MonuMental

I had wanted to write more for some time now. Not to give myself “another thing” to keep up with, but as an outlet for all the pent up energy and thoughts that seem to take on an existence of their own and just want to get out. I’ve kept a journal for years following the same philosophy. I relate it to taking pictures. You can look at a picture and have it bring back a heap of memories. It’s like standing at “now” and having a magical look into “then”. Writing has always been that to me, but to a greater extent. I could always read something I had written and remember not just a general sense of the time but also down to the detail of things such as what was going on inside me at that time, what joys and worries I had, what songs I was listening to, and how I felt about life itself. That’s what interests me to keep some sort of chain of words and stories that follows along my life.

This is the third major phase of my life where I’ve consciously wanted to begin writing again. Tapping into that part of your soul and giving it a pen (or in this case 26 keys and a space bar) to speak for itself. The first time was in 2002 after finished undergrad. I wrote two pieces from my upstairs alley-facing deck that began “I never knew when it would start again…” and “I love it when my thoughts take tangible form…” and went on for a few pages speaking through allusion but remaining strictly about writing in and of itself. Since then I’ve never really had a creative hiatus from writing. The second was about 6 weeks ago, in May 2011 when I decided I had collected enough thoughts to actually start what I would like to become a book or novel, or series in the end. I’m sure this will come up some other time. “Again” was the operative word in this topic sentence. I spent my undergrad years, high school, and childhood liking writing, incomparably more than reading to be honest. It wasn’t until post-college that I truly found the kinds of books that I enjoy reading. Until then it was a chore.

Thank you, web log, for adding a new interest in what we can do with our thoughts and the creative needs we have as people.

excerpt from one of the above-mentioned:

“If I turn around I’ll feel robbed – and my ideas go back behind the locked knobs where they collect dust as the locks rust.

I’d like to march this staircase – as many steps that it can give me, not expecting a victory but seeing how high it might lift me.

I’m sensing within me every unspoken idea. I see a legion of faded inspirations in ankle-shackled agony that I couldn’t stand to see free.

As I climb higher I’m tired but on an endless mission to be me.

The seeds seem to be living.

I’ll rise until my wings fall or the star dust starts dimming.

Not measuring how close I come to the end but how far from the beginning.”