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.”

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This past Friday was pretty rough, emotionally. I had a friend in a very small, but very sweet way attempt to do a little poking around hoping to maybe instigate something that may end up helping. You have to love the people who can make a small gesture that is either going to plant a little seed that is either going to be a trigger to a productive end or, at worse, just be a harmless moment of simple conversation. It was yesterday when I was reflecting over the entire evening that her small moments of concern were spotlighted and my lenses came in to focus. It was after midnight when my brain had relaxed enough to get over what had been bothering me so the previous night and I was fully interested in showing some sort of gratitude towards my friend. I remembered she had a blog that I had always had good intentions to read and follow and, with no better options to make a minor investment in this one particular friendship, thought now was the best time to start reading it.

I went line by line, backwards from the most recent post and eventually stopped at a post that was written about a year ago. I knew most of what you could say the actual content was but it was good to refresh my memory on some of these different moments and events over the prior year. Actually I may have read back to as much as a year and a half, but what I really gained from this was learning what all these different things actually meant to my friend. You really look into the heart of a person like this when they sensitively convey the story of their life first-hand, without any real filter. Similar to how all the universe’s movements and positioning came into balance that brought me to her blog, the moment was also such that I knew it was time to finally start my own blog.

I didn’t know where to start, and I wanted to investigate my options, so I simply typed “blog”  into a Google search and came up with my options. One of the top choices, and the one that caught my eye, was WordPress. It just sounded right. So I followed the link and went to register. You have to pick a username and a blog name that will be your website. I went with WallyJac since that’s been an unexplainable nickname that has stuck for some people over the last 15 or so years but it was taken. It was what I always was scared of, that such a personal and unique nickname would one day be just as personal and unique to someone else. I had also entered “ineverycurve” as my blog address, something taken from a poem of mine from a couple years ago. Like a small portion of poetry and prose I have written in the past, it’s simply a poem about writing a poem. Again, taken. I thought there might be an odd chance that I had registered this name already on this site, which would have been as randomly chosen previously as it was just now, so I clicked on the “forgot my password” link. It took me to a page where I entered WallyJac as my username again and below it wanted you to enter the email you would have used. I was hoping it would just shoot a password reset to whomever it was registered to because any additional field that needed to be satisfied by the user I thought would hurt my chances in getting to the bottom of who had registered this username already. I thought that if I had indeed gone to thei site years ago I would have used my original WallyJac@hotmail.com address. I entered it, clicked “Send Me My Password” and submitted. I checked my hotmail account. Nope.

And then – there it was!

Not only did I not remember ever having used this site, but as far as I knew I had never come this close to starting a blog of my own. At 2 in the morning, in the dark with the TV on mute, the whole thing just felt like the oddest series of coincidences set forth by a past version of “me” that arrived with perfect timing. It ended up being an oddly quirky way to infuse my already mounted interest in starting my blog with more interest and inspiration.

I’m in love with my ineverycurve.com.

I’ve always liked to build things with words.

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