I read somewhere recently that “easy reading is hard writing.” I’d like to add a corollary to that sentiment: You can’t read what isn’t written. Viz., no writing equals no reading. And we can’t have that....
I’ve thought and I’ve talked far too long, to myself and to others, about the stories I want to write. Stories that people I don’t even know will want to read. It’s time to pick up a pen, put fingers to keys, make notes on napkins and on the iPhone — whichever is most handy at the moment — and finally put some black marks on white backgrounds.
The stories are waiting to be told. They’re already in my head; I just need to let them out. I've Been saying all this for years now. Saying; not doing. The writing that is my income, the thing I do for a living (if you can call paycheck-to-paycheck a living) has sapped my creativity, my time, my energy and my motivation.
But it’s been coming back, some of it. I’ve been feeling for months now that the time is drawing near. Time to begin writing again. Writing stories. My stories. The way I want to tell them. I miss storytelling. I want to do it. I feel compelled to do it for so many reasons. And, so I will. One way or another. Posted here will be updates, word counts, word-block relievers, book/movie reviews, plot thoughts…whatever it takes to keep me on track.
I guess I’ve pretty much written here all that needs saying….
Post No. 1 - fait accompli.
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