Keeping Up

Over three years ago, I lived in Charlotte, NC. It’s hard to believe I was actually a resident of the Tar Heel state, but that was an attempt to find my “home.” People unlucky enough to be born in a place of which they are ill at ease will understand that statement perfectly. There’s a place for everyone, but that doesn’t mean you start out there.

Since then, living arrangements weren’t all that healthy. I’m back in the fields nowadays, but still hold on to the idea of leaving again. I know I don’t belong here. What disappoints me is family and other residents simply can’t seem to understand that. I’m not even sure they want to respect it. Regardless, during the course of three years, I accumulated a little bit of writing which I posted last week. It wasn’t much; I was in a deep depression for a long time. It’s not much fun to talk about, but it unquestionably affected my work. I’ll leave it at that.

I’ve made efforts these last few months to simply write. With a topic proposed by another aspiring writer, I started writing My City by the Bay. I forced myself to write, to tie loose ends together, and to think creatively. Writing is a job, and takes energy to do but to share a story with someone else makes me happy beyond words. It’s the connectivity I never get in real life. It’s the chance to bond with like-minded people. That seems healthy to me.

Coffeehouse gibberish, or why I should always have a 24-hour waiting period on my work.
© 2013 by Corvidae in the Fields, all rights reserved

On Sunday, I went to a coffee shop nearby and decided to put more ink to paper. It could be called brainstorming, but I wanted a more complete piece. While I did write, and come up with some good ideas, the work itself turned out to be flawed. I wouldn’t say it wasn’t worth my time, but I don’t believe now what I wrote then. The angle of the story put words into other people’s mouths. I have little reason now to believe that was the best way to approach the story.

The new approach will be more genuine and I know I’ll feel 100% better that I was honest with myself. True, the chances these pieces will see a wide audience is slim. That doesn’t mean I should pile together any old set of words. That would make my efforts pointless.

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The Delight of Completion

I must confess that the destination has always thrilled me more than the journey. It makes me recall the pop philosophical phrase that can easily be pasted on possessions, such as t-shirts or motivational posters. There are few things I enjoy more than the feeling of accomplishment. No amount of gold or precious jewels could ever persuade me otherwise. It’s progress. I love progress. It’s addicting.

This reflection comes after reading Nordhoff and Hall’s Mutiny on the Bounty. I don’t necessarily consider myself an voracious reader, but have noted I’m probably more well-read than most of my contemporaries. That will never mean there isn’t a group of people head and shoulder above me, because there always will be. However, to be in possession of new knowledge is invigorating. I find such invigoration one of my key motivators.

I have decided to clean up Joyce’s Ulysses and possibly even Cervantes’s Don Quixote, before moving on to unopened books. I’m confident I can make progress soon with it all.