Friday, May 14, 2010
Back to the Blog
Ok, so I'm a really, super bad, horrible blogger. I have evidence to prove it: I've started two blogs in the last two or three years and have posted to them a total of about 6 times. I abandoned both of the blogs shortly after making a post on one of them...about two years ago. I can't even call myself a blogger, or even a wanna-be blogger, for that matter. I'm not a blogger.
And I think I know why I am not blogger: I am not a writer. I am not a writer. I'm trying to get comfortable with this, because I think I've been dishonest about this for some time. Writers actually write, goes the old cliche, and I, friends, do not write.
I read - a lot - but I don't write. Reading is soothing and exciting at the same time. I could read for hours and hours and days and weeks and months and years. It makes my brain feel quick and smart and happy and alive. Writing makes the gears in my head instantly grate against each other. Slowly. Very slowly. Painfully. Very painfully...for about ten minutes until I can't take it anymore, and I stop. Normally, I stop writing, suddenly and immediately have the urge to vomit, and then, so embarrassed, I go to sleep.
So here's the thing. I know a million and five people have said this somewhere, but I need to embrace the overused analogy anyway: Writing is like exercising. Right now I'm really, really, really out of shape. The visceral reaction I described above? I'm pretty sure it happens to people who jump on the treadmill, having not run in months or years, and try to run a mile or two. A lot of people collapse.
Is it possible to build up writing endurance, like a runner? That's what I'm going to try to find out. I'm going to write here for a very short amount of time each day to try to build up strength, word by word, flexing the muscle that pulls the thoughts from my brain to the page/screen. I need to remember to start small and to be consistent. consistent. consistent. Frankly, I know even a silly, basic goal to write for ten or fifteen minutes on a blog that no one reads will be like this: I jump on the treadmill all excited, try to run a couple of miles, collapse, and on the way down, smack my chin down on the treadmill consul, bite my tongue hard enough that it bleeds, snag my nose and lips on the dirty treadmill apparatus, hit my forehead on the part of the treadmill where the stationary consul meets the rotating track, roll back a couple of inches on said track while I come to and gather what has just happened, and finally rise again, pretty sure I will vomit.
So be it. ¶ 8:20 PM
And I think I know why I am not blogger: I am not a writer. I am not a writer. I'm trying to get comfortable with this, because I think I've been dishonest about this for some time. Writers actually write, goes the old cliche, and I, friends, do not write.
I read - a lot - but I don't write. Reading is soothing and exciting at the same time. I could read for hours and hours and days and weeks and months and years. It makes my brain feel quick and smart and happy and alive. Writing makes the gears in my head instantly grate against each other. Slowly. Very slowly. Painfully. Very painfully...for about ten minutes until I can't take it anymore, and I stop. Normally, I stop writing, suddenly and immediately have the urge to vomit, and then, so embarrassed, I go to sleep.
So here's the thing. I know a million and five people have said this somewhere, but I need to embrace the overused analogy anyway: Writing is like exercising. Right now I'm really, really, really out of shape. The visceral reaction I described above? I'm pretty sure it happens to people who jump on the treadmill, having not run in months or years, and try to run a mile or two. A lot of people collapse.
Is it possible to build up writing endurance, like a runner? That's what I'm going to try to find out. I'm going to write here for a very short amount of time each day to try to build up strength, word by word, flexing the muscle that pulls the thoughts from my brain to the page/screen. I need to remember to start small and to be consistent. consistent. consistent. Frankly, I know even a silly, basic goal to write for ten or fifteen minutes on a blog that no one reads will be like this: I jump on the treadmill all excited, try to run a couple of miles, collapse, and on the way down, smack my chin down on the treadmill consul, bite my tongue hard enough that it bleeds, snag my nose and lips on the dirty treadmill apparatus, hit my forehead on the part of the treadmill where the stationary consul meets the rotating track, roll back a couple of inches on said track while I come to and gather what has just happened, and finally rise again, pretty sure I will vomit.
So be it. ¶ 8:20 PM
