the old-school guestbook archives
my amazon wish list... my favorite astrologer... my favorite artist... yerba mate revolution! erowid: a travel guide for interior journeys... no more war: MoveOn.org United for Peace and Justice True Majority seek the truth: Common Dreams Unamerican Activities The Nation people I adore, diaries I read: rev.raikes ariana cubiclegirl epiphany glitter333 laurakay wammo the music: the asylum street spankers backyard tire fire blue highway bill camplin wendy colonna freedom tribe joules graves guy forsyth band hamsa lila hanuman libby kirkpatrick leftover salmon pamela means medeski martin & wood the motet the nice outfit nickel creek open road rose polenzani railroad earth south austin jug band string cheese incident taarka tha musemeant the devil makes three tim o'brien band trolley wild sage keller williams yonder mountain string band |
this much I know ~ October 23, 2007 - 3:00 a.m. I've been restless lately. restless, that is, when I'm not working. when I'm working it's easy to just go, and go, and go. there's a rhythm to flying, takeoffs and landings and hotel beds, workout rooms and snacks in front of the tv. it's a grand distraction, and it feels good. having a job that I love, that I do well. but and yet-- I'm not writing. and what I've known longer than I've known anything is that I'm a writer. starting with the clunky little manual typewriter I had when I was seven or so, I've been a writer. but I've been out of the writing loop for such a long stretch now, I'm afraid sometimes that I don't know how anymore. I've lost confidence in the idea of myself as a writer, in the idea that I can, in fact, produce anything worth reading. and that's why I'm here, writing in this diary. the single longest-running writing project of my life. astonishing, really. a tribute to my self-absorption, maybe. I may drop this diary thing for months at a time, but I always pick it up again somehow. eight years now. eight years I've been telling this story, and I still have no idea where it leads. but here i am, putting words to screen, at least this much is true. it may be inane, it may be self-absorbed, but it's me and it's true and it's words on a screen. it may not prove that I can write anything worth reading, but it proves this much, that I can write. and I know that writing is what leads to more writing, because I've been down this road before. the more I write, the more I will write. and so, whether it feels I have tales to tell or no, I drag myself back here. I write at least this much. I tell you, whoever you may be, that I am restless and craving to know myself again as a writer. this much I know is true.
(((rings))) |