In a Rhythm

Hear I sit, my keystrokes and the television solely battling the silence that otherwise reigns over my 1 AM apartment. I've done my required writing for school, leaving me several minutes to just relax before finally calling it a night. I feel pretty good today. It's not as though my day consisted of any individually great events. On the contrary, I felt rather exhausted throughout the afternoon. Upon sitting down in the dining room (who are we kidding? It is just an extension of the kitchen or living room, depending how you look at it) with my computer in front of me, I felt relieved for once to have the blank white sheet in front of me. Any of you author's reading out there are staring, mouth slightly ajar wondering what the hell could be enticing about what every on-again off-again author fears most--the blank page.

It was just as daunting as it had been. I knew I had a task before me. 3-5 pages, double spaced. My professor had laid the ground rules. I, however, was the architect. So long as I adhered to the basic principles, I could do whatever would conclude with a finished piece. I began to realize what a great power us writer's have. The power to create worlds, to make or break hearts. We can elicit emotion, bring our reader to tears or have them furiously turning the page. It seems as though a lot of us forget about that along the way. Things become tedious, deadlines are imposed and it stops becoming writing. It becomes a job. I think that may be just what I fear the most about writing. Do I doubt that I could sit down and craft a novel, and recraft it and recraft it again until it was polished and brilliant? Most certainly not for even a second.

I was never a firm believer in the principle of you get what you put into something. In fact, my life has seemingly revolved around the concept of doing the bare minimum to maximize happiness. Pareto efficiency, the economist calls it. I enjoy living in such a way, as it allots me extra time for other things I want to do. I love writing, but a man has other hobbies.

So as I sat there, staring at the blank page, I took a yellow sheet of short-edge bound writing paper and began to create my schematic. Under normal conditions, I'd kick my ass for working in such a manner. I hated the nearly false nature of planning out what I was to write beforehand. After all, a cook does not boil up a strand of spaghetti to test out his timing and preparation. I perceived it differently today, though. It came across to me as a blueprint. A means of creating a scale-model of my final project. It helped.

I leave you, the reader, tonight with many new posts. As the creator of what you're currently reading, I implore you to consider that much of what you'll find posted here is stream-of-consciousness ramblings. With almost complete certainty, many proceeding posts will likely be formed in the same way. This post to you though, is to let you know that I finally feel back in the game. I detect my writing groove and the words are laying down on the page for me at times. It will be an up-and-down sort of ride, but I think the benefits outweigh the negatives. Thank you for sparing your time enough to care to read what I have to offer.

I'll make it up to you when I publish something of worth,
Trey