Today, today. It seems like today was two days. Two long days that had many things in it. Internal things though. From the outside, I'm not sure that it would look like I did a lot. Well, actually, that's probably not true.
I keep waiting until I feel like a real writer. I write everyday, which I'm very proud of, but so many times it feels like reporting. The details, the daily grind. Sometimes it feels like I'm just describing what I'm feeling right here, right now. Sometimes I transcend into complete openness and spill a gut or two. But I feel there is no consistency and no real point when I'm writing. Especially since the inherent point here is just to write. Is that good enough, for now? Should I be trying harder? Should I give myself parameters? Or should I just be?
Technically, this whole thing is about following through. Setting out to do something all year long and follow through with that. Which it appears (mostly) I'm doing. Perhaps it'll morph into something more writerly in 142 days from now when this year of writing is up. Something more profound maybe? More interesting? But what am I waiting for...couldn't that all be now? Do I care? Things to think about.
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