A la Node

In theory, practice is the same as theory, but in practice, it isn’t. I need to write more. Every time I pick up a book, a thousand stories well up in me, and I have to fight them down just to read the one in front of me. A lifetime of reading has precipitated an ocean of ideas that wants to slosh over the sides of my mind at the first hint of imbalance.

But time, my old enemy, stalks me. The weapon is guilt, for time not spent on the necessary things,the necessary people. Habit, which I find slippery and difficult to either form or break, adds its layer of impediment. Life, just plain life, chips away on every edge, and the sloshing itself becomes a distraction rather than a motivation.

I’ve experimented. Does journaling drain away the necessary pressure, or does it stoke a building fire? Does an audience focus talent and energy, or simply release the best ideas unformed? For me, it seems there are no easy answers, except willpower and discipline. I have completed more work when writing for people, I have been most dedicated to story when I knew someone was waiting, expecting. I have been most happy with my work when people have criticized and praised, when there is feedback and interest. These things are rare.

I don’t think anyone reads this journal. Certainly no one gives feedback to let me know they do. It is an imaginary audience, and I write onto the stage pretending that you are there, waiting, expecting the next thing. I suppose it is as good as it gets for now. I have long since learned to get by in every other aspect of life with no one’s help, and this is just one more thing I must conquer. I hope to post a few stories here in the next few days. I fervently hope I can make it a habit.