will convince you of my craziness. Happy Friday and happy writing!

See Light Today

Do you ever drive down dark roads, paying absolutely no attention to what’s around you? I was driving down a black street tonight, crowded with scraggly trees and overgrown bushes. My mind was empty and unfocused on the road or any coherent thoughts. Empty as a dried up well and devoid of thirst, my mind let the night cover the hole and block out the light. In the midst of my mindless drive, I suddenly imagined myself quietly and slowly driving off the road and into the sandy ocean. I glided in like a surgical patient who quickly and softly slips into unconsciousness. How easily life abandons itself to sleep. How freely I floated into that endless salty grave. Waves tapped on the windows, begging me to wake to the world around me. But I ignored their muffled cries and drifted further out to sea. The chilling water was rising, soaking my shoes and my socks then my shirt and navel. At last when the pitcher had almost been filled, I gasped for air and woke up. It was too late. The doors had been sealed and time had run out. I wished I would have opened my mind. My heart begged to have another chance to feel the world instead of closing itself to life. I wished the idle darkness hadn’t led me complacently into a grave of lifelessness. I wished that I would have made my eyes see light while they were alive to see.